Life is a Loophole
Created for those
Lost souls in need of
A crash course in
I awoke to the sounds of life continuing to occur despite all of my attempts to set a new sleep marathon record. Twenty-two years ago, drinking ceased to be an option and my FWB pool is a little under-stocked, so sleeping was the winner by default. Allowing myself a break from the world and its blue-pill promises, I was in need of something that could and would take my focus from my thinking and bring it back into my body. Sex is great for this but alas, I am in a bit of a drought at present. The solution to this set of present circumstances is the last thing that I really want to do: get out and connect with the rest of humanity. It amazes me how just showing up is such a magic potion for the single-soul and I will procrastinate, hibernate, and isolate but eventually I will go and be among the rest of my kind. Today is a gift and I must participate in my own life. Scarcity is an illusion and the day is filled with promise. Now to get my ass up and out the door…
I woke to the promise of a beautiful day: sunny, clear, pay-day, and Friday! I got dressed in something cheerful and feminine and knowing that I looked good and felt great, I zipped out into the day. My office routine began at a pleasurable pace and I was feeling damn good about life and work when in walks the financial management team that was slated to present investment options to our staff. No big deal until they started talking about money! Yikes! My brain started a trip down Memory Lane that is the equivalent of Nightmare on Elm Street and I was completely blind-sided! I proceeded to wallow in a soup of self-pity, regret, and if-onlys….needless to say, I allowed the rest of the day to escape by battling fiercely with myself over all of the reasons that I have to be grateful: health, home, career, children, friends, sex (although, not too much going on right now), writing, running, car, etc. The issue at hand is that when I most need to find acceptance, that is when it is the most elusive. My financial disasters of the past are due to many reasons, none of which exist today but I still can carry them around like a bag of garbage, just stinking-up the whole joint until not even I can stand another minute. So in the spirit of recycling, I am donating all of my failed dreams and aspirations of the past to this blog so that I may carry-on with the current and future plans I have been putting into action.
Oh blog, how I have missed you! I began a master’s program in the beginning of July and I am suffering from writer’s constipation. I am in the midst of academic writing and it is literally sapping every bit of creativity that I try to muster. I had thought that I would not suffer this malaise due to the program concentration but that has not been the case. What is it about higher learning that academia insists on leveling every single interesting facet of a field of study into an infinitesimal liturgy of boring details…? Just writing this paragraph, I am boring myself!
At times like these, I wonder why I am doing this to myself once again? I enjoy learning, however, I do not enjoy the hair-splitting that occurs in seeking a mastery of a certain subject. Can’t we just go with our gut and use out natural passion and desire to pursue in-depth knowledge of the discipline instead of having a forced litany of classes and papers and tedium and grades and….
I miss you…
I was in the presence of greatness and I am still reeling in the euphoria of drums, keyboards, bass, and one bad-ass electric guitar! Mr. Carlos is 69 (perfect!) and has not lost his phenomenal groove with the instrument of his choice of expression. Let me assure you that the thrill of being so close to the source of such talent and focus is to be invited on a trip with like-minded souls to another dimension. If that sounds a little dramatic, it is but the night was truly an honor and a blast to the past for this seventies chick! I would like to add that the drummer is his current missus and she was absolutely crazy awesome on those bad boys! I am certain that Mr. Carlos has enjoyed the strength and stamina of those arms on many occasions. 🙂
The event took place at the House Of Blues in Las Vegas and I can tell you that there exists not one bad seat in the house. HoB still offers General Admission and that is where this music-lovin’ chick prefers to boogie to live music. Down on the floor, I was a mere five-to-six like-minded bodies from the man himself and if you will please forgive my amateur skills (apparently iPhone and Windows have some issues working together), you will enjoy the video. Three hours of dancing, sweating, and grooving to the sounds of one talented soul communicating to another through the language of music and I was one happy girl!
There is definitely an encore in the near future…
I am so pissed off right now! I submitted entries to a writing challenge recently and I didn’t receive even an honorable mention for creativity. I read the other entries and they were fine and well-written, and sentimental and (dare I say it?) predictable! Needless to say, I feel as though I have been slighted due to my quirky and extremely unpredictable story twists and turns. I realize that my dark and slightly skewed sense of the world is not for everyone but seriously, I think that the element of surprise should compensate for something…or do we only exist as automatons in this world? Unless something is mushy, gushy, and has the potential to leave us with a lump in our neurologically-challenged throats, are we to dismiss it entirely?
Then there is the subject of niche. I don’t have one. I may not ever have a definite topic that is exclusively my own. I just roll in too many directions to state clearly and definitively that this (insert elusive topic here) is what I prefer to examine and expound. I simply cannot limit myself this way, which brings me to my next point: I believe that the contributions I have made on my blog may have also had something to do with the lack of encouragement and support. I was careful to take note that the facilitator of the challenge did check out my site and I am merely guessing but I do believe it hurt my chances. Could it be that there still exists a kind of snobbery and prejudice within the literary discipline? I would dare to venture a guess that if attention had been drawn to my blog, someone might be a tad uncomfortable…? I don’t know, it’s just a guess.
This brings me to another point: randy writing has been with us since humans began to carve images onto stone! Sensuous and erotic prose is as natural as sleeping, eating, and breathing, however, the Victorian bias is still alive and well when the Brontes (talented, though they were) fit our only conception of what is defined as literature. Any English major has read Chaucer, Lawrence, Wilde, Nabokov, and The Pearl. What about the Kama Sutra, an antique text which dared to commit to print the most sensuous and pleasurable acts to take place between two humans?
Indifference, not criticism, is the enemy of creativity and I would appreciate any feedback you would care to share. Now that I have gotten that off of my chest, here are two of my entries that I thought were pretty damn good:
The scenario is a blind date that starts off well until….
At exactly half-past eight, she appeared. Looking more striking than her description, my heart began to pound with excitement. Will she like me? Will she think I am as desirable as I find her? What can I say to her that will not betray my nervousness and faltering self-confidence? She spotted me with ease and walked directly over to me and without saying a word she grabbed my hand and pulled me out onto the dance floor. Hips swaying to the loud sensuous beat, her dancing had me panting like a dog in heat. I dared to touch her by encircling her waist in my arms and suddenly we were flesh on flesh and I could feel her hot breath on my neck. She was so stunning and sexy that I realized she may not think that I am up to her standard but she seemed to be into me by responding to my lead on the floor. At one point, she turned and I could feel her soft, round bottom slightly pressing into my pelvis and I almost couldn’t control myself. Thankfully the music stopped and she grabbed me by the hand and led me outside to cool our sweating bodies within the embrace of the soft ocean breeze.
I looked at her and thought “What a perfect night…” And then she spoke for the first time, “You look so beautiful, wherever did you find that gorgeous red dress?!” It was then that I heard his deep, baritone voice and realized that to my dismay that she was a man.
The next scenario is a child who is talking in her sleep:
Tonight he would be prepared. Climbing into bed with a pencil and pad of paper, his plan was to have these items ready as soon as the child was asleep and her lips began to move. The child’s sleep-talking had begun a few weeks ago and he didn’t pay much attention to her gibberish at first but over the following weeks the noises had turned into an intelligible form of discourse. Her audible murmurings were beginning to reveal things that a child of four, his child of four, should not and could not know. Her mother had been equally disturbed.
“I don’t know when all of this started but I am not getting any rest since Daphne starting sleeping in our bed,” she had said. “First it was your insomnia and now it’s her talking and rolling around and I am exhausted.” She pointed to the bags under her eyes as confirmation.
“I know, honey,” said Paul. “Let’s start a new bedtime routine tomorrow and we will make sure to wear Daphne out at the park in the afternoon. It shouldn’t take but a few days and then we will be getting a good night’s rest again, OK, honey?” Paul secretly hoped that tonight he would be able to jot down what he was certain was an intelligence from another dimension. Somehow, someway, a transmission was occurring through his child and he could swear that he had been specifically chosen for this revelation. He just wished that his wife would not interfere until he could accurately transcribe the mysterious knowledge.
Paul reached to turn-out the light as his wife rolled over with a deep sigh and said goodnight. Setting the pad of paper and his pencil next to the bed, Paul made certain that his unopened refill of risperidone was still carefully concealed.
Enjoy! XO DWD
What single event has the power to turn an otherwise intelligent, mostly rational and fun-loving human into a shrieking, crying, and moaning female? What has the capability to literally wipe-out years of creativity, memories, and other important stuff in the blink of an eye? What rivals the cost of a down-payment on an automobile in attempts to restore the damn thing? If you guessed a satanic computer virus or worm or bot, or whatever the hell it’s called these days, you would be correct!
On a typical Sunday, I switched on my laptop and went to get some java. When I returned, cup in hand, I stared at my blank screen in disbelief while the spinny-thingy revolved around and around seemingly in the throes of death. I was helpless to do anything but cry, “What didn’t I do to protect myself?” Then the worst part: I couldn’t stop myself from repeating the futile actions of shutting-down and booting-up, over and over again, fully expecting that my system would magically begin working and my belief that it wasn’t anything serious would be validated; life as I knew it would continue uninterrupted. Denial is a powerful adversary but eventually I had to face the fact that although I have heavy-duty security protection installed and I take very good care of what has become an important part of my daily existence, my system has crashed and I am devastated. I cannot tell you what, when, where, or how it happened, but after doing everything that I could to correct the situation, I have had to accept the fact that I am completely and utterly helpless when it comes to performing CPR on my technology. The most that I can hope is that some skilled expert/geek will be able to fix the problem for a cost that will not involve the sale of one of my organs and perhaps life will once again resume a dysfunctionally normal path. However in the meantime, if it works for drinking why not computing…
Serenity Prayer…Powering off.
Finally! The scheduled rendezvous arrived and my pump was primed. I had been waiting to get my lips wrapped around this tasty testosterone for quite a few months and although I have been in a relationship of sorts, as the conclusion became inevitable my mind was caught repeatedly wandering to the prospect of rekindling some fire with my former flame. Any healthy female can attest to the truth of the old adage “the best way to get one out of your head is to get another in your bed” and this prescription is strong and is backed by some pretty solid stats.
He arrived early in the morning and my senses were instantly alerted by his aroma, a musky cocktail of light perspiration combined with morning java and his natural deliciousness. After nudging him into the bed and removing what was left of his clothes, I had him lay upon his stomach while I softly kissed his neck and back and then proceeded to his nether regions. First kissing one cheek and then another, I had him maneuver up onto his knees and I slowly began to lick down the crack of his fine ass. Deliberately, I licked south and north and applied a mild pressure with my tongue to the area between his scrotum and that most secret of man-places. He moaned with pleasure as I entered his bum with my firm and erect tongue. I gently stroked his penis while applying a gentle, warm and wet tongue-lashing to his formerly off-limits behind.
For those females who have not yet dared to go where no man has gone before, I cannot encourage you enough to indulge your man with this exotic pleasure. Not only will it trip your guy into the throes of ecstasy but you will be surprised at the powerful aphrodisiac that dwells between the tender balance of his vulnerability and your determination to seek his trembling capitulation.
Thank you, Steven Tyler!
Alas, my morning rendezvous had to be rescheduled. There is nothing like the breakfast of champions to get a girl back on her feet and into the game once again! I have something extra special planned for this one. 🙂
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.