Busta Rhyme, Bitches

Dancer

in the shape of a vowel

shakes her ass hip to hip

Twist of the tongue

slip of the lip

She’ll date you

hate you

lure you into a story

where there is none

Dazzle your eyes

beneath

erotic

rhotic

or the roll of it

She goes stag with the frags

hand-in-hand

on the crest of nothing doing

She laughs

and slings her head back

as the bra twirls

round a finger plot

though naught

All naught but random pickings

stuck divine

with a smashing

flashing

clause of liquid nails

On her knees

she crawls

inches from your smile

pulled ear-to-ear with

Frantic clusters of consonants

teasing round a pole of

sequence

Feigning grace in each bead of sweat

on the brow

of he whose tongue

tastes the mouth of

the catacombs of dead dreams

fallen sour

where the fairy tale

should be.  

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Trifecta Week Sixty-Two:  Mouth-

3: something that resembles a mouth especially in affording entrance or exit: as

  a : the place where a stream enters a larger body of water

  b : the surface opening of an underground cavity

  c : the opening of a container

  d : an opening in the side of an organ flue pipe

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concept in utero

She gathers her children in the dark.

Time Boys leap the ages

on stevia-loaded sig sauer memories.

Cheek it momma-

Roll it

Chew it

Spit the pain

A story shall bleed this night.

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 Trifextra Week Fifty-Two-
This weekend, we're sending you back to English 101 to revisit the concept of literary devices.  We want you to give us a 33-word example of personification. 

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in absentia

I have been conspicuously absent from my little bloggy thing lately.  I know.   I am one of those weird people whose blogging and writing do not complement each other.   I have been writing like a fucking animal.  Sticking it on my blog and clicking "publish?" Not so much.

Most of my writing now is writing for a purpose, for a specific market, with a specific goal in mind, most of which require exclusive publishing rights.

And I am rabidly selfish with my real writing.  Not the prompt thingies or whatever.  But my real writing.  Unless I am submitting it somewhere, only a few peeps are allowed to read it.  If it is anything I may even consider publishing one day, it will not end up on my blog.  Sometimes I will post a quote here and there, and then I get itchy and uncomfortable and I will hurry to delete it. 

I never claimed to be normal. 

So.  That is why I have been absent.  I go through spells, don't I?

Writing spells.
Blogging spells.
Thinking spells.
Spells.

Introspective ones.
Okay, they are all different versions of introspection.
Nary an ounce of me lives on the outside. 

It's like my body is a refrigerator box with windows cut out of it, and my 6-year-old self is lying in ambush for the next puddle to jump into. 

Okay, more like a microwave box.  Gimme a fucking break.

Anyway. 

Puddles.

I like them.

I also like grocery carts.  I get in trouble sometimes for riding them, but I have discovered that the earlier in the morning you go to the store, the less they care if you ride the carts down the aisles.  I even sang really loud last time and no one said anything to me!  I know, right??

I like singing, too.  Especially in the car when no one is listening.  I sing best with Natalie Merchant and Stevie Nicks.  They're in my range.  I can rock Bob Seger, too.  And Metallica.  James is such a badass.

Does anyone besides me even TRY to sing along with Enya when no one is listening?  I mean, I know it's a logical impossibility.  But still, I can fucking pretend, right?!

 Here's one of my faves since I was a kid.  I know most people will hear a song like this and think it's incredibly boring.  It's such a simple song.

- Was a cactus blooming there as you watched the native boy?  In a Flagstaff trailer court, you wrote the line, "He kicked a tumbleweed and his mother called him home, where the Arizona moon met the Arizona sun." -

Probably one of my favorite lines in the history of songs.

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Brain Fizzies

There is this place.   It is called "The End of Greatness."

It is a place where.

Let me see if I can explain it, at least explain what I understand it to mean.

It is a place- subjective, of course, to the point of view of the observer- where one is looking so far into the distance of space that objects become indiscernible and the all of ever and everything simply melds together into a singular mass.  

I have seen it defined as all that which lies beyond our observable universe.  

"The so-called End of Greatness is where you give up trying to find more superlatives to describe large scale objects in the universe ....... Beyond the End of Greatness, it's best just to consider the universe as a holistic entity – and at this scale we consider it isotropic and homogenous." (Dome of the Sky)

In my lamest of lame attempts at wrapping my brain around what may as well be considered "functional infinity," I have discovered a couple of things.

1.  To even begin to entertain, no matter for how minutely of a nanosecond, that Earth is the only planet to host an intelligent species, and that human beings are truly alone in the Universe, is utterly ridiculous.  Laughable even.  

2.  Beyond a couple of generations, the vast percentage of individual human beings matter about as much as a solitary crumb in between your couch cushions, and you will have about as much impact on the world you leave behind. 

3.  The fact that we are destroying our planet and each other does not matter.  Our planet is one of millions.  Human beings are one of millions.  Perhaps even billions. 

4.  The Earth and we upon it lie in what millions of other intelligent lifeforms would consider their own "End of Greatness."  Outside of their observable universe.  Within that space where their universe is so vast that it morphs into a homogeneous blob.

I have heard the theory, idea, whatever batted around that there are certain ideas that are so big that they are not worth dwelling on.  Most especially the idea that there are multiple  universes, whether alternate or simply multiples.

And I have decided.

There are NO ideas that are too big to think about.

The bigger, the better, I say.

Bring on the brain fizzies.  Kind of like Coke and Pop Rocks.  Think, think, think.  FIZZZZ.

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From Words I Write

“From the ash of inception, our seeds accrete, destined to dance on strings of mothermemory, echoing in a timbre heard by we alone. Those are the strings that stretch to make space for consciousness to burst forth as the spawn desire built; those are the echoes of time you see through the doors."

~ a boy 


“Under darker matter far, the Wreekers see right where you are.  In the night, they steel you tight, your memories be the tongue they bite.” 

~ a girl 

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