3am Musings~24/04/09~Blondeshark

Its 3 am and I'm a little fuzzy but came for a slice of soul pie and found other vagabonds here thankfully so you will have to endure my little ditty thing that just swept over me while gazing unfocused at this pic

~Blondeshark~

Monsters Prefer Blondes 

With garnet locks I will prevail - 

With cunning Fox ... my full of grace, luckbringer. 

In, but not of ...... this world. 

An abstract existence in orange glow ... creatively foxtrotting in faith with caretrodden, supernatural, mossy paths followed. 

Halting, to sniff the air, looking keenly into eyes ... that appear ... and always longing for a warm den with multiple exits, and four or more paws entwined with mine   

I am the vixen wild 'n' free !!!

In neither Life nor Death, will they capture me?

Adventures in Poverty #2 {04/24/09} By FilmHeroin

Adventures in Poverty #2 {04/24/09} By FilmHeroin

Lately, my dreams are filled with images of destruction.

Last night, Again, I watched...Silently...as flames consumed everything around me.

Dream Dictionaries list simple symbolisms.....to explain.....to define. Destruction. Anger. Transformation.

I wonder, though. Some say that it is during our sleep- The Dream Time- when we are able to receive needed messages...From the dead.....From the gods and goddesses.....From ourselves- past and future.

I wonder. 

I wonder if our other "dreams"- those wishes, lofty goals, and hopes that keep us going...during those darkest of dark nights of the soul- also send messages to us.....When we have no choice but to listen. 

Maybe.....Sometimes.....A hope or a wish comes to say "Goodbye."

Maybe.....Sometimes.....A Hope or a Wish knows when to abandon ship- like rats foreshadowing the sinking of a supposedly unsinkable battleship. But, maybe they still feel a sense of loss.....of potential.....of what could have been or should have been. So, just like us, they seek some small comfort...within the closure of a heartfelt goodbye. 

Awake...My stubborn human-self would have none of it. I know that I would over-intellectualize, pitifully dramatize, and loudly self-aggrandize. Anything. Anything.....Anything to just not hear that faint whisper: "It's Over. Goodbye."

Asleep. Dreaming. I'm powerless to do anything except watch and listen. 

Are my dreams forcing me to witness a ritualistic funeral pyre.....that burns away the very last part of me that still believes in them?

Do hopes and wishes say "Goodbye" through a language of flame, heat, and destruction? 

Do they flare wildly.....and consume completely.....before they leave you?.....Before they're born again.....As the faint spark within another?

Jadzea33~22/03/09~..............all alone,

I sit in the dark, all alone.

It is not quiet here.
There are too many screams for that.
from my past they come haunting me
never allowing me peace.
binding my future, keeping me in this place.
I don't know how to silence them, keep them in my past.
when will my future free me?

Jadzea33 21/03/09~Soul In The Dark

~

My soul in the dark

 ~

forever to remain

~

My soul in bits and tatters

~

with no one left to explain

~

why it's been scarred and ripped

~

my wings ever clipped

~

[Jadzea33 21/03/09]

Adventures in Poverty #1 {03/19/09} By FilmHeroin

Adventures in Poverty #1 {03/19/09} By FilmHeroin

One of the realities of poverty is that it wears you down. Minute by minute...Day after day...you can feel the small pieces of humanity...and hope...being torn from you.

You stand in the sweltering heat waiting for a bus that is never on time. And, despite your best efforts...as you watch the happy people in their SUVs, Hummers, and BMWs...You always end up asking yourself: 

"Where did I go wrong?"

I board the bus...it's so full that we're jammed together like cattle headed for the slaughterhouse. The air in the bus is thick with the acrid stench of a heady combination of body odor, cigarette smoke, piss, vomit, drug sweat, alcohol, and desperation.

The young man directly in front of me is a meth addict. I watch him as he twitches and shakes...his limbs and head jerking violently. He's locked in the chemical St. Vitus Dance of the Meth Monkey.

In a futile effort to regain control over his body...he tightly embraces one of the safety poles. It's then that I notice- with my artist's eye- that he has beautiful hands. Even with the dark, caked dirt under his fingernails...he has the hands of an artist. I knew that he, too, despite his best efforts...always ended up asking himself: 

"Where did I go wrong?"

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.................................................