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He had forgotten something very important. But he couldn't remember what the devil it was. He took another sip from his drink to see if that would help. Of course it didn't.
Then in swept his wife. Furious. Storm clouds gathered. Thunder rolled. Lightening flashed. His drink sloshed around in its confines - in terror.
wife: Who is this woman you are having an affair with! And don't try to lie I know all about it! There is lipstick all over your collar. Peach! I never wear peach lipstick! Is your whore a junior high school student still on twaining wheels?
mmmmmm peach. That's right! Now he remembered those sexy full lips. So kissable. ooooo and that tongue. So hot. So skilled.
wife: That's not all! There are threads all over your shirt too! Black silk! Nothing I have is like that. And it reeks of some horrid perfume.
Ah yes. That smoking-hot lingerie. Now he remembered lots of things. Breasts peaking out. So shapely. So lovely. Legs to die for. He remembered those wrapped tight round him. mmmmm and her scent. Not just that wild perfume. mmmmmm and how she tasted too.
He drooled a little...
*slap*
wife: Pay attention you! I even know her name. L0lita. You talk in your sleep you rat. Over and over with that. So fucking annoying. Who is she? Where did you meet her?
The last piece of the puzzle. L0lita! Of course. Smiles broke out all over him.
He scooped up his wife. Gave her a passionate kiss and whooshed out the door. Running to the arms of the hot hot L0lita.
*he sits in a funk in the study, his face drawn into a frown of supressed anger, staring at the door*
"Dagwood Sith ... you come out of there and greet our guests!"
"Bah, guests ... more like locusts descending on Mormons" he mutters, tightening his long thin arms around himself.
"Dagwood, REALLY, sometimes I just don't understand you."
"Blondie, I do NOT want to speak to them. I'm staying in here as long as they grunt and wheeze and snort and dig through my truffles!" He *giggles* to himself picturing them all on the grill, 'fucking Sith chops.' His stomach growls and his mouth drools as the image enforces the hunger he's feeling.
'Hmmm' he thinks. "Be right there darling!" he shouts, picking up his light sabre and, tugging at his cowlick, moving to open the locked study door. Quote
1,030 words, count back 25, add 12, add possessives, remove one, re-read, touch my sentiments here and there, 'Is that TOO much? Or just enough?' Will readers feel it? Will they understand the sub-text. Will she ever see me there? Soften the photograph here and there, yes, the magic, the magic, ohhhh yes. Count the hours, so many, and at its finish, I will feel there was a rush and it cannot possibly carry me to her for more than a moment. Will it be swept away? Stay? Check the same citation twelve times. Damn it, that link doesn't work properly, adjust, surrender, write my own thoughts and suppositions. Check the time, the weather. Clouds leading into rain. Beginning when? Wet again and bare beneath an obscured moon. Welcome warmth in the cold? If memory serves, and ohhh its so ragged now, the moon need not be visible for a binding to occur. 1200 words, far far too long. Delete that entirely, yes, it's lost nothing; stare at the photo, if only she were close enough to join in a circle of two. Visit the willow and embrace it. Stand quietly and watch the last of the autumn butterflies hover over the purple florets, Buddleja davidii 'Evil Ways'(Scrophulariaceae) chosen for its attractions, but such a perfect name to a surround of my casting place. The last of the summer's blooms, the last of the season’s butterflies, so y'oung and small, it will never live for long.
Pulling at my hair, worry and doubt reign.
__________ . __________
1,030 words, count back 25, add 12, add possessives, remove one, re-read, touch my sentiments here and there, 'Is that TOO much? Or just enough?' Will readers feel it? Will they understand the sub-text. Will she ever see me there? Soften the photograph here and there, yes, the magic, the magic, ohhhh yes. Count the hours, so many, and at its finish, I will feel there was a rush and it cannot possibly carry me to her for more than a moment. Will it be swept away? Stay? Check the same citation twelve times. Damn it, that link doesn't work properly, adjust, surrender, write my own thoughts and suppositions. Check the time, the weather. Clouds leading into rain. Beginning when? Wet again and bare beneath an obscured moon. Welcome warmth in the cold? If memory serves, and ohhh its so ragged now, the moon need not be visible for a binding to occur. 1200 words, far far too long. Delete that entirely, yes, it's lost nothing; stare at the photo, if only she were close enough to join in a circle of two. Visit the willow and embrace it. Stand quietly and watch the last of the autumn butterflies hover over the purple florets, Buddleja davidii 'Evil Ways'(Scrophulariaceae) chosen for its attractions, but such a perfect name to a surround of my casting place. The last of the summer's blooms, the last of the season’s butterflies, so y'oung and small, it will never live for long.
Pulling at my hair, worry and doubt reign.
Yes, the reader will feel it. Do not delete, repeat do not delete!!!
__________ . __________
The chamber falls into the deepest of expectant hushes... a commanding figure takes the dais:
Robespierre: Ah fellow members of the Committee... I stand before you once again with a single thought prominent in my mind... A single image... Whose time has come for the realization...
The room tenses. One side salivating. The other trembling.
Robespierre: Puppies citizens. A basket of warm fuzzy puppies in the sun.
Gasps. A murmer runs through the room.
Robespierre: Their little eyes closed. Noses in each other's fur. Waiting for their next happy meal. From the same litter. The true meaning of fraternity. Solidarity. Feeling safe, completely safe from all threats. Just enjoying life... happily savoring it.
Nervous eyes dart back and forth. A half smile touches the occaisonal face but then dives back into hiding.
Robespierre: Do you feel like puppies citizens? Is France one basket full of warm cuddly bodies expecting nothing but good things?
Ahhh "here it comes" they thought now. Saliva. Trembling. Normality restored.
The speaker paused. His eyes, did they have a twinkle? Was he suppressing a smile?
We will never know. For then a messenger came in and handed him a note.
Robespierre: (to messenger) She did, did she? What a fool I've been.
Robespierre: (eyes flashing) Well citizens you are not pupppies! You are surrounded on all sides by armies from inbred monarchs who desire nothing but to rechain you to the land. To strip you of all freedoms. And to take the very life from many in this room.
Robespierre: And your fellow citizens are not pushing their warm noses into your fur! No, many are agents of these monarchs who betray their siblings, betray, oh it curdles the milk of the soul, the Revolution itself! Who betray France in her greatest time of need!
Robespierre: You must learn to see these puppies as they are. See them with the all seeing eyes of a responsible citizen of the Republic. And be even more ruthless in repayment of their playing like curs to your hearts... hearts that must swell with nothing but patriotism and not a misguided sentimentality for alien beings who dream of nothing but your destruction.
Robespierre: (clutching a piece of paper to his breast) I have here a list. A list that will open your drowsy eyes. A list that will make you leap into action and leave that sunny basket forever.
Robespierre: (turning away) But no. I am disrupting your nap. I will sit back down and let you sleep.
The Crowd: Tell us! Give us the names!
And so it went. A dreadful fork in the road. All by one man's unfortunate reaction to a basket of puppies from his love.
I had a small narrow tall fairy tales book as a ch'ild. It had a cover picture of a y0ung b0y in his bed, ill and at home I always thought. In my memory he has red hair, but it might have been brown. The quilt upon his bed gradually transforms in the illustration, into fields and forests, and a lake; with a castle, and dragons flying. There's a giant walking the land, and birds, and animals in the forest, and a damsel, and a small village, and clouds and birds, and the image is blurry for the rest; but i remember a road with an old man in a cart being drawn by his horse.
It was an old old book, and the covers were worn even when I had received it from my maiden aunt Mae's gnarled hand. Mae is another story that will probably never be writ; you all would have loved her as I did. She enjoyed having fun so very much. But love had failed her, and so, I was her only one. I was six, when she handed me the book; and still in bed with a cold, on a visit to my grandmother's ancient home. She came early, the sun just up, the house cold and the floors creaking from it. She knew there were other things wrong with me, she always knew how I moved inside myself; others never did. Even now only a very few do. She gave me the book and I stared at the cover, the b0y's face there, glowed with surprise at what his quilt had become, was becoming.
The book was filled by the stories on the cover, I remember none of them, but all of them. They were all so similar, I realized as I read. Transformation through love. Salvation through that transformation. They were small simple stories, not the long involved fictions of writing, and life, that I find myself lost in and loving now. But for my burrowed mind and heart at six, that world on the cover, and what it concealed became everything.
The book is lost now, gone in some move, or tossed away, or boxed and donated, or left on some bench or under some tree at some point in my quiet lonely years growing. I miss that cover, though it is here in my memory; the b0y in the bed, the glow on his face, the bed with its headboard brown penned and in brown wash. The white pillow propped behind his back. The quilt where his knees are become mountains with snow on the caps, and clouds and birds, the lake around where the lumps of his feet are, the tiny village, the forests green and shadowed dark, the fields some plowed some green with new growth, the giant who smiles, the small brown road wrapping its way, the old man in the cart with his brown and white bay. The transformation and the dragon, the damsel.
The summer has flowed by us my love; before winter's wan suns and tortured temps, a final act for us alone, I gather flowers, herbs, and sweet scented verve to decorate your soul.
The flower symbolism associated with the daisy is purity, innocence, loyal love, beauty, patience and simplicity. Daisies are often depicted in meadows in medieval paintings, also known as “flowery mead." Daisies are believed to be more than 4,000 years old and hairpins decorated with daisies were found during the excavation of the Minoan Palace on the Island of Crete.
[Living Arts Originals: http://livingartsoriginals.com/flower-daisy.htm]
__________ . __________
 
Rue Two – Snapdragons and Thyme
Snapdragons are an old decorative flower, which was already known to the Romans. From genetic center around southern Spain the cultivated form was spread throughout the whole Roman empire. Nowadays remnants of this original population which all belong to the species Antirrhinum majus are found among Roman remains like temples.
Legend has it that concealing a snapdragon makes a person appear fascinating and cordial, and in the language of flowers, snapdragons are said to represent both deception (perhaps tied to the notion of concealment) and graciousness.
“And she appeared in the sky, riding upon a great dragon, and she descended to rescue me. I mounted behind her, and my legs were locked firmly around her, where she sat on her beast. My breasts were pressed hard against her back; and we escaped, into wide, blue sky, my lover and I. Leaning into her, with my arms wrapped tight, I listened as the great beast’s wings, swept the air thunderously, the sound of clean washed sheets, snapped and floating over my love’s bed.”
Many say the modern genus name, Thymus, comes from the Greek thymos (also spelled thumos), which embodies the Greek concept of “spiritedness,” indicating courage. Others say Thymus comes from the Greek word meaning “to fumigate.” The ancient Greeks would compliment someone by saying that they smelled of thyme. They burned thyme incense in their temples, used sprigs of thyme to preserve wine and fruit, drank thyme tea to prevent nightmares, and grew thyme to nourish their beehives and provide them with a well-known scented honey that is still made on Mount Hymettus today as it was thousands of years ago.
In A Midsummer Night's Dream, Shakespeare wrote that Titania, the Queen of the Faeries, often went to "a bank whereon the wild thyme blows," committing to history the old English tradition that patches of thyme were favorite playgrounds of faeries. Carl Linnaeus, the founder of the modern botanical nomenclature system, recommended a tea of thyme to cure hangovers and headaches. At the turn of the last century, author Rudyard Kipling wrote of "our close-bit thyme that smells/Like dawn in Paradise."
 
Rue Three – Sunflower, Ba’by’s Breath, Lilies and Rosemary
I pull my skirts up creating a soft sunlit sling and place the picked beauty within. I think of you and I each day, wondering at this loss, and where you stay. This rue will smell and seemly so, of joy, hope, and memory’s pain, of how separation passes, so slow, where here I lay.
Sunflower - a flower of spiritual attainment, flexibility, and opportunity. They are also symbolic of good luck, wealth and ambition.
Moore, describing its faithful constancy, says-
“the sunflower turns on her god when he sets/ The same look which she did when he rose”
Shakespeare
“The flower, enamored of the sun, / At his departure hangs her head and weeps, / And shrouds her sweetness up, and keeps / Sad vigils, like a cloistered nun, / Till his reviving ray appears,/ Waking her beauty as he dries her tears”
Ba’by’s Breath - everlasting love, purity of heart, innocence, sincerity
This innocence is brilliance, I hope that it will stay
This moment is perfect, please don't go away, I need you now
And I'll hold on to it, don't you let it pass you by
It's the state of bliss you think you're dreaming
It's the happiness inside that you're feeling
It's so beautiful it makes you wanna cry
Innocence (Avril Lavigne)
Lilies - Red lilies are both elegant and exotic flowers. They inspire feelings of passionate love and desire, maiden charms. Red lilies stand for the most beautiful feeling in this world - love. They are a symbol of warmth and desire.
Pedaling through
The dark currents
I find
An accurate copy
A blueprint
Of the pleasure
In me
Swirling black lilies totally ripe
A secret code carved
Swirling black lilies totally ripe
A secret code carved
Bjork – Pagan Poetry
Rosemary – remembrance, memories
LAERTES
This nothing's more than matter.
OPHELIA
There's rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray,
love, remember: and there is pansies. That’s for thoughts.
LAERTES
A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted.
(Shakespeare, Hamlet Act 4 scene V)
__________ . __________
 
Rue Four and Final Binding
Merry meet, and merry part, offered here the binding thoughts.
Met with humor, and desire, we burn this friendship, final pyre.
Merry met, and merry hearts, a woven spell to finish partings.
Some are wholesome, some are willed, some are saddened, some will k’ill.
Moon in this month, harvest’s friend; when full its circles, a long due end.
Willow – Love forsaken
“The Willow is the tree most associated with the moon, water, the Goddess and all that is feminine. It is the tree of dreaming, intuition and deep emotions. Symbolically it belongs to the beginning of spring, when all of life is stirring in the depths and begins to shoot outwards once again ... The willow has always been known as a tree of dreaming and enchantment, and it was associated in Celtic legend with poets and with spells of fascination and binding. This is the willow moon energy, which puts us in touch with our feelings and deep emotions, and it is the ability of the willow to help us to express these, let them out, own them and charge them in fantastical leaps of inspired eloquence and understanding … Willow's weeping stance reflects its association with grief. By wearing a piece of willow (as in the popular song "All around my hat I will wear the green willow") a person will be able to access all the levels of grief connected with a loss, and be able to move through all these different levels, expressing the whole deep emotional experience, to gain healing and inner strength.”
(The Power of the Willow Tree, Glennie Kindred)
Chrysanthemum – In some parts of Europe chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and are only used for funerals or on graves - similarly, in China, and Japan white chrysanthemums are symbolic of lamentation or grief. In some other countries, it represents honesty.
A symbol of the sun, the Japanese consider the orderly unfolding of the chrysanthemum’s petals to represent perfection, and Confucius once suggested they be used as an object of meditation. It’s said that a single petal of this celebrated flower placed at the bottom of a wine glass will encourage a long and healthy life.
Purple - the color of power, good judgment and spiritual fulfillment, stimulates peace of mind, both warm and cool, ceremony, dignity, pride, success, respect and admiration.
Red - can symbolize many things; from blood, to love, to infatuation. Basically red symbolizes strong emotions, or things of strong emotions rather than intellectual ideas. For example, red can symbolize excitement, energy, speed, strength, danger, passion, and aggression.
According to Henry Dreyfus, it is popularly felt that red, the color of blood and fire, represents life and vitality. Red also signifies the color of the sun: a symbol of energy, radiating its vitalizing life-force into human beings. Red is also looked upon as a sensual color, and can be associated with man's most profound urges and impulses.
Fern - Favored plant of the pixies, ancient knowledge and archaism, magic, fascination, sincerity towards others, confidence, shelter, discretion, reverie and a secret bond of love.
There’s daisies at first, our innocence and thrall, look back at you a brunette, and me a blonde, maiden to each other, and through it all a rue, at failed loyalty, impatience, mine. And you will clasp it sadly with the loss of that novelty and newness, that lack of time.
Next are royal red dragons; for you, so gracious in your welcome; but both of us wedded in deception. Yours more apparent, mine shyly concealed, ‘til love lead to reveal. And there’s Thyme, more for you than I, sweet herb of strength, you so brave, and I with fear, did engage this past year. You took courage, from my songs; my madness gave you bravery, not wrong; while I spent hours in its scent, fallen victim to Pixies, wondering where you went.
Sunflower, a God’s worshiping daughter, for us both your strength and health my loving concern, my happiness yours. All eyes followed us, as we traveled together, our moods shifting like roiled weather. And over those months the sunlight failed, clouds and darkness, our dipping hearts railed. Here’s lilies, our desired flower; one for you and one for me, see their red and narrow throats, with gold inside, our loving hopes. Never pressed, held far apart, became instead our broken hearts.
Baby’s Breath, such wealth of white; softness, tenderness and innocence each night. Everlasting love, my true plight. There’s much of it here, for both of us; let’s cling fast to it, longer lasting than lust. Oh willow, our tree, our hiding place, our concealed souls, I’ll dance beneath it while time unfolds.
And now I dance beneath this Moon, and bind you fast, forget these rues.
Take up your life, and step away, free yourself, and love each day.
I bind you tight beneath this willow, while you rest soft upon your pillows.
Let haze besot your memory, forget the pain, forget all of me.
Keep all the Good, let loose the Bad, feel only charms, of love once had.
I bind you full, to health and love, beneath my Moon, so high above.
Hope, happiness, strength and innocence, charms and friends, lack of pretense.
Bound you now, for all of time, bound you now, forget you were mine.
And I will change, by Magic’s grace, be born again, with different face.
Colors changed, and forms retired, like autumn’s leaves, new attire.
Gather now, pixies, faeries; escort my princess, heart free of that she carried.
And I will sleep beneath my Willow, my soft hair, soft folded, golden pillow.
Ophelia’s Mad Scene, Part 1: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hwJ8_mBeiQ&feature=related
Ophelia’s Mad Scene, Part 2: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iFlBZLNm6g&feature=related
Death of Ophelia Act 4 - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOuRbJrwLzQ&NR=1
There are hundreds of Youtube links for different Ophelia portrayals, productions, media, and poetry, a truly awesome wonder world of music and images; there should be no wonder then, that I, in these moments of parting choose expression in this dance and mood.
Hmmm yes I see the vague outlines of a Truth in the mist. Let me see if this semi-evolved simian can grasp it before it vanishes.
Human history seems to point to a paradox in government. Many have tried to articulate it. The dubious individual that feels compelled to lead his nation, is often the least qualified to. To gain power he must exaggerate, play upon fears, make false promises, or any other combination of awful things. Things that conflict with what is beneficial to a society.
He is not by nature a thinker. He is not by nature honest. He is not even a leader. He senses where the crowd wants to go, jogs out ahead and tries to appear to be in the lead. Always casting his glance back to see which direction the people are going.
The governments founded on the most cynicism with respect to their ruler seem to fare best to me. Governments with checks and balances as some call them. Term limits. Oversight committees. Distribution of powers.
But so to with the norms and values in a society. Having a healthy mistrust of those who feel that they know best what your values ought to be. Distrusting limitations to personal freedom under any guise.
How do you measure and judge when freedoms have been too restricted? It seems clear to me that you simply have to look for some obvious excess, some real flouting of the laws and values. Where people in great numbers appear to be acting hypocritically. For people who feel they have lost control of their society, who cannot keep it from acting in what they perceive to be a rational manner, will simply rebel in a very obvious way.
A large, disturbing value for this simple and fairly obvious metric I bet you all can see in a number of places near you. At work, school, and for real whoppers of examples: in history. So as obvious and simple as a need for this kind of balance is, it seems we are continually rebelling in some sphere of our existence.
I suppose that the degree of mischief changes. I am glad for example that none of my life was during our Prohibition. The idea that my fellow man would make me face life continually sober is horrifying to me. On many levels. Yet even in this modern age, in intellectual deserts and backwaters in my country you will find it difficult to acquire a good, healthy shot of spirits. And all because of a great difficulty for some clumps of humans to strike a reasonable balance in their lives between competing concerns.
Sooooooooo... here's a toast with the Devil's brew to all your rebelling this day.
Oh this is clearly a subjective conclusion that I cannot accept without some empirical justification. I mean if you take this as an axiom for some great system I can't begin to imagine all the conundrums you will find yourself in. The logical train will veer off the tracks.
First we need some definitional set up.
Plums = tiny female boobies. As in "you can touch my cherry but don't you touch my plums."
Are: No great objection to this. The meaning seems straightforward enough. No flag on the play. But I am from a very loose school in this area.
delicious = To put this on firm empirical footing I think it will be sufficient to characterize the physiological response to a pleasurable stimulus. Of course this does bring in the hidden constraint, in my system, of " to me" or "to this observer in particular" So long as you do not go for the ultimate, the universal, I think we could take this tack successfully.
Of course there is also the notion of time that has to be brought in. When you were a baby you might not have enjoyed this particular thing. Who knows what the future brings too I suppose. You really have captured a transitory experience in a few very short utterances. My applause for great brevity.
But did you convey the intended meaning? You are not talking about the fruit are you? I would rule that out using my order of precedence operations of analysis by the fact that this is a porn site and the boobies interpretation must take precedence over the grocery store argument. But the lack of additional input does jar me with some dissonant uncertainty about the ... ouvre of the auditory experience we are resonating to.
My years of experience as an editor and critic will surely serve me well now. Nobody but a professional should be allowed to snatch meaning from the mind of a pithy genius.
Our master is clearly writing in installments. Building upon his great theme.
It is hard at this point of the work to judge the era that our hero is in. But it is clear that he has many great hurdles to overcome on the way to the final resolution. One has to marvel at the rapid characterization that has been done. You already have a strong identification with the protagonist in this the second chapter. It is clear we will not be able to put this one down until the rip roaring conclusion.
The oyster / liver connection was first made by the ancient Babylonians it is true. But this metaphore is still as powerful and compelling as it ever was. It works even better in English it is true because of the possibility of the 'lisping r' interpretation that brings in a whole other set of issues and implications. The poor Babylonians had a much more limited field and smaller set of literary references to build upon.
There is something fresh, compelling, and exciting about watching a work slowly create itself. To watch a master spin his magical web. We are blessed to be present during the creation phase itself.
So once again let's inspire our artist with a and a heartfelt Quote
Ahhhhh who cannot be struck, reading this, with the power of the English language?
Notice that the simple lack of an apostrophe keeps Rodolpho free and clear of the charge of molesting as well as gives a firm conclusion to things instead of trailing off into some suspenseful, resolution needing, cliff hanger.
Notice too that the craftsman we call the author is free to choose the precise sense of wandering about to convey mood. The sentence contains a scene. Even before considering the subject. Mists. Rains. Meese. Ducks. Tension. Foreboding.
He must be in England this poor wanderer. Why poor? It is clear his wandering is restless, fitful.
Ah and the choice of name for the character. It brings either a sense of the past or a sense of the foreign and mysterious given the bland backdrop of the fetid marshes of some lonely empty space.
Yes. The stage is set. Rapid fire plot development can commence or... yes... perhaps a twist... interesting...
We've got a game one. He's not showing his cards yet. Keeping the reader off his guard. Brilliant I tell you. Controlled brilliance.
Again, tho is becoming common through repetition: Quote
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