deepundergroundpoetry.com
Rural Springs, Florida
Let's just say that I didn't have an ideal childhood. Why at fourteen, that the reason my bedroom window was boarded up was to keep so much sunlight out, while I hid from the days. It wasn't because the glass had long been broken out, trying to escape. And don't ask why there was a hook and latch lock on the outside of the door. I was told back then it was because I sleep walked. Although I don't recall an episode of that. I was always quite aware of my attempts to flee.
Or that the reason the bed was gone was because I had set it on fire, with a lighter I had stolen from my aunt, one day when she had came to visit, and to get some pills. I had set the mattress against my bedroom door, hoping it would burn through it, taking the door apart in a fury of flames. The same type of fire inside my brain.
After that fiasco, I would find enough of a bundle of something, and make a suitable sleeping spot, to get me through another couple of years.
Nowadays, these decades since, when women crack their bones on my bed, exclaiming how hard of a mattress I have, I don't explain anything. It's too much trouble telling them how some punishments stay with us, as a reminder of our lessons to not disobey.
But back to when I was still a kid. Once I was old enough to not be contained, but unprepared for freedoms at fourteen, I still made it home most the evenings. Still too young to travel too far from the wolf den, too long. But I was learning pretty quick.
As for Mickey, she was thirteen and still more boy than girl, at that age. Although some boys had figured out her difference by now, and exploited it. She'd let them, just to get to hang around. Sticking with a pack had its advantages, with sometimes a payment due of whatever value could be had. I'd steal cigarettes to share, mindless of the brand, we would smoke anything. Mickey just shared herself. And that was somehow more rewarding to the other boys.
My first time wasn't what I thought it would be. No reckoning of joy or enlightenment of how wonderful such things could be. It was an afternoon of hanging out with the group of us mutts. Mickey was putting out. I wasn't wanting any part of the goings on in the bedroom. In my head, I had been having visions of how I thought sex should be, with Lita, the tall blonde at school. Although Lita was from another existence that I'd never be in. Still, it was my dream. I was allowed to keep those, all to myself.
But, things just happen. I was fourth in line, that day with Mickey. I doubted she really noticed much difference by then. Between the numbers and the amateur drinking, things were blurs. All I really remembered from any of it, was that brief moment when everything stopped, while her and I fumbled with each other. She looked so far into my eyes that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. "My name is Michelle". And then she grabbed my ass and bashed me so hard into her that all my options left me, and went inside her.
I wondered if she had shared that much with any of the other guys. Probably not. They just got sex.
The next day was my first motorcycle wreck. Riding a dirt bike on a no name street, as Mrs Hindley ran a stop sign, just to punish me for my lawbreaking. I'm sure it wasn't really the reason. She was old, so stop signs blended in after years of travelling the same monotonous roads.
Lita became my caretaker, at school. My foot was crammed back together in a cast, to reform into a hopefully suitable thing for a shoe. Lita only did it to carry my books, since I was released early from classes, to get a head start as I crutched to the next class. But, we talked. Hallways have a way of closing people in. Odd how kids always rebel, somehow. To her, I was everything that her parents had warned her about. And yes, she was the poster pinned up on the wall in my brain.
As the weeks went on, and my foot got better, her parents never found out. About all of the times that she had snuck me into her bedroom, late at night, through her window. Her window wasn't boarded up like mine. I lost count, how many times she let me in. And inside her.
At seventeen, wildness hadn't left me. I still preferred the familiarity of my own area near my den. I belonged with the other mutts, no matter how much Lita tried to clean me up. Even the shoes I was wearing were a gift from her, the past Christmas. Some popular brand that I had no knowledge of.
The party at Clay's house, I should have avoided. I hadn't been around much since my accident, three years prior. Everyone had grown either some or a lot. Mickey was there, looking like a Michelle. But she was already drunk. A wasted Barbie. Her blue eye shadow doing nothing to help the dark recesses around her eyes. It was like where daylight goes to die.
Within a couple of hours, Clay had her in a back bedroom, she was unconscious. He came out of the room, a smile breaking his face into something grotesque. Bragging how she didn't even wake up when he jammed into her ass. He smacked Donny on the shoulder and told him to go for it. While I, reading eyes, noticed a few others already doing the mental line up.
Annette spoke up. She yelled a no and a what the fuck you guys. She said to just leave Mickey alone. But it was Clay's house; His rules. He scoffed her off, as Annette cried for her friend being sacrificed yet again.
To this day, like I've always been, I forget that I don't weigh two hundred pounds, like Clay did. He was a big guy. But back then, my one-forty gained sixty pounds of rage, in an instant. Take every dangerous animal that you've ever heard of, and blend their blood, and their mindset. You get a me.
I chose a side. Annette's. Some things really have no choice. Sometimes it is just time, when life lines up all your dominoes in a row of certain doom. You know the result, it's going to be bad. But you do it anyway.
As Clay and I argued, I felt Annette slip a gun into the back of my pants. There was no mistaking what it was. I had held many guns by then. Blame the natures of the beasts that I had grew up around. Shooting is simpler, in certain situations. It saves you blood, just not theirs.
When I pulled it out, Clay was surrounded by his crew. I felt a little bad for them. I had five shots in the .38 snub, I only needed one for Clay. So I may have to do whatever, to get him clear of obstacles.
He laughed. He called me a pussy and dared me to pull the trigger. He mocked the fact that I was defending the absent honor of a whore. But maybe, I told myself, I was giving her some back.
My anger had me shaking. The barrel of the gun seemed indecisive. Clay noticed, commenting on how my chickenshit fingers couldn't pull the trigger.
When I had my wreck three years before, I didn't remember hearing anything. Not the horn. Not the brakes, or the tires laying their life out on the road in black streaks of rubber blood. Or the crunch of a puny motorcycle being wadded up into scrap in a half-second. And not my bones, confirming how brittle they really were.
I remember the front grill of her car. Evil clown chrome, as a last haunt before my demise.
That's how Clay's face looked, as I pulled the trigger. I was aiming for his face. I wanted to erase it, from this earth. But in my wavering frustration, I got him in the shoulder. I can never describe how loud it was, in that room. The explosion of a bullet from a gun, in such tight quarters, is a cannon inside your ears. As if everyone gets shot with sound, and it's damaging. Everyone freezes for a long second, thinking if it was them. Because you're in a moment of pure shock, and your mind is checking on your body.
Annette and April tried to calmly take the gun from me, as Clay screamed like a cat being eaten alive by a hawk. His friends alternated between staring at him, as he rolled around the red pool engulfing him on the floor, and at me, a stone statue, not quite sure how to move next.
The good thing about rural towns, is even the police are pretty good guys. I knew both of them. And they knew me. I wasn't a bad guy. I just had that little spell of a bad upbringing. My glitches had a name, somewhere in some medical journal. Our library didn't have those type of books. And forget from television, that was just some box that mom would pawn on Mondays, get it out on Fridays, if dad brought her some money.
On the fourth day of my incarceration, an Army recruiter came to visit me. He was from Orlando, the big city. I had been there a few times, to steal nicer cars a time or ten. He told me that he talked to the court, he could get me out. But I'd have to join the military. Even though I was still legally a minor, I could get a waiver. A second one, the first being for the assault charge. Soon to be only a misdemeanor. He said he could help me get my life on track. Put some order to things. But I'd have to take some tests, to show I'm mentally capable. They can't have crazies running around with guns. Even though that's what you become.
Amazement, that was his response at my test results. He said that I was genius level, and that no one has ever scored so high for him. He remarked that he'd get a hell of a bonus by signing me up, and that he'd give me a cut of it. He said that I could pick any job that I wanted, with those scores. I asked for whatever gets me to shooting things, and blowing things up. He asked, a bit hysterically, if was I serious. Dead serious.
Infantry was the basic beginning for me. But I didn't want to be a domino. So I took the best of the worst results of whatever awaited me, and pushed my luck. Recon. Be the shadow, until it's time to bite.
The decades passed. My Army life long since behind me. But still, belonging nowhere. I was that piece of the puzzle that never got put back into the box. And as the boxes stacked up, it no longer mattered.
I'd ride my motorcycle, to anywhere. Spend a day or two, then head for another nowhere.
Eventually, my hometown, just to ride through and add new pictures with my regrets. My old house, brightly painted and landscaped. Every street paved and named. My street is now called Jericho Lane. Because Jerry lost his leg to an alligator, at the pond, back in '88, I think it was.
Stopping at The Frosty Mug, the first bar I had ever drank in. Even though I was seventeen at the time, I was grown up enough to be allowed in there. That, or because my dad was sleeping with one of the bartenders. The one who would set her tits on the bar when she served you a beer. Her sheer tops were never a hindrance to a view.
Tentatively, I now lean on the bar at the first edge when you walk in. Nothing has changed about the place. As if I had just left it last night. Yet it's been decades.
Pleasant girl, seemingly, tending to the early evening crowd. I order a shot of Beam and a draft beer. Any kind would do. It's all shit, really.
To my right, a shoulder-shove; Some man with an aged face. Looking like someone I probably once knew. Holy hell, Father Tom? It was him. He was such a good kid back then. He never read or listened to any rules. He was born knowing them. We used to kid him about being a preacher some day. How his calling was predestined. But, he ended up with Mickey's sister (As he's telling me) and she messed him up.
He grinned and said guess who, as my left shoulder gets a nudge. A decades worn Mickey smiles, says hello, and that she knows my eyes from anywhere. She's probably already lying, because I have this scar on my cheek. A retained gift from my wreck with Mrs Hindley. Some people have said how it gives me character. But I didn't want to look like a villain. Thankfully, it's been only a part time role over the years.
Mickey does the catch-up small talk. She had moved, to Ohio, with some guy from East High school. Didn't work out. Came back to take care of her mother, who died and left Mickey the house. Three kids, still in Ohio. Good ones, never were any trouble.
She's a CNA now, taking care of people our parent's ages, if we had any still alive. Not many of our old friends around. Just her and Tom.
She tells me about Clay. He had gotten ten years at Starke, for what he'd done to her and for the drugs they found in his house that night. Then he moved to Georgia, she heard. Became some type of farmer.
I tried my best to listen to her. I tried to not stare at the blue eye shadow that she obviously still favors. It should be orange. Let the fire stay, around her eyes. I guess somehow she's always been positive, keeping a summer sky right above her eyes.
"Look". She turns around and pulls her shirt down below her shoulder. A tattoo. A simple one. A name.
My name. Enclosed in angel wings, like disguised quotations.
I couldn't help but touch it. Permanent. Like a past. Just some people see it differently. Any wings I've wore were leather, tattered, from the sun and wind fighting me, while I aimed right for them on my motorcycle. I'd head straight towards where I thought God might be hiding, so I could kick his ass. I was pretty sure that I could. I had a rage given to me from a depth that God had long forgotten about. I came from the gang of cast asides, just like the devil. Maybe sometimes I played both sides, a right for a wrong. Never mind that it took two wrongs, all along, to make it right. But in my head, I made things correct.
Mickey tells me that she hasn't been in this bar in months. And ironically I show up. She says that she always knew that she would see me again. That karma plays its hand eventually, when the stakes are merciful.
She's not seeing anyone. Am I dating anyone. How long am I in town. Do I want to see what she's done with her mom's house. Did I rent a hotel.
All of my answers were a no or a silently stared reply.
Some people are potential roadkill. They get hit, they're stuck in the road, broken and immobile, in misery. Waiting for the next vehicle to hopefully come finish them off. It might take years. But they wait. Their life remains in that road, as decades go around them.
Mickey is still there, in that road. Trying to stand, but she's still pretty hurt. A little help, is all. She won't ask outright. So she signals with the signs that she has. A smile. Eyes bleeding blue. A hand on my hand, that had held the gun that shot her demon. We weren't even eighteen then. Damn, how old that one evening made us. Since then, I've always been the oldest, wherever I go, no matter when anyone else was born.
She changes tone. "Do you remember that day we had sex?"
"We were just kids".
"I know. But you were different".
"How. I was the fourth".
"The way you looked at me. You fucked me with sad eyes. It hurt my heart".
"We were just kids, Mickey".
"Not really. Not then.
And then you went and shot that motherfucker Clay, three years later. You
did it for me".
"I did it because he's a piece of shit".
"Can't I have my version? That it was for me, for how they always treated
me?"
"That's fine. I'm glad you turned out okay".
"Who the hell said I was okay?"
I turned away from that. Tom had somehow slipped out and left us to our renderings. I needed him back. A diversion. All I had was my third shot of whiskey, to block my face with. So I sipped it slow.
Mickey again took my hand, slowly turned me back to her. Then she insisted on staring much too deeply into my eyes. My light blue eyes, with dark moons hanging underneath them. And her brown eyes, with blue halos hovering just above them.
Maybe roadkill recognizes its own kind. She reminded me, by saying "You can take those boards off your windows by now. It's all right. You're going to make it okay too".
I didn't fight back, when she kissed me. A fight it was, although I didn't protest as much as my brain asked me to. Fine then. Wake what is best left to stay unconscious. I put my hand behind her head and pulled her close, as our mouths crushed into an unforgiving mash of fuck it all. Of oral fucking to where every single good and bad thought, and every dire consequence, wanted paid back. And so damn earnestly.
"Come with me".
She led me out back and leaned against the wall, pulling me to her with her hands and a leg and her mouth. This was beyond kissing. It was a lifetime of wrong roads joining. Two wrongs, trying to find some righteousness.
She pulled at my shirt, as she slid down her own. Reminding me that she was most definitely a Michelle now. We took turns kissing on what was exposed on each of us. Each a heaving birdcage holding back a trapped falcon inside. And talons, she had them. I had to tell her to go easy as she tore at my pants. She started to kiss lower but I stopped her. Don't bother. I spun her around and tried my best to rip her jeans to shreds from the top down. She helped, saving herself a fasten, or the zipper. I wasn't being courteous.
With my arm on the wall, to buffer her head, I pounded us and our names into the concrete with every force of nature I've acquired over the years. All totalled, a fucking hurricane. Welcome back, me.
"Holy shit. Holy shit!"
She braced herself best she could, but she was no match for this. Not alone. My arm saved her head, as my elbow took the brunt. I never felt it, when the skin gave way, and the blood began to smear upon the wall. I saw it, but didn't stop. I thought about rubbing it into some kind of animal painting, as I slaughtered her from behind. But things were too frantic. I couldn't steady anything, except my cock gliding inside her.
"I've missed you".
Of all the things to say, right now, and all this time. What the hell.
"You don't even know me".
"Yeah? I knew you'd be back".
I only got angrier. Mad at everything up until this moment. We, me and her, can suffer together. This one more time. I ducked my head against her neck and came slowly. Letting it work it's way to where it wanted to return to. Decades long. In a matter of a few insane minutes.
We split the next few minutes kissing and gathering ourselves together. Her giggling some and me thinking about sitting down soon, because my legs were shot. Maybe I smiled a little. I did. I can't control every function, after all.
I noticed an old man, sitting under a tree, over on a smoking bench. Well, shit. Okay. So he got a free show. He held up his lit cigarette, perhaps as an offering for payment. I laughed; Soon enough, God I really wanted one.
Michelle saw what I was laughing at; Oh my god.
"So, do you want to go see how I fixed up the house? You can get cleaned
up a bit."
"Sure".
I followed her car as she made her way through the town streets. Not too far. I vaguely remembered some of it, but so much had changed. I didn't bother reading any street names. They weren't there before, anyway. Times sure change. Sometimes, so do people.
I didn't recognize her house at all. It was perfect. The porch light illuminated a swing that didn't even have rusted chains yet. Everything looked brand new. Well kept, at the least.
"Well, here we are. Remember it?"
"Not this. This is beautiful".
~~~
Published 28th Feb 2023
| Edited 1st Mar 2023
Author's Note
Someone (accurately) called this a micro-novel. I didn't realize how much I got into it, until it was a bit overwhelming to read. So thank you to those who stuck with it, or will.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Anonymous
28th Feb 2023 9:39am
And then she grabbed my ass and bashed me so hard into her that all my options left me, and went inside her.
I knew at this point in the beginning somehow it would be in the end. What a glorious write
I usually don't read long stories but it's you after all. If this is true, God bless new and beautiful changes, if this is fiction I don't want to know 💞
I knew at this point in the beginning somehow it would be in the end. What a glorious write
I usually don't read long stories but it's you after all. If this is true, God bless new and beautiful changes, if this is fiction I don't want to know 💞
1st Mar 2023 11:33pm
The issue with admitting truths, is the subsequent vulnerability towards being judged.
We all have a history. It's only good for standing on, to reach for higher tomorrows.
Thank you, Lady. For your glorious comment, and glorious nature.
We all have a history. It's only good for standing on, to reach for higher tomorrows.
Thank you, Lady. For your glorious comment, and glorious nature.
28th Feb 2023 10:51am
1st Mar 2023 11:36pm
Thank you Luna. I know (after I got finished) that it was a huge chunk to read! I think once it got going, it wasn't too bad of a flow. I appreciate your generous words about it. A lot.
28th Feb 2023 4:30pm
WOW!
So many options play out in each of our lives. Moments that mold us and take hold. Perhaps knowledge early on kept the windows boarded as protection. Venturing out anyway and finding the hurt in others and then responding in ways that took more than one had to give is intense.
Powerful circumstances and powerful players in this game of life.
Again, wow!
So many options play out in each of our lives. Moments that mold us and take hold. Perhaps knowledge early on kept the windows boarded as protection. Venturing out anyway and finding the hurt in others and then responding in ways that took more than one had to give is intense.
Powerful circumstances and powerful players in this game of life.
Again, wow!
1st Mar 2023 11:40pm
Hey you, I will take a wow all day, after writing this monster of a story. Lol.
You're right about the windows aspect. How we close ourselves off, for self-protection. But it also keeps the good out, too. I'm still learning that stuff. Lol.
Thank you for that wow! It helps me go "whew!" after writing something of this magnitude.
You're right about the windows aspect. How we close ourselves off, for self-protection. But it also keeps the good out, too. I'm still learning that stuff. Lol.
Thank you for that wow! It helps me go "whew!" after writing something of this magnitude.
28th Feb 2023 10:46pm
Fuck, I can just swan dive into your storytelling.
This was beautiful. And beautifully executed. Some of your phrasing was so exquisite I had to throw shit.
This:
Some people are potential roadkill. They get hit, they're stuck in the road, broken and immobile, in misery
And this:
Clay screamed like a cat being eaten alive by a hawk
And this:
It's too much trouble telling them how some punishments stay with us, as a reminder of our lessons to not disobey.
And everything.
Styx… fuck man, that was compelling as hell. You kick ass man.
1st Mar 2023 11:56pm
"I had to throw shit" - that is an awesome compliment, actually. I get the gist of it totally.
When I saw that comment, I actually laughed out loud!
My favorite part of this story, is how I subconsciously progressed the descriptions of her eye shadow. I didn't plan that. I gave it increasing value. Yeah?
Also, (sorry!) it's significant that in describing Clay's screaming that I referenced a cat. As in "Who's the pussy now!". That too was not purposed.
My brain just leaves me sitting here, a dumb body. I don't even understand it. Lol.
Much obliged, Betty, for your intricate dissection. You kick ass, too. Probably higher.
When I saw that comment, I actually laughed out loud!
My favorite part of this story, is how I subconsciously progressed the descriptions of her eye shadow. I didn't plan that. I gave it increasing value. Yeah?
Also, (sorry!) it's significant that in describing Clay's screaming that I referenced a cat. As in "Who's the pussy now!". That too was not purposed.
My brain just leaves me sitting here, a dumb body. I don't even understand it. Lol.
Much obliged, Betty, for your intricate dissection. You kick ass, too. Probably higher.
1st Mar 2023 00:25am
Incredible storytelling, depth, honesty in the voice. I'd consider submitting for publication.
2nd Mar 2023 00:01am
I truly appreciate your consideration, Daniel. And I keep saying it, but I need to seriously get my head out of my ass and work on bundling my stuff together, etc.
I will stack my book beside yours, sir.
I will stack my book beside yours, sir.
1st Mar 2023 3:15am
Your storytelling just astounds me. Disturbs me, sometimes.... your casual voice seems like such a contrast to the traumatic stories and profound insights that you share. I feel off-balance, but delightfully intrigued. Amazing writing. I agree with Daniel.
❤️k
❤️k
2nd Mar 2023 00:10am
How you doing, K.
*Disturbing. Because no matter what has ever happened to me, I've learned to try to be a tree. No matter the weather. That's the best way I can describe why I've developed the way I have.
As for writing, I tend to stay in the narrative obviously, maybe too much? The blame is because I write in the direction of the title of the book that I really need to work on more. Figuratively speaking, I've got all the furniture. Now i need to build the house.
And if I can keep your intrigue, then I am very rich. So thank you.
*Disturbing. Because no matter what has ever happened to me, I've learned to try to be a tree. No matter the weather. That's the best way I can describe why I've developed the way I have.
As for writing, I tend to stay in the narrative obviously, maybe too much? The blame is because I write in the direction of the title of the book that I really need to work on more. Figuratively speaking, I've got all the furniture. Now i need to build the house.
And if I can keep your intrigue, then I am very rich. So thank you.
2nd Mar 2023 3:14am
A tree. 😊 I can see that. I only wish I felt that strongly rooted - I'm more of the loosely tethered type, and maybe that's where the disturbed feeling comes from. I suspect there might be some types of weather I couldn't survive.
I do have an affinity for trees though... I especially like the ones that have branches low enough that I can climb them. 🌲🌳 I mean that quite literally... but metaphorically speaking, your writing style provides low enough branches that we can reach the heights of some pretty profound emotions & insights. There's nothing "too much" about your narrative, it's perfectly balanced. And yes, I'm always intrigued enough to keep climbing. 😁
I'm doing ok. My life is pretty damn good and I'm doing my best to remember that each day. Thanks
❤️k
ps. Write the book!
I do have an affinity for trees though... I especially like the ones that have branches low enough that I can climb them. 🌲🌳 I mean that quite literally... but metaphorically speaking, your writing style provides low enough branches that we can reach the heights of some pretty profound emotions & insights. There's nothing "too much" about your narrative, it's perfectly balanced. And yes, I'm always intrigued enough to keep climbing. 😁
I'm doing ok. My life is pretty damn good and I'm doing my best to remember that each day. Thanks
❤️k
ps. Write the book!
2nd Mar 2023 3:23am
Well, I'm a tree in a really really big planter. If that helps describe it. Lol. The roots and such tended to be the problem. So I stay uprooted, I guess?
2nd Mar 2023 3:34am
Rooted in Self, perhaps... then you can stay mobile. Not in all the other stuff that people call "roots".
I dunno. 😆 Maybe I'm stretching it... but I think I know what you mean. Be a tree. 👍 Trees are awesome!
I dunno. 😆 Maybe I'm stretching it... but I think I know what you mean. Be a tree. 👍 Trees are awesome!
Anonymous
1st Mar 2023 9:03am
Ok Styx. You were simply born to be a story teller. I've said before, I pay hard $$$ to read quality stories and you knock some of them out of the bloody ball-park. Excellent capture. Rob
2nd Mar 2023 00:16am
Thanks Rob. I had the fortune of catching a cold last week, so I spent half of Saturday wisely. Mostly sitting on my ass and writing this. I tweaked it a bit Sunday and called it done.
But I see a few areas that I need to.... lol. Dammit!
I hope you're well, way over there.
But I see a few areas that I need to.... lol. Dammit!
I hope you're well, way over there.
2nd Mar 2023 7:00am
Dear S,
Every poem is such a rare peek inside. The experiences and emotions that surround each of these writes can literally tear at the heart strings from start to finish. There’s an emotional investment by the reader from the very first word that won’t let go but sadly has to because that’s the end of the story. Mickey was a cloud burst for me. She’s a rain storm trying to make sense of her relationships but the entrance to her home, you could see as her oasis of what she’d like her relationships to be. The reality of the boarded up windows was fascinating also as a metaphor for emotional protection. Im always a bit sad when I get to the end because I’m looking for more. Greedy, you say? Yes. I respond. Awesome writing. H🌷
Every poem is such a rare peek inside. The experiences and emotions that surround each of these writes can literally tear at the heart strings from start to finish. There’s an emotional investment by the reader from the very first word that won’t let go but sadly has to because that’s the end of the story. Mickey was a cloud burst for me. She’s a rain storm trying to make sense of her relationships but the entrance to her home, you could see as her oasis of what she’d like her relationships to be. The reality of the boarded up windows was fascinating also as a metaphor for emotional protection. Im always a bit sad when I get to the end because I’m looking for more. Greedy, you say? Yes. I respond. Awesome writing. H🌷
5th Mar 2023 00:04am
Hello H.
Many times, my writes seem to end abruptly. Because I wasn't ready for them to go. As if I could keep going, and not "wake up". So I end up back-tracking a bit, to prepare for the end.
Also, many of my writes in this site are influenced by what I read. I dropped the other site that I've been in for ages. So I'm fed here exclusively. Sometimes, even one line that I read can add a lot of flame to my own fire. Enough lines, by various authors here, and I'm burning up with the urge to write.
So, I'm thankful. And I thank you graciously, for your encouragement.
3rd Mar 2023 5:36pm
I only have one word, my poet.. 'flawless in its poetic perfection. one word cannot slum up this mental eye candy.
As I previously stated your crafted stories are felt tenderly, and they resonate to the core of the heartstrings.
Enjoy your Friday as I wish you a hopeful and inspiring weekend.
As I previously stated your crafted stories are felt tenderly, and they resonate to the core of the heartstrings.
Enjoy your Friday as I wish you a hopeful and inspiring weekend.
5th Mar 2023 00:08am
Thank you SKC.
This one was a chunk to read, I know. So I appreciate you sticking with it and then having the enthusiasm to comment so generously.
Friday night was pretty good! Tonight is watching MMA fights with a few friends. It looks so easy, until you're in the ring. Lol.
You have a wonderful evening yourself!
This one was a chunk to read, I know. So I appreciate you sticking with it and then having the enthusiasm to comment so generously.
Friday night was pretty good! Tonight is watching MMA fights with a few friends. It looks so easy, until you're in the ring. Lol.
You have a wonderful evening yourself!
5th Mar 2023 00:13am
That sounds like a plan, and enjoy the time spent. In addition, you are humbly welcome.
5th Mar 2023 10:05pm
Yeah, write the book.
Get someone to publish you.
No vanity crap. Hard cash.
You prove it with every story Mister
BIG LITERARY LIKE
Get someone to publish you.
No vanity crap. Hard cash.
You prove it with every story Mister
BIG LITERARY LIKE
5th Mar 2023 10:13pm
My man, I honestly think I'd have to be locked into a room, and made to stay there, to get any real progress done on a book. I get side-tracked too easily. Like, movement. Any. I'm immediately transfixed on it. Lol.
Everything is something.
Thank you, PS, for carrying the weight of this story for a little while. Honestly, I think it takes longer to read, than it did to write. At least it felt that way.
Everything is something.
Thank you, PS, for carrying the weight of this story for a little while. Honestly, I think it takes longer to read, than it did to write. At least it felt that way.
Anonymous
- Edited 17th Sep 2024 6:45pm
7th Mar 2023 9:02am
<< post removed >>
8th Mar 2023 1:48am
Thanks a bunch for your supportive and friendly comment. And I miss your stable picture,btw. Lol.
I wanted "Mickey" to have a better result, after making her out to be so down. So the ending is her reward. So to speak. Positive attitudes deserve positive results.
I've settled way down, for the most part. It was time. But I'm damn sure not ready to live too idle.
My creative writing would suffer too greatly. Lol.
I hope you're hanging tough out there. Much more stable than your picture!?
(Yes, I understand why it is what it is)
I wanted "Mickey" to have a better result, after making her out to be so down. So the ending is her reward. So to speak. Positive attitudes deserve positive results.
I've settled way down, for the most part. It was time. But I'm damn sure not ready to live too idle.
My creative writing would suffer too greatly. Lol.
I hope you're hanging tough out there. Much more stable than your picture!?
(Yes, I understand why it is what it is)
