Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Sexy THing

Sexy thing by JLD
Sexy things. Things so sexy. Things that make you sweat and heave and giggle like drunk women on a Saturday night after midnight but 45 minutes before last call. Sexy things- things that make you dream about water and steam and soapy bubbles frothing in a hot tub. Sexy thing anything that makes you dare to lick your lips and swish your hips and call up an old flame named Ted. Or maybe his name was Denis, Thad, Thor, or Larry. Who cares as long as you pick up the phone and dial 1 800- Hot MOMMA for a HOT DADDY! Yes!
Sexy things. Those things that are simple when someone you really love comes around. S it a dozen roses or a new diamond ring? Is sexy that brand new house on Snob Nob Hill? Or is sexy thing that special back rub when you’ve had a bad day at work and your honey feels the need to pamper you and lavish you with rich sweets and tasty meats and candle light and fine drink? Maybe sexy is when he calls you on the phone just to say hello because he felt like it and he thought that maybe you’d enjoy hearing about the bird that woke him up singing a song about you even though of course it was just a black bird making a lot of noise, but who cares, it’s the thought that counts. Maybe sexy is just a simple pair of fishnet stockings and red ankle strap stilettos with 4 inch heels and a martini glass with a strawberry garnish.
No, sexy is lying on a chaise, being handed a fresh martini, and being fed richness, while being gifted a silver bangle. All of course coming from a man who trips over himself to let you know he thinks that you are sexy far beyond the time when the last call, drunk girls from the bars have gone home to some strange men’s houses and awakened in some strange men’s beds before those long walks of shame back home to start all over again come Friday night.

Friday, June 19, 2009

the Signs of Scylla

The Signs of Scylla-- 100 words catch up

The Signs of Scylla

This evoled as pices for 100words.com. The title stuck in my head this morning and I wrote the pieces to catch up on the dates I had missed for June 100words.

The Signs of Scylla by JLD 2007

The Signs of Scylla I learned way back as a child. They guided me through adolescence. They spurred me through college. They rushed me along early middle age. The Signs of Scylla are grounded in truths that no one person ever tells you but that you must learn in order to be complete and navigate a world that doesn't want you in it. This world wasn't made for you or me or people like me. No, it was made for those that are THEM. The white kind. The rich kind. The boy kind. Not my kind who is/ are/ were everything darker, brighter, more knowing, less adored.

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Scylla devoured. She, I call her she because she is violent and warm and caring and destructive. Scylla is a water monster bent on protecting what she deems fit. Scylla is powerfully evil and good combined. She is a mighty teacher. She guides the way. She protects the way. She's fierce. Scylla is a violent teacher and a heavy taskmaster. Yet, her wisdom is carnal, infinite, truth barbed with beastliness. Scylla the two faced, many face, bitch destroyed and conquered. She teaches how to live in rampant waters among violent men on floating vessels who mistakenly think they are invincible.

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Scylla the wicked beast of the sea, she is the teacher of would be harpies in modern world. She mothers us through history's waters. I followed her signs.

She told me long ago when I was little exactly what to do to survive. Hide. Oh it seems cowardly. Hide. Go behind, go under, go anywhere where the dark recesses will welcome you. Hide. Be silent. Keep still. Keep your guard up. But hide young one hide. Stealth is thy friend. They fear not what they do not know or care to see is there. Hide little girl, listen, gain strength.

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Scylla did not stop. She spoke more. She growled, crunched more wisdom.

She taught a new sign, lesson. Creep child. Creep through the mists in the midst of them that would kill you. Creep. Wind thyself like wet serpents around and through the strong fortresses of them that would destroy you. Creeping is not cow towing. No, little one, little girl, it is learning to bend and not break. It is learning to slink through and to spy out that which they would hide from you. They keep their strength and knowledge away. But between themselves they blather and boast.

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The Signs of Scylla are branded into the hearts and minds and teeth of we who know. We, the little girls, the black ones, the darker ones, the ones who know the underbelly. Scylla, she cares for us and we learn.

She told me later to ambush. Aw yes, to snatch and crush at will. To snap shut my jaws upon the unsuspecting Viking raging and ravishing my waters. Snatch them, little one. Make them fear you, but keep hidden who you is. Let them hear the howls of their fellows. Let them see the bloody tore bits. Bite them. Retreat. Kill them. Watch them shit their pants.

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Scylla is a mother - vibrant, lethal. She's the serpentine witch that they all fear. She's loyal to her kind.

Little ones, my children, my water babies, my disheartened, disenfranchised seed, be true to your calling. Rip from the world those that spitefully use you and your kind. Grind them down. Tear them. Keep them always to your faces. Be sly, cunning, strong. Learn of them. Watch them. But be loyal to your own kind. Your kind will protect you. Your kind will guard your faces, your loves, your hearts. Keep your teeth from out of each other's backs! Be united!

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Scylla, my devouring goddess, patron saint of destruction, sea wench. My loving devourer- I hear, pass on.

Your faces are you and not you. Your mouths are you and not you. Use them. Open wide your maws, spew the fetid stench of dead men's boney blood when your future enemies gather. Remind them, paint them in blood gore of their past glories. Your faces are many. You are what you show, whatever time you choose. You, my little Scylla's are not bound by singularity. Your faces are many use them to your advantage and to their demise. Learn, waterbabies, learn.

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The Signs of Scylla keep our sea ways, us buoyant in sucking whirlpools. They keep us vibrant in dark grey squalls. The Signs of Scylla ground us in the fluid tangibility of rough waters and peaceful depths in ocean canyons.

The Signs are our sacred texts. They show the world. They enlighten the lost. They keep at bay the ragers of war, the destructors of souls, the polluters of air, the defilers of woman, child, darkness, communal progress. The signs of Scylla, the destructor, gird up the underbellies. The Signs of Scylla, the scales of justice, not mercy, protect us.