They stood in the rain, as cliche as the beginning of the end of the affair can get.
The one morning in months where a clandestine kiss could commence. He roared up to the Queen-donuts in hand, 12 step alibi in the other. He was greeted with enthusiasm, her smile as bright and inviting as the grimaced frown from which he was repelled.
Although they both knew the fire was getting too hot, whats a little more fuel?? Its called "a BLAZE" of glory for a reason.....
How in the hell is this happening once again, they excused themselves over and over. It was familiar and frustrating, the internal arguments they had with themselves.
The Queen scolded, reminding herself of her previous bouts with lonesome. He countered to her in song, harmonic in his justifications. Mutual admiration turned easily to affection. Followed by attraction, undeniable in its arrival.
She thanked him for the pastries, her eyes sparkling at the sight of TWO honey buns nestled among the sprinkled chocolate cakes. He held her gaze, and her hands, pulling her with both eyes as his fists closed tight around her resisting embrace.
The raindrops falling, he hummed some lyrics, a bluesy chorus in her ear to remind her who he was and what she did for him, and who he made no apologies for.
As she ran back across the street, ducking between the sudden downpours, he sighed.
"I know that's how Clapton felt. He writes her Layla, and it didn't matter a bit to her."
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, December 20, 2010
THE GOOD SON from Delve into Twelve
My addiction was ill affording a man of my privilege. Of my parentage.
My drug use was an embarrassment to my mother, an insult to my father, and a distraction to my future. I refused to conform, dropping out of school and leaving the nest to catch up with manhood on my terms. No Ivy League degree, no private practice with Dad after Medical school, no grandchildren for my Mother.
My rebellion was borne of boredom, the boredom coming from such privilege throughout adolescence. I had been able to duck and dart for years, avoiding punishments to my detriment throughout my boyhood. Fostering a sense of entitlement, my father also groomed me to understand I would carry on his legacy, which seemed stifling and unnecessarily selfless. Medical school was contrary to my lack of ambition. I avoided responsibility under the guise of “finding myself.” My father’s illness mandated my return to the riches.
What was my plan? That was a good question.
My drug use was an embarrassment to my mother, an insult to my father, and a distraction to my future. I refused to conform, dropping out of school and leaving the nest to catch up with manhood on my terms. No Ivy League degree, no private practice with Dad after Medical school, no grandchildren for my Mother.
My rebellion was borne of boredom, the boredom coming from such privilege throughout adolescence. I had been able to duck and dart for years, avoiding punishments to my detriment throughout my boyhood. Fostering a sense of entitlement, my father also groomed me to understand I would carry on his legacy, which seemed stifling and unnecessarily selfless. Medical school was contrary to my lack of ambition. I avoided responsibility under the guise of “finding myself.” My father’s illness mandated my return to the riches.
What was my plan? That was a good question.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Looking for Love in all the wrong places.....again.
As we shook hands, she smiled at me a bit warmer. I had graduated, and my teacher held my gaze and hand as I thanked her upon completing my second attunement. Others milled about, and Ronda again approached me and asked if I had a moment alone.
I gushed for a few about how I was more normal now, how Reiki was moving my chakras in the right direction and such, yada yada. I was deeper, kinder and more honest & shit. She looked deep at me, and as I shook her hand, she HELD mine. It felt closer. I got cold, and SCARED.
”What are you looking for?”
I continued my sales pitch, highlighting how my job skills now would be so worthy as well as effective now that my Chi was all flowing & such.
She pressed, with her hand now closing over mine in mid shake. She began to tell me she herself had discovered her own abilities as a CLAIRVOYANT when she was a child. She divulged she was not only Reiki Queen of teachers, but also a practiced INTUITIVE. She was open to receive all methods of intuitive information daily, and as sensitive to others exclusive energies she was, it was impossible to deliver every single urge and impulse she was inundated with as she went about her day. It was on rare instances, she delicately shared with me, that she actually moved on information and not only deciphered what the messages were, but to then go about delivering said “clues” to the unsuspecting. She stopped me mid-Queen story, clearly not taken with my sudden self actualization and sales pitch.
“No, let me re-phrase that. WHO are you looking for?”
Who? I realized this was not a job interview. She knew something, and of all the skeletons and secrets sputtering about, I knew what SHE was going to know. The Bio-pop story. She was not to be challenged, and she had info direct from the universe, more credible to me than DNA-which I tend to afford its reliability.
She was in as far as I was concerned.
“Oh, come on, it’s no one,” I smirked when she asked again who I was looking for. Tears welled, and my usual verbal barrage was stuck, unable to move past the heartbeat pounding up against the rising lump in my throat. I felt sadness a second before I could stop it.
The BIO thingy. AGAIN. As compelled as I was to resolve this missing puzzle piece of my life, I meet the issue with frustration. I refuse to let all my divine existentialism be summated into a “little girl lost” defense, much less resort to suffering from lost daddy syndrome. I will just die if it turns out all my efforts actually do sum up to the search for a man.
“No, that is where you incorrect. My dear, on the contrary. He is the MOST SOMEONE someone could be. That is why you cannot FIND who it is you KNOW is there. He cannot be named, for who he is, nameless as it may be-is SOMEONE so critical to the happiness of everyone that he MUST stay unknown."
I gushed for a few about how I was more normal now, how Reiki was moving my chakras in the right direction and such, yada yada. I was deeper, kinder and more honest & shit. She looked deep at me, and as I shook her hand, she HELD mine. It felt closer. I got cold, and SCARED.
”What are you looking for?”
I continued my sales pitch, highlighting how my job skills now would be so worthy as well as effective now that my Chi was all flowing & such.
She pressed, with her hand now closing over mine in mid shake. She began to tell me she herself had discovered her own abilities as a CLAIRVOYANT when she was a child. She divulged she was not only Reiki Queen of teachers, but also a practiced INTUITIVE. She was open to receive all methods of intuitive information daily, and as sensitive to others exclusive energies she was, it was impossible to deliver every single urge and impulse she was inundated with as she went about her day. It was on rare instances, she delicately shared with me, that she actually moved on information and not only deciphered what the messages were, but to then go about delivering said “clues” to the unsuspecting. She stopped me mid-Queen story, clearly not taken with my sudden self actualization and sales pitch.
“No, let me re-phrase that. WHO are you looking for?”
Who? I realized this was not a job interview. She knew something, and of all the skeletons and secrets sputtering about, I knew what SHE was going to know. The Bio-pop story. She was not to be challenged, and she had info direct from the universe, more credible to me than DNA-which I tend to afford its reliability.
She was in as far as I was concerned.
“Oh, come on, it’s no one,” I smirked when she asked again who I was looking for. Tears welled, and my usual verbal barrage was stuck, unable to move past the heartbeat pounding up against the rising lump in my throat. I felt sadness a second before I could stop it.
The BIO thingy. AGAIN. As compelled as I was to resolve this missing puzzle piece of my life, I meet the issue with frustration. I refuse to let all my divine existentialism be summated into a “little girl lost” defense, much less resort to suffering from lost daddy syndrome. I will just die if it turns out all my efforts actually do sum up to the search for a man.
“No, that is where you incorrect. My dear, on the contrary. He is the MOST SOMEONE someone could be. That is why you cannot FIND who it is you KNOW is there. He cannot be named, for who he is, nameless as it may be-is SOMEONE so critical to the happiness of everyone that he MUST stay unknown."
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Dawn of a New Queen 2010 (Summer Repercussions)
Oh REALLY?? You are TIRED? It was exhausting to watch her? Try having to BE her. As I have had to for years.
Once again, The Queen was under fire. It looked as if she was fleeing, running away again after a bloody slashing of roses as she barreled past. Once again, and across the land, it was heard the orders for heads to roll.
She was eager to be heard this time, eager to defend her "honor" as it was mocked. Her own vested interests in such a love story? Well. this time it may be seen. Maybe it held weight, who she was in humor. Or better, in hindsight.
Just MAYBE she didn't have cloven hooves and a blackened heart.
Her simple, dwindling monarchy at hand, she eagerly met the ladies for lunch. The ladies felt pretty, happy and confident. The ladies all thought of an alliance, an out from the gossip and sludge. The trumpets were at hand, and the graciousness was genuine, heartfelt, and certainly exceeding in expectations. The date was a rollicking connection between the ladies at the table. All a little afraid of the truth.
And It hurt The Queen, this discord. In order to defend her own heart, she would be taken as a warrior of no reward or regard.
She was the vilified intrusion AGAIN. What she KNEW was a familiar dalliance had turned into a dangerous fracas. Dangerous in that the warfare would victimize the most innocent. The Queen was not only involved but indicted with no testimony.
Suffice a deposition would only render hurt on Her. She who was duly noted as the One. The One, The Queen was unmistakenably NOT.
The Queen was energetic and entertaining in her uninterrupted and finely tuned banter. Quick witted, easy to listen to and feel included in with. She was interested and instigating, you let her in and offered information easily. Many felt intruded upon, but what the ladies at the table felt was warm, funny, and true. Moreover, after decades of riot and reign, the ladies at the table knew when it was reciprocated. And the two were worrisome that the other was less villian than victim than hoped.
For the Queen to have also uncovered the attempted coup among her inner circle was crushing. Suggested and proven to within a doubt, The Queen felt powerless to the untruths already cemented. Alas, she was now in a quandary, as to fight or abdicate.
There turned no need for battle, for the two at the table broke bread in kind and kissed goodbye for now.
I see The Queen also wounded, which is rare. Noble and honest was she when it made her look a FOOL. She grudgingly gave a damn about the whole thing, including him.
Ugly and uncomfortable as the lunch was, it was also lovely. As the ladies left, I felt them pleasantly safe, yet heavily wrought.
Off with HIS head.
Once again, The Queen was under fire. It looked as if she was fleeing, running away again after a bloody slashing of roses as she barreled past. Once again, and across the land, it was heard the orders for heads to roll.
She was eager to be heard this time, eager to defend her "honor" as it was mocked. Her own vested interests in such a love story? Well. this time it may be seen. Maybe it held weight, who she was in humor. Or better, in hindsight.
Just MAYBE she didn't have cloven hooves and a blackened heart.
Her simple, dwindling monarchy at hand, she eagerly met the ladies for lunch. The ladies felt pretty, happy and confident. The ladies all thought of an alliance, an out from the gossip and sludge. The trumpets were at hand, and the graciousness was genuine, heartfelt, and certainly exceeding in expectations. The date was a rollicking connection between the ladies at the table. All a little afraid of the truth.
And It hurt The Queen, this discord. In order to defend her own heart, she would be taken as a warrior of no reward or regard.
She was the vilified intrusion AGAIN. What she KNEW was a familiar dalliance had turned into a dangerous fracas. Dangerous in that the warfare would victimize the most innocent. The Queen was not only involved but indicted with no testimony.
Suffice a deposition would only render hurt on Her. She who was duly noted as the One. The One, The Queen was unmistakenably NOT.
The Queen was energetic and entertaining in her uninterrupted and finely tuned banter. Quick witted, easy to listen to and feel included in with. She was interested and instigating, you let her in and offered information easily. Many felt intruded upon, but what the ladies at the table felt was warm, funny, and true. Moreover, after decades of riot and reign, the ladies at the table knew when it was reciprocated. And the two were worrisome that the other was less villian than victim than hoped.
For the Queen to have also uncovered the attempted coup among her inner circle was crushing. Suggested and proven to within a doubt, The Queen felt powerless to the untruths already cemented. Alas, she was now in a quandary, as to fight or abdicate.
There turned no need for battle, for the two at the table broke bread in kind and kissed goodbye for now.
I see The Queen also wounded, which is rare. Noble and honest was she when it made her look a FOOL. She grudgingly gave a damn about the whole thing, including him.
Ugly and uncomfortable as the lunch was, it was also lovely. As the ladies left, I felt them pleasantly safe, yet heavily wrought.
Off with HIS head.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Summer 2010 taking her sweet ass time....
"She's on her way, I promise."
"ANY MINUTE, she KNOWS we are waiting."
"If she flakes, I am SOOOOO OVER IT for GOOD. "
Looky, there! She kinda snuck in, what with the shenanigans around her-right under our weariness. Such a diva bitch! You are LATE! IT IS ABOUT time YOU SHOWED UP.
I haven't missed a summer in over 20 years. And I have at least a baker's dozen cupcakes tucked around me in the tasty pack of girls I got left. Join me, won't you?
"ANY MINUTE, she KNOWS we are waiting."
"If she flakes, I am SOOOOO OVER IT for GOOD. "
Looky, there! She kinda snuck in, what with the shenanigans around her-right under our weariness. Such a diva bitch! You are LATE! IT IS ABOUT time YOU SHOWED UP.
I haven't missed a summer in over 20 years. And I have at least a baker's dozen cupcakes tucked around me in the tasty pack of girls I got left. Join me, won't you?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
1999-ish Sober Mother Fuckers
Once Donnie had a toehold, the Compound began to lose its Girl Power.
The Artist moved in her boyfriend, who brought two cats and a truckload of SMF grief. With the Compound settling down, The SMF’S stepped in as the law of the land. They worked most of the time, but each had a certain charm. Her SMF could get anyone into any gig. But greet him too eagerly and he would scowl back at even the cheeriest of good mornings. Not one of us girls had enough guts to swindle him for anything. His militant sobriety quieted the Compound, of which housed a handfull of relapsing SMFs who lurked and leered from the blinds.
After the band breakup we rallied round The Norwegian. She was chaste and virginal and playing drums in an all-girl punk band afforded her some danger. She took comfort in the form of a new best friend, a great three legged kitten named Hector. Then she falls in love. With the highest of profiles, qualifying his tenancy. His presence was incessant and entertaining, his debauchery countering the SMF’S stoicism.
The Artist throws in the towel and leaves the SMF boyfriend. He is now grudgingly single, and to our horror, he stays on at the Compound. He rents the tiny living room to yet another SMF, an easier one to love. He had a 13 year stint of sobriety that he seemed to white knuckle through daily. In his lanky deliciousness, the nearness of him was electric-even at its most platonic. His band was scary, and his girlfriend was a goddess of goth in her day. We were a little star struck, and to our amazement she would join in with us girls as if she was one of us instead of the punk chanteuse we knew her to be. Weekends we shared slumber party duties with our daughters.
The Compound grew, thinned and melded into a familiar, Long Beach fable, with faces and connections and anecdotes aplenty.
The Artist moved in her boyfriend, who brought two cats and a truckload of SMF grief. With the Compound settling down, The SMF’S stepped in as the law of the land. They worked most of the time, but each had a certain charm. Her SMF could get anyone into any gig. But greet him too eagerly and he would scowl back at even the cheeriest of good mornings. Not one of us girls had enough guts to swindle him for anything. His militant sobriety quieted the Compound, of which housed a handfull of relapsing SMFs who lurked and leered from the blinds.
After the band breakup we rallied round The Norwegian. She was chaste and virginal and playing drums in an all-girl punk band afforded her some danger. She took comfort in the form of a new best friend, a great three legged kitten named Hector. Then she falls in love. With the highest of profiles, qualifying his tenancy. His presence was incessant and entertaining, his debauchery countering the SMF’S stoicism.
The Artist throws in the towel and leaves the SMF boyfriend. He is now grudgingly single, and to our horror, he stays on at the Compound. He rents the tiny living room to yet another SMF, an easier one to love. He had a 13 year stint of sobriety that he seemed to white knuckle through daily. In his lanky deliciousness, the nearness of him was electric-even at its most platonic. His band was scary, and his girlfriend was a goddess of goth in her day. We were a little star struck, and to our amazement she would join in with us girls as if she was one of us instead of the punk chanteuse we knew her to be. Weekends we shared slumber party duties with our daughters.
The Compound grew, thinned and melded into a familiar, Long Beach fable, with faces and connections and anecdotes aplenty.
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