Endless

A Word Changes

 

‘Endless, endless, endless.’  I whisper the two syllables over and over, seeking a cozy acquaintance, a sense of the old definition: hope, promise and another chance.  But the word has died, fluttered away to spectral memory.  Echoes remain.

The clock ticks, the yellow pan glows, and the wind pushes winter’s refuse.  Everything is as it was.  Today is yesterday, but it is not.  There is a counting of finality, a tolling of payment due and the veil lifts, oh, so slowly.  Endless lops its suffix.

I feel it, I sense it and I deny it.  Perhaps, I opine, it is personal; my blade of life spinning low.  But I do not feel the draft of a little fan. Somewhere, far away, the grease dries, a belt cracks and Endless runs down.

There is nothing to validate these thoughts.  Yet, neither my fear nor my denial will change the hollow clanking in need of urgent repair.

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Tourette’s Writing

Winter Roses

A posy of tea roses, saved from the frost, looks out the window.  Warm and red, with booties planted in a tepid brew, the flowers weep for sun and roots of lasting scent.  Most of the holidays have passed.  Halloween, what fun.  Christmas, at last, is over.  New Years remains, but what of this man-made number?  It is but mid-season and meaningless to life.

Outside the last bastion of Fall, a drowsy Bartlett reflects upon the glass.  Muted yellow and nearly naked, tiny snowflakes sit in the cup of leaves, growing heavy, wet, stiff.  Every year the bole bends a spite more, wary of the promised Spring.

A morning sky fills with clouds, perpetually stuck at Eight.  The silence cracked by gliding birds, needing refuge in the evergreens.  Always this testing of strength and will.  Man says the color of Death is black, but hear this:  Under the hours of Moon, the End dons skirts of crystal and sings this dirge.  Who shall survive; who shall not?  Who is worthy?  Which of them that are, if any, shall go forward?

Were the hot sands, warm currents and sweet embrace only a dream I dreamt?  The season of sleep and waiting, cold and bitter, has just begun.  May time awaken the napping world.  May this hardship pass.  May I be counted when Sol resurrects the seeds, when Summer crisps the fields again.  For I am.  The rill of life, warm and red, is with me, and I am with it still.

Author’s Note:  I call it Tourette’s Writing—Forgive me for misusing the term, but sometimes I have inexplicable bouts of prose,  compulsive bursts of emotion.  Most of the time these afflictions happen when I’m suppose to working on a re-write.  All writers are given to a little mood writing from time to time.  Few of them share it, including me.  Usually I just stuff these pieces in the big left-hand drawer of my desk, but this time I thought:  What the hey.  Maybe I’ll just add a new category to the old blog.  It would make it easier to locate them when I need a little ambiance here and there….CM.

Talking to Myself

Lu:  Psst, come here!  Look at this!

CM:  What?

Lu:  Look at this cc line.  Look at all the names where he has sent copies.  All female!

CM:  Yeah, look at that.  Boo-boo on his part.

Lu:  Are we jealous?

CM:  We are jealous that he knows that many folks who can help him with his work. By the time all these witless gals get through proofing his work, it will be ready for print.

Lu:  Clever of him.

CM:  Yeah.  We would not be above such manipulation if we knew that many people who could help us.

Unison:  Whahaha!

Lu:  True. But are we jealous-jealous?

CM:  Um, no.

Lu:  Sure?

CM:  Yeah.

 

Lu:  What about the fact that they’re all female.  Is that relevant?

CM:  Not in and of itself.  We would do the same, except ours would be all male.

Lu:  Yes, we have communication issues with females.  The bleating of their private woes bore us.  Perhaps, he is the same, only opposite.  Perhaps, he doesn’t like to talk sports and machismo antics. Perhaps, he is so-so alpha that he can not tolerate his ilk.

CM: Does that matter to us?

Lu:  No, we think not.

 

Lu:  Does this dovetail with the rumors we’ve hear?

CM:  Perhaps.  But we think the queen was just employing the aid of her hive, after some unknown rejection.  Typical female response.  Whahah!

Lu:  He expressed no interest in CM at that time.

CM:  He was distracted.

Lu:  Or, he was not interested because he supposed us to be male.

CM:  That is a stinky possibility.

 

Lu:  Is he wooing them?  Is he attempting to woo us?

CM:  Possibly.

Lu:  We’ve never been intellectually seduced before.

CM:  Could be interesting.

Lu:  Could be distracting.

CM:  Agreed.

Lu:  What is his ultimate goal?

CM:  X-factor.

 

Lu:  If he is intellectually wooing us, do the others matter?

CM:  It’s not as if we will catch anything.

Lu:   Are we in too deep?

CM:  No, we have only stuck our toe in.

Lu:  What about our story?  We are especially fond of it.

CM:  We will see.  We  must dare from time to time.

Lu:  How will this end?

CM:  Not knowing is the exciting part.

Lu:  Our decision on this matter is…

CM:  Footnote.

Lu:  Footnote.  Whahaha!

 

Lu:  This does explain why he only responses via e-mail.

CM:  Yes.  He’s afraid that his other lady friends will see it on our blog.  Unlikely, but possible.

Lu:  Rat turds.

CM:  Yes.  Whahah!

Lu:  Our decision on this matter is…

CM:  Disappointing, as far as the blog is concerned.

Lu:  Yes.  We must never do the email thing again.

CM:  At worst, we have wasted some time.

Lu:  He is, potentially, a valuable resource.

CM:  Potentially is the operative word here.

Lu:  Our decision on this?

CM:  Footnote.

Lu:  Footnote.

 

CM:  Shall we fill the moat and reinforce the walls.

Lu:  Always prudent advice.

Unison:  Agreed.

 

Lu:  Are we sorry that we posted our picture and revealed our true identity, now?

CM:  Coming ‘round to that decision.

Lu:   We could delete and replace with a nondescript avatar.

CM:  Ah, now we come ‘round to the most important decision.

 

Lu:  And what about that other guy that keeps referring to us as ‘Me Lady?’

CM:  Yes, evidence is mounting.

Lu:  His comments thus far have been flattering, but typically generic and selfishly only on his site.  Flattery is a gooey trap.

CM:  He is inexperience.

Lu:  We have told him the proper etiquette without success.

CM:  Too early to say, but working ‘round to another disappointment.  More time a’waste.

Lu:  Perhaps, we should have a new avatar at the ready?

CM:  We will definitely stick with the initials.

 

Lu:  I was afraid this would happen. I told you not to do it.  That’s what happens when you make a decision without me.  CM is too naïve.

CM:  You mean unwanted attention, apart from the main subject.

Lu:  Yes, this sex issue has interfered before.  Remember H.

CM:  That was unintentional.  We forgot about our profile on our email account. We have corrected that issue.  We are quite irritated at even being asked to say.  Why is it even required in the cyber world?  Maybe, we can delete the entire profile.

Lu:  Worth looking into.

 

CM:  Besides, there is no direct evidence that sexual connotations collapsed our relationship with H.

Lu:  Says you.  He did invite us ‘round, and then lost interest when we declined.

CM:  I rather thought he lost interest in writing after several failures.

Lu:  Says you.

Lu:  Our decision is…

CM:  We will not make the same error again. I only posted our pic, after reading that article about folks who wanted to see the face of an author.

Lu:  Yes, and the decision was made against my advice.  Remember that.

Lu:  Our decision…

CM:  We will delete our picture, in the coming days, and replace it in all know sources.  We will revert to our previous position.  Then, there will be no question.

 

Lu:  People will go back to thinking us male.

CM:  Of what consequence is this?  So?  Duh.

CM:  How old must one become before this issue of genitalia is resolved.

Lu:  Probably never.  To deny its influence is illogical.  The internalization of male/females goes much deeper than body parts.

CM:  Alas.

Lu:  Do not say that we have not benefited from it.

CM:  True, but it is a burden at times.

Unison:  Whahah!

 

Lu: And what of this master/peon relationship?  Is he really that far above us?

CM:  He is the best, so far.    Many think themselves good, but few prove it.  We shall not toss that away.

Lu:  Unless we has no other choice.

CM: Interpersonal relationships will have no lasting effect.

Lu:  Ah, the passing toot of ships in the night.

Unison:  Whahah!

 

Lu:  Biggest issue today?

CM:  Sub something.

Lu:  That drags our ass.  And wait six months to be rejected?  I don’t wanna.

CM:  It is the customary way.

Lu:  And an avatar?

CM:  Yes, a new avatar.

Lu:  The old one?

CM:  No, too childish.  We have no drawing talents.

Lu:  The camera then.

CM:  Has to be.  Never fear.  We have an idea.  Producing what we have in our imagination is, as always, another issue.

 

Lu:  Back to bed, then?  We did get up very early.

CM:  No, we are antsy now, and new business is afoot.

Lu:  Shall we post this?

CM:  Why not?

Lu:  He will read it.  He may get mad.

CM:  Ah, then the question will be decided for us.

Lu:  And another thing…

CM:  What?

Lu:  My heart is beating fast.

CM:  That’s just caffeine yakking.  We must stop drinking coffee.  Get us a glass of water, please.  The sun has risen three fingers in the east, and we have completely forgotten about our daily chores.  The birds tweet for their seeds and the dogs are look at us expectantly.

In the Movies

Real life verses the movies?  How does that go? Let’s see.  Whahaha!

Movie Version: Scene: Mother is busy at the kitchen sink.  Pots are on the stove and the oven glows red.  The sounds of children playing in a distant part of the house are in the background.  A sly smile tugs at Father’s mouth, as he sneaks up behind Mother and grabs her in a warm embrace.  Mother resists but eventually melts into his arms; she gives Father a cuddle.  All is not lost, for in the movies the sink does not run over and food never burns.

Real Life:  Scene: After a hard day at work, dealing with a clueless boss and the lazy assistant that the boss hired, Mother is busy at the kitchen sink.  Pots are on the stove and the oven glows red.  The television blares in the living room, but not loud enough to drown out the sounds of children fighting.  A lascivious smile tugs at Father’s mouth, as he sneaks up behind Mother and gives her boobs a painful, double-fisted squeeze.  Mother’s hand searches for something at the bottom of the sink, and she whirls around with the carving knife.

Punctuating each word with a sharp jab, Mother says, “Can’t you see that I’m too busy for that, now?”  She dices away Father’s kingdom… If only, in her mind.