SiTam~27/2/09~.......Me

Sitam~27/02/09~.....Me

........Me.

~~~~~~~~~

Please me.............with that tender touch, that loving glance.
Squeeze me.............into that purple velvet~lined box beside your heart.
Ease me.............into that space reserved for the few.

~~~~~~~~~

Cake me.............in that smearing of lust,
that smattering of understanding.
Take me.............safely through the annals of my memories.
Break me.............then rebuild me, a better, stronger me.

~~~~~~~~~

Gut me.............with your nonchalance.
Tut me.............with sufferance and indifference.
Cut me.............with your words,
your deeds,
.........your flipancy.

~~~~~~~~~

Blow me.............the bubbles of potential,
.........the maybes.
Throw me.............with those unexpected smiles of meloncholy.
Sew me.............into the lining of your soul,
.....never lost,
........never lost.

~~~~~~~~~

Play me.............at my own game.
Flay me.............Butterflied.............Exposed.
Say me.............and your Mother ever saw eye to eye.....

~~~~~~~~~

Gate me.............Hem me in for mine own safety.
Hate me.............those deserv~ed times aplenty,
.....Alas.
Plate me.............that 'lish'.....proffered with willing, 
waiting~for~that~time~again hands.

~~~~~~~~~

And lastly..............
Love that me that only you see.
As I love the you for mine eyes only.
Always.........

.........Always, your Ganika.

~~~~~~~~~

~For my Beautiful Boy, with the Soul of Rainbows~
~Valentines Day 2009~
~SiTam~

PinksterThe Great~27/02/09~If waiting for me......

PinksterThe Great~27/02/09~If waiting for me......

if waiting for me to love you is something you yearn for , 

well then your wasting your time. 

i am unable to love anything i havent give birth to.

you look at me with longing eyes and all that you see is the reflection of yours.

its an illusion. its farce and cruel. 

i try to show you the truth but your faith in my heart is unworthy.

i am a liar.

i lie to you , i lie to myself.

they say that soul mates are real. yet they fail to mention the loners.

the one meant to wonder, travel and muse others.

their strength lays within their solitude.

vain...it may seem. all it is what we dont want to say.

i know you know.

i know you know.

You only hold on to me cause it feels safe.

your in the lions den, even though you feel like i am a dove wrapping my pale wings around you.

protect you i will. 

hug you i will.

kiss you with my soft untruthful lips i shall.

nourish your soul with my body when you feel weak and jaded i will.

Give my heart to you ...i can not.

forgive me for intertwining my snake like fictions on your soft heart.

Mr Blonde~ORIGINAL SONGS~FEB 25 09

Original Songs by Mr Blonde (posted by Blondeshark)

~~~~~~~~~~

http://www.movieplex.org/showthread....ght=songs+stir

http://www.movieplex.org/showthread....s+stir&page=22

~~~~~~~~~~

Yester~Untitled:Part I

Yester~Untitled:Part I~FEB 19 09

I promised a story, but I'm really busy
so im posting it unfinished

i put quite a bit of work into this one 
intelligent audience and all that.

UNTITLED.

Jeffery thumbed a stubby digit into the ice and removed a lemon wedge. Holding it aloft he gulped the double, then bit into bitter. Grimacing the lemon flesh, he cast the rind from him where it tumbled dust and came to rest.

Marie sprang from her easel and rescued the precious rind from its mire. Scuttling back, to work in progress, she superglued the yellow reject to the amalgamation of paint, love and matter rot.

Jeffery pushed his monocle back on his bulbous (it wasn’t a monocle of course but his spectacles only had one lense and he enjoyed conceit)
“Marie” he bellowed.
Windows rattled, though that may have been the wind. 
Marie looked for something to hurt him with, finding instead a green forgotten peanut, which, she chewing gummed to her canvas in the place the sun might be.
“Marie” he bellowed again.
She purged him with a look, but he continued anyway.
“I’m going outside Marie”
Marie ran her finger over the canvas lemon rind field of yellow and sat and waited.
Jeffery watched her for a rancid moment, but she’d crossed her legs beneath her.
He’d seen her sit like that for days.
For a lustful moment he considered lofting his glass at her nirvana head, but it was his last one and his name was engraved on it in gold.
It was empty however and there wasn’t a refill in sight.
Taking exaggerated aim at his bird on a floor, he closed one eye and squinted marksman through his one good lense scope. Zooming in on her near ear he hefted crystal Jeffery with all his impotent might.
Without interrupting her zen Maria caught the vessel missile and placed it face down in the dust.
Jeffery wasn’t even surprised.
Summoning physic power that didn’t exist he prepped his bitter will to stop her heart when a pygmy movement caught the crusted jaundice of his left iris.
Marie saw it too.
The twitch of a whisker of a dirt brown, browner than the floor dust, courage of a, not a cat in sight, house mouse.
The exaggerated curious nose cut through her enlightenment and awoke her inner hunter/gatherer. One tribeswoman eye speared the mouse while the other, an artist scanned the canvas marking the barren spots where brown was sorely needed.

The inquisitor exploded mousey sneezezes clearing dust like a metor strike. Then recovered, trekked out in knee-deep dust-snow, clear nostrils leading it on to an unknown pole. Silent the humans watched the dusty artic adventurere venturing alone in the vast dustiness. The shackleton mouse scaled a mound of loose packed grit and reached the top unscathed although every pawfall threatened to send him spirialing to dust-filled doom. The mouse stood atop what may have been books, legless buried in forgotton dust up to its very body, like a doom worm with a nose. He raised himself up on hinds and sniffed the clearer air and the air cried peanut!

Marie shivered. She felt the breeze, sweep lost once around the room, then gone. And she heard the whisper on the breeze and broke from Zen and sat ready to embrace the art of war. Her cobwebed nostrils swelled with the promise of artic artistic prey and her master in piece lacked possibility without a patel of mouse.

Deep in his Attenbourough heart Jeffery felt the strains of impartial observer responsibility stir. He wracked his vaulted store of banked memory for precident, but the few brain snynapases that still fired were focused on a (the whiskey glass that lay beyond his reach) and b ( the hint of woman) Knowing that both were beyond his reach forever he made a dog of his desires and leashed it to the super post of his ego.

TO BE CONTINUED.................................................