First paragraph of a new novella

"What beautiful diamonds you have," he said before slicing off her head. The necklace dropped neatly into his waiting hand, the one not holding a knife. The head thudded quietly onto the ground. Its cushion of black hair was still immaculately coiffed.


~ ~ ~

a story of the rise and fall of two characters over the course of ten nights


.

Drawers

We all have secret lives.

Secret parts of ourselves, kept in secret places, like drawers that reach into the dusty dark and keep your fingers grasping like knobbly ghosts.

People are so surprised when we show these parts of ourselves. But why? Don't we all have hidden sides? Stories to tell that are never told?

Sometimes, these places are not very secret at all. Now we can stow them away all over the web -- where strangers may peruse your pictures and words in the safety of anonymity, while we do the same with theirs.

There is comfort in not knowing each other prior to this instant. There is wonder, delight, disdain, disappointment, nonchalance, ignition, mutual passion -- but we remain strangers. We can enjoy each others' company free of baggage; free of the past. In the moment, nothing else matters.

Secret lives are lonely lives. But in some ways they are also a joy.

To invite someone you know well (in your main sphere of life) into your hidden places is to extend the friendship to intimate new levels. But you don't always have to extend the invitation.

At this secret party, people can invite themselves. They can pop by unnoticed, surprising you, surprising themselves; by thinking that they knew you and finding out they were wrong.

So who leads the party? Who holds the key to the drawers? Was there ever a key?

And who do we trust with it?



~

The Beauty of Sarcasm

Here is a story about a Mexican fisherman; classic chain-email material. It's a story with a great ending. What's just as great is a reply from one of the readers immediately after.

Link here

And the pasted text here:

An investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna.

The banker complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them.

The Mexican replied, "Only a little while."

The banker then asked why didn't he stay out longer and catch more fish?

The Mexican said he had enough to support his family's immediate needs.

The banker then asked, "But what do you do with the rest of your time?"

What Matters Most? (aside from bad & cliched stock images?)

The Mexican fisherman said, "I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life."

The investor scoffed, "I am an Ivy League MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, and eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. "

The investor continued, "And instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would then sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution! You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise."

The Mexican fisherman asked, "But how long will this all take?"

To which the banker replied, "Perhaps 15 to 20 years."

"But what then?" asked the Mexican.

The banker laughed and said, "That's the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions!"

"Millions. Okay, then what?" wondered the Mexican.

To which the investment banker replied, "Then you would retire. You could move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, and stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos."



[And the reply....]

Matthew Gonzalez:

Ohmigod. I never knew how happy I was being dirt poor! Thank you, intenseexperiences.com, for showing me how exciting and fulfilling a life of destitute poverty can really be! Truly, you have shown me the way.

~

for my grandfather

~


Where have I put my memories?
The same place as my dentures?
Where have I put the keys
To those dusty little drawers?

What is the time, familiar face?
I know you; or knew you. Didn’t I?
What year is it, friend or stranger?
Didn’t I use to be a dancer?

Where are the scattered brain cells
My body has forgotten?
Why is my mind locked out of my head?
Is it lost or simply dead?

Each day feels old and used before
Like long, recycled stories.
Where did I put my dentures?
The same place as my memories?



~

Malfunction

The steel maw sung in a discordant bray as the softly lit Down arrow invited passers-by to step in. Innocuous, a slow hulking thing in pain, yet menacing with its mechanical scream.

_

An Encounter

The taste of curry and cloves was still fresh on my tongue as his gaze shot through me like hot silk. He wasn’t even looking at me, but his sharp features that seemed to come from another land stole the sanity from my nerves. A flash of attraction in a chapatti shop; what were the gods of lust smoking?

~ ~

"It's like your first taste of vindaloo
That sets your heart on fire
And if you let the stuff get into you
It will be all that you desire

God, I love the sweet taste of India
Lingers on the tip of my tongue;
Gotta love the sweet taste of India
Blame it on the beat of the drum."

* * * * * *
We are creatures of lust. If we weren't, none of us would be.
Serpent 8:66



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Lyrics of the day.

Touch.

Touch in the flame's desires
Feeling the pain's denial,
And your fingers in the fire

Look:

Look in the candle light
See in the flame of life
And my spell is our lie

Taste the love,
The Lucifer's magic that makes you numb
The passion and all the pain are one,
You're sleeping in the fire
Taste the love,
The Lucifer's magic that makes you numb
You feel what it does and you're drunk on love,
You're sleeping in the fire

I gaze at the flame and fire burn
And cry out the name of which I yearn

Taste the love.
The Lucifer's magic that makes you numb
The passion and all the pain are one.
You're sleeping in the fire.

-

Why do these two songs

seem strangely and delightfully similar? :)


Winnie the Pooh 2011 - The Backson














listen here (embedding disabled because Fuck You copyright Nazis)








Lovin' the dark-ish minor key on both. Well-crafted, awesome melodies.


~