four years ago i wrote this love story

it was exactly foUr
years ago 2night

we WEnt to tHE TOWer

below us
children played 'THong'!
because they did
noT have
a football

he bribed his daughter to Go
doWN
DOwn
down

the TOWEr

so we could HOLD hanDS
He SaID I had fine wrists
and
I knEW! Then
that he liked me

I had suspected

there was meant to be an eCLIPse
they called it
a BLUE MOOn
we looked and
we
LOOked
and tried to sEE something
diFFerent

WhaT a BEAUtiful NIght it was
staRS and The mOOn and The DARk inky hiLLS

at His place
later

his daughter ASleep
inside
with (HIS wife) and the other
children

we talked

we played 'hiDE THe saUSAge'
in the garden

on the stone couch
we DIDn't really fuck because
he was too DRunK
and the hydraulics were out

he SAid
I was a HORN BAG!

he said I was bigger than THIS
with a wave of his hand
taking in
STuff
My heart made loUD nioses in my
EARS
Like dread but gOOd
whoPPing Big butterFLY's in your stOmach type
noises

i Like
HIM a lot
he's Beautiful inSIDE and OutSIDE
HIS LUMps are within my capaCITY
ish
sOME of his lumps are SweET if you
LoOK
sideWAys
and Stand on your HeAD
and hold your mouth RIght
ANd put yOur bum in THe air
oR
IF you juST read a bOOk or Something

he is SmarTER than me
HEre
I'm SMARter than Him
TherE which is Handy
here
anD THEre

I must adMIT
I'm PREtty haPPy abOUT this

he's A KEEper!

Foreigner, Response To Story Challenge

She walked out, into the night. Out of the light. And wandered across to the road. You could see it from there. Shooting stars were falling. Every second a few more, flaming to earth. It felt right, and she'd come out for something. The trees loomed black as ink, ebbing and flowing, creaking and murmering.

Doom.

Nah, why doom? Why does everyone think doom if the moon's red? And a million stars are falling.

She slipped back under the cover of trees. Into the dark. She didn't want to see that shit. Not superstitious, they just gave her the creeps, that's all.

'Fucken'ell' she swore.

The noise again. She froze. Owl eyes staring into the dark. Her head turned without shoulders moving. Stealth. Eyes wide and unblinking. Feathers ruffled, just a bit. She was sick of the rumbles. The fights. It sounded like thunder. Under the roof, in the light. As they screamed their animal murders and chased each other away and back and away. Scrambling for ground across the corrugated iron. Night after blood curtling night. Hidden in shadows, unseen but seeing. Unknown.

Dark night. She didn't want to see the red blood moon. Nor the sky falling to earth.

Her mouth opened, and shut. Tasting air. Blood. She could smell blood. This hunger. This bloody hunger. Running, flying, she lashed out, and ripped the furry creature from it's perch. It screamed and scratched but she ripped it's flesh. And stuffed it hissing into her mouth. Delicious warm flesh to a hungry, hungry heart.

She shook herself. Another feather slowly drifted to earth. Some flowers fell at her feet. Blood trickled, and she wiped it away with fingers. Heady magnolia sweetly, sweetly permeated the air.

She crept along the mossy path to the road, and looked up. Blinking. Into the night came the wind, and still the stars fell.

She didn't belong here. She belonged here.

She put her head back and shreiked a shrill and triumphant cry. To the moon, red with blood. To the stars and to the wind. To the wide, wide sky. Vomiting bone and grizzle and fur, she turned, and walked back through the trees down to the house, and went inside.

(Response to story challenge. Story must include: bubble wrap, marshmallows, delirium tremens)

Mystic in the Sky with Marshmallows

It was the twenty days and twenty one nights of fasting that brought this wonderous mystical epiphany so diligently, so tenaciously discovered. stumbling. stumbling forward to find the one. the object of hungry spiritual perseverence. so divine I could hardly believe the truth of it all. love. love is the answer. deliriously love rumbled in my brain. rumbling. groaning. dizzy with love and high with revelation. delirium tremens not the bad they said but oh the light! look, look! tripping forward preparing the only true offering. not your piss arsed bullshit shop bought fucking marshmallows. no. where's the dedication there? where's real love in that easy cop out 'superficial-type-love' solution. only ingredients carefully blended. carefully caressed. melded. heat. not too much, careful now. gently, gently bake the marshmallows for the object of love, for the one who knows this is the gift of all gifts. the only gift. the one who knows what now I know in this glorious revelation. no meat this world can offer in mad cow disease days. no vegetables screaming with pain. eggs! offered divinely. freely. squawk! mix and meld. nearly ready. sniff. smell that? hmmm. post them to the one. yes. box, box. where's the box. where's THE box? THE BOX. wrap, now. yes, here. bubbles. OH. bubbles. OF COURSE. message in a bubble. pop. pop. a revelation in bubble wrap. marshmallows and me. HA! sublime. divine. gaffer tape to hold it together. oh gentle light of truth. we two gifts. vanilla and me in plastic wrap.

OH NO! I can't breathe.

FUCK! gasp.

can't FUCKING BREATH! NNNNNOOOOOOOOO!

dizziness.

blackness.

thump.

Found, scratched in the flour on a dusty floor, in an ordinary kitchen in an ordinary suburb:

It's YOU

It's you,

and I WILL love you

until I'm blue.

(boop boop pe doo)

Foreplay

'It's a fine line between yes and no', she thought.

"Fuck this!"

She jumped up, making a bee-line for the bedroom, and started rummaging through her clothes for some serious dancing gear. Something that felt fine. Nice and fine. Something that looked GOOD.

All week it'd been nothing but work and discipline. Boredom and frustration. No relief from the stoic patience that fucked with her head and wasted her time. Precious time that didn't come back.

Long over the knee socks. Yep! She sat and pulled them up, with appropriate feminine ritual. Pulled on a singlet, reviewing in the mirror. Yanked it off.

"Fuck!" She cursed her mood.

This was part of the process, this trying things on. Next, some kick arse boots and nothing much little panties.

"OK" She gazed at herself in the mirror. Her waist. Hips. Breasts. And touched the hair that peeked out the sides of the lacey panties. Pulled it gently. Looking. Thinking.

'Not that anyone's gonna see it,' she snarled, shaking her head and dislodging the thoughts. Pissed-off.

Fucking men. The one's that want you, you don't want. The one you want can't be bothered.

She could feel the panties on her skin and stood there surveying. Thinking still. In the end it was an old tight singlet with holes and rips, and a ragged kilt that won the lottery. 'Get fucked' clothes. Should be a label. Certainly not 'come here' clothes.

That thought brought a laugh. Thinking of her friend who wore 'look at my boobies' little nothings to pubs in a search for a soul-mate. She found one, too. Go figure.

But this WAS a come here look. That's what Johnny always said. She knew it too. 'Come here and she'll kick you in the balls,' he said. But definitely 'come here.'

Good.

She grabbed the keys, stuffed some money in her pocket and took off.

Irony was, this girl was all faithfulness, and hadn't strayed ONCE on her boy. But she danced like a wild person when this mood hit. He'd never seen that. Probably because they'd fuck and there'd be no need. But he was nowhere to be seen. And this gnawing need ate into her head and made her reckless.

It's a fine line between yes and no.

The bar was thumping when she sauntered in. Brooding and defiant, she pushed her way through and began dancing. No slow 'get a drink and watch the mood.' No. She just plunged right in. Looking at no-one. Let it all go.

She felt sexy, needy. Angry. This was foreplay. Excellent foreplay.

Johnny was watching her and that hadn't gone un-noticed. He leaned over to say something to the other man at the table and they nodded, watching. Watching her hips and looking at her legs where the socks were falling down a bit. She felt their gaze trickle. She saw it and was glad.

Foreplay.

Their eyes made her dancing more furious. John got up and moved over to her to join in. He moved close and was a damn fine groover, she thought. She could feel his desire and got closer. Not touching.

"Don't touch," she warned when he put his hand on her waist. The touch sent waves through her body but she turned her back and ignored him.

"I dreamt about you last night," he spoke in her ear.

She turned back, smiling."Oh, yeah?"

She was still dancing close up to him, teasing. Almost a caress. Feeling free.

"OK," she began.. "tell me.."

He pointed his chin toward the table, touching her elbow, and began to go. She followed, Congo style, swaying her hips next to his arse. Not touching. He didn't see her dance behind him back to the table. Close.

Sitting, Johnny poured her a large glass of wine, and lifted his own in cheers. Thick, strong, red. She drank.

'Fuck!' As if she didn't feel reckless enough without the wine.

"You had on those socks you wear." He leaned to her and flicked the top of her fallen socks to illustrate. Fleetingly. She pulled them up without comment.

"And I had you tied to my bed with silk scarves... wrists, and ankles."

"Oh yeah...?"

She drank her wine, scanning the dance floor. Some people could really move. The music was... compelling. It was hard to sit still. It pulsed through her veins making her feel light and full of verve.

"What else was I wearing Johhny O?" She was still listening...

"Oh, you know, just what you'd think... You had on those panties you bought for when whatsisface came over."

"I'm wearing them now." She gave him that for free.

She'd seen him that day on the way home from shopping, and knew he'd be impressed. Johnny had never seen her in them, nor out of them for that matter. Never would though he'd try. But he'd watched her dance before. And he'd said things to her. They liked this game. Both of them.

"Hmmm?"

"That's it. Just socks and panties and silk scarves around your ankles.... and your wrists..."

"Did you fuck me?" she asked. Serious now. Looking into his flecked green eyes. Searching him out.

"What do YOU think", he replied, leaning back.

They both burst out laughing, and she jumped up, kissing him on the cheek, and took off back into the fray. Giving over to the pit. Foreplay alright.

Ages later, Johnny went and found her before leaving, to say goodbye.

"Sexy bitch" he whispered in her ear, holding her by the arm to bring her close enough to hear.

"Am not."

She kissed his other cheek and bade him 'sweet dreams Johnny O'. They laughed again and he left her dancing.

Hot and tired. Anger forgotton. The tension in her body not eased. Condensed. Refined. She decided to leave too. Still feeling a need. Still wanting flesh. She drove home, in the surreality of early morn.

"Damn!" she cursed, realising, too late.

She hadn't asked him...

in his dream...

was she face up...

or down?

February 18, 2003

smelt

been busy tonight. good busy. fun busy. you know when you put something you want to do aside because there's something you MUST do, should do, and you don't end up doing the other thing because it gives you the shits and this stubborn will kicks in (stopping you from doing the thing you must do, should do) as well as the thing you want to do? you feel too guilty to do the thing you want to do and end up doing nothing at all. it's pure 'failing at the discipline'. discipline. the rod i make for my own back by saying i'm gonna... whatever it is i'm gonna do. well, my new policy is: fuck discipline. not really, it's not so much a policy as tonights excited gleeful rebellion. 'don't tell me what to do', i'm saying to myself, 'i'll show you'. but i HAD to go do the first and most preferable thing. i just had to. that's a good sign, when you're busting to do something, some arty type creative urgey type thing. if you push the discipline in the arty type crafty field your work's gonna be crap anyway, hey. because your hearts not in it. you'd have to agree. it's just that i've always wanted to do the book thing and i'm sure it'd sell (we're all sure our stuff'll sell, and i reckon it would sell, i'm not just saying it to be positive). and i'm not being vain either even though it probably looks vain. or sounds vain. i don't know why i'm good at what i do. it's not my fault that i'm dead keen. i don't know why my stuff is different. you just think your own thoughts. who knows where it comes from? the thoughts and ideas. the observations or the wish to implement the ideas. from the gods? the far reaches of something or the other? i'm one of those people who think humans built the pyramids. and that early man, like a few thousand years ago man was pretty well the same as we are, with less education. not less intelligence, not less wisdom, not less humour. not less concern for his kids. just less knowlege. and that counts. the more educated we are, the more resource we have to balance our views. which doesn't neccessarily mean we use it well, but we're less likely to think it was witchcraft when we know it was a fungi that grew in the rye that made everyone go crazy. that's the difference. we seem to give things an esoteric explanation when we don't have the info. frikking aliens get to be so smart. we couldn't possibly be so smart, is that what they're trying to say? some people are busting for it to be aliens who built the pyramids. why give away all the glory? i'm rapt that we're so damned clever. proud and amazed. someone i know says we used to be telepathic. bullshit. i think that's crap. she also said i believed in jesus because of my specific zodiac. can't argue with that but it's funny don't you think? kind of like that bumper sticker her husband's ex-girlfriend hated that said 'god loves atheists too'. can you see why that's similar? sort of like an oxymoron. oxymoronish. i was sick yesterday and a bit of today. i took today off work and thought i'd make myself busy here at home but didn't of course because i was sick. post sick. sick-ish. bastard having a day off for being sick and not feeling well. i thought i'd do some shopping since that doesn't take much energy and it gets the shopping out of the way. i drove like a zombie, thinking 'what the fuck am i doing' and thinking how good the mid-day movie probably would have been. or a snooze. my friend has just moved into the area and she 'phoned at about 5 when i usually knock off work. i acted all enthusiastic and we met for coffee, which i paid for in guilt because i hadn't called her/in celebration of her moving into the area, and i'm making up conversation (with her)... a bit because she was stoned and her mind was someplace and i don't know what to talk about with her and it doesn't always come easily. and she was obviously off with the fairies. i've smoked pot for periods of time but it fucks with my health and my motivation and my output. and while i'm procrastinating the mess with my head/productivity bit, my health fucks up and i give it away with a sigh of relief. i've done that three times. two years a pop. never again. my health won't cope. the first time i gave up because i just did. i seem to turn to it in times of major crisis and then get pissed off with the junkie type qualities i exhibit. i hate junkies. if you're a junkie and you're honest you'd probably agree that the junkie aspects of your behaviour are fucking awful. the rest of you may well be a terrific person and you might have a brilliant reason to go there. i'm not judging you as a person but it's making you an arse i'll bet. because i slept so much yesterday afternoon and went to bed early and slept all night and even slept in and i slept this afternoon i don't want to go to bed just yet, but there's work in the morning. every week day excepting tuesdays but i usually find work then too, $$$ and all that. tomorrow night my boyfriend is coming over. the next night i'm having dinner with my kids. the next night my mum and dad want to have coffee after work. the night after that i'm working after working in the day. saturday night usually my boyfriend comes over and we're going to a design exhibition thing in the day. i hope he can cope with all day AND night. hanging out with him is my favourite, because he's just gorgeous and we feel relaxed and happy and like hanging out together. we both want to do the same things and we're more likely to do them because we both want to, so it's good stuff. it's nice and cosy and good stuff all rolled into one. it's not me putting out niceness. don't get me wrong, i'm nice to him, but it's not any kind of effort and i enjoy him. so it's selfish too. love is about what you give and what you need being given to you. i like it. you like them because they're them and you like that, and because they make you feel nice. i've got to do lots of things or they'll never get done and i'll get there don't you worry. but not tomorrow night. i'm gonna soak up the atmosphere. i might do some stuff but i'll be distracted by chicken soup and my period is just finished which means we havn't had proper sex for a week and we might have to do that too. not that we have to have sex every time, but it's a tease when you CAN'T. i know lots of people do anyway but i don't like it. maybe it's psycological but i can't feel anything much when i've got my period. which makes no difference because he doesn't like it either. of course you can be inventive and that's all very well but i can masturbate any time. it's not the same. i'm just telling you this sex stuff to be a bit interesting and out there. hypocrite, because i get bored with sex being a device for keeping people interested. we were talking ourselves through a fantasy the other night and i said i'd like him to come over and wake me up by doing things to me, but i'd probably freak if he didn't say hi as he walked in the door. the key is usually in the door but no-one comes here. i'd hear his car door even if i was asleep i think. a couple of times he's come over in the night and i loved it. i didn't freak, come to think of it. one time he decided on the spur of the moment to hitch over and he had a lot of trouble getting a lift, but he made it. it makes you feel good when someone does that. that's what i call romantic, when someone suddenly hitches over unplanned and unannounced at three o'clock in the morning, it's special.

Self Portrait 2002

I live in the hills east of Melbourne, Australia. Mostly have. Country girl with city roots. I work hard and often. Gardener, stitcher, teacher and soon to be rock wall builder. Mother. Grandmother. Other things. I'm one of the humans; tried to do better than that, tried to break free. Can't. Now it's won't. Blood pulses through my veins. I like this human thing. We're weak and strong. We tell the truth and bare ourselves. We let the other humans touch our innards. We lie and fight and hide and refuse to let them. We delight in our delighting. We see the beauty. We know nothing beyond what we know and that's ok. I revel in this human thing. Want to learn the lessons well. Want to force the door to stay open and shove a brick there if that's what it takes. Want to stay soft even when my eyes are open. Stare at the sun. My heart will not pretend as much as I am able. Blunt I'm told but it was not always so. Too late is too late and I don't want to be too late. Now is the acceptable time. Passionate about many things. Love deeply and openly. Will love even if it's unfashionable. Won't love just because it's fashionable. Feel savage and angry and fearful. Fear's not all it's cracked up to be. Fresh air if you turn the light on. There's nothing down the bottom of the garden in the dead of the night save the creatures that dwelt there before I did. Don't care about me. They comfort me in my irrelevance to their existence. Blood and flesh like me. My demons don't live down there, they're right here at my shoulder and they're real enough. Don't know where the light switch is. Get waylaid by reason. Understand till I'm blue in the face and don't even notice I've stopped breathing. Understand till I can't hide and feel like shit. Or laugh that full belly out loud kind of laugh. Love the human thing. Hate it too. 44 years old. 16 some days. 60 others. Timid. And bold as fucking shit.