Less than Zero

The Bangles - Hazy Shade of Winter (Video Version)

Less than Zero.  What a movie. 

Lines clearly drawn.  The have.  The have nots.  Well, actually the have nots were not paid attention to.  They were have nots after all.  So it goes.  They were less important.  With the have's, surrounded by the pomp and circumstance, well. they were another breed.  Hang on to your hopes.

Memory fades.  But memory still gives us roses in the winter... even if it is little more... than little more.  You trust.  You give.  All in the bacchanal.  He deserved admission.  Entry into the grand dance so much had said.  At least this is what you tell yourself.  You join.  You play.  If only to forget.  Forget the have nots... forget yourself.  But each morning you wake up with yourself.  The cost easily forgotten by finishing the drink remaining from the day before. 

You said...

You said you wouldn't do. At least not again.  But in the din... so little matters.  Promises kept diminish little pierces to a soul devoid.  Shift the clothes.  The need to return.  You foregoe civilities.  The little things... like saying goodbye.  So it goes.  You are the haves.  You have to check in.  For a moment.  A wipe of the chin.  Splash of water on the face.  You don't dare look in the mirror.  You don't want to see yourself... not at this moment.  Slip on the sunglasses before you exit the door.  Fool yourself into believing none can see.  All is well.

Less than Zero.  What a movie.     

Rising

A Flock Of Seagulls - Space Age Love Song (12" Mix

So before,.  Before your time.  But...

the swell of your hips.  The pertness..

of you.  Jutting forwrd.  Striving.;  A delicate dance.  To be seen, but not to be.  Severed kisses advancing.  .  A jewel in your crown.  How I long to draw, to feel the softness... against the hard.  The supple taste drawing along yoru thigh, higher... and higher.  Slow part signals permission to perched.  Slowly.  Sure.  Always drwaing the heat.  Only to inflame it further.  So close, the slow pull away.  Followed only by the advance.  So longing.  So desperate.  To feel.  To draw.  Gentle kisses advancing higher, ever hifgher across the sopftness of the parting thigh.  To quench... or to inflame.

Down you lie.  Presenting your body before me.  A canvass.  For the artist to luxuriate.  The wideness  of... the fullness of... the desire burning from... calling from.... the contact so desperate... so burning.  The spark in your eye.  Waiting, wanting, holding.. if only for a moment.  Yet in that frozen space of time.... laughter exuded.

My sweet

My precious

Let me draw you

Into me

As the burn

Rises

Rocket man

Elton John - Rocket Man '03 Remix (Featured in Californication)

So this wasn't my idea.  It was the guy at Wendy's.  He asked what name should the order be under.He said say whaterver you want.  His immediate reply... Rocket Man.

Funny.  Life had pressed.  So hard.  otters may not konw.  You don't, I guess, till you reach that age.  That lovely age.  You know the one.  You find out that love doesn't mean forever.  The titillation received from merely the glance, the graze, was little more than a false transmission.  The thoughts, the feelings, the remembrances were little more than plays carried out in ones 's own mind.  But in reality... they were more real... more real than anything.  The drift glorious... in zero gravity.... all was well... all was good.  The future meant nothing... it was certian.  The past... it was already assured.  All that mattered was the present.  The burning glorious sensation.  The importance of the now.  Every moment spent apart was a moment of injustice.  The world deprived would be depraved.  So it was.

He was a fool

He missed the earth so much.

He was the Rocket man.  Not his idea... but the order taker from Wendy's.

The Edge

Lady Gaga - The Edge of Glory (The Sleeze Remix) Club/Techno

To run, to the edge.  It was all he ever knew.  He had sat.  He had seen.  The doc that won best documentary... repetitive.  It wasn't edited down.  Fools.  She was cute.  Unrefiened, but cute.  He would turn his head, he would turn from memory the fact that the event organizer didn't even turn up the house lights so he could have a q and a.  He did it anyway.  In the half light.  So it goes.

Yet he had gone.  He had stayed.  He even was at the award ceremony.  Defiance... perhaps.  Perhaps it was all he had.  Show his defiant fist.  In an unfree world... all he could do is live free. Regardless.

She never contacted him back.  Cowardice???  The edge is not for all.  Yet that is where he was.  Where he would always be.  Pushing.  Dancing.  One foot over the precipice.  Yet one sees so much more.  Others laugh.  They turn.  The dancing dare.  None join him.  He laughs.  A twist, a turn, a push even further.  Defiance embodied.

All one can do is dance....

Dance...

Dance like mad.

They have been taught, they have been told, stay away... beware.  Maybe they were right.  But he always pushed.  Lessers... so safe, so secure, withing boundaries containing.  The paint still spoke to him.  He would create.  He would look to see.  A view from a different point.  Others, more than complacent to sit stiffed.  Are you alive?  Are you living?

The world is calling.

You see.  The fool dancing, so closer, you are so scared.  So scared.  You don't dare.  The steps are few, but so far.  All one had to do was step across, to dare, to dream, to be more, to live more, but that might cost something.  It might cost them nothing, it might cost them everything.  Yet they lived so well... so well that they are reading this. 

He would apologize... but he didn't know what it was... to be captive.  He almost drove by, he didn't know why.  To drag her closer to the edge... but he didn't.  She no longer longed.  Longed to feel... anything.  So enjoy... 

Enjoy the dance constrained...

If one can.

Dace on!

The darkness of her light

Say Anything • In Your Eyes • Peter Gabriel

Love and determination will conquer all.  Such quaint ideas.  "Write drunk, edit sober." so said Hemingway, yeah... the same guy who said "No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader," and "Writing is simple... all you do is sit down at a keyboard and bleed."  I prefer Kerouac.  He simply said:  "First word, best word."  Though later edits show that it may have been a lie, so it goes.  Some desperately hold on to lies so that the world makes sense.

This would be my song.  The song for her.  It goes back, she wasn't even there, when I saw this film.  Crammed into the theater where I saw it.  Forget the slightly sticky floors where someone had spilled a drink on a previous viewing that had gone uncleaned.  Those that were supposed to clean it were only kids with so much better to do, to dream, visions far beyond those that their measly minimum wage suffrage could afford.

There he was.  The Woody Allen of our age, John Kusac.  WOuld he get the girl.  Of course he would.  It was Hollywood after all.  There would be a friend, one who sacrificed all so that the one they loved could meet their desire.  What a lovely type.  The knind that would be gone to again and again in the films of the eighties.  Wonderful.  Til you find that you are that type.  The sacrifice... too much to bear.  But that would be another movie. 

It would never be her song for me.  No.  That would be Solsbury Hill.  He wasn't sure if it was a bit of truth, or merely an easy placard that she threw at him... to somehow connect, to somehow appease.  Her shell was so tight.  She had learned well at university to either get, or give, ahead as a precious little sister.  So precious.  So little.

Shells.  She had commented on them, at least part way.  She talked of how he could never be able to read... her.  She was too tough.  She wanted to know.  I saw the burn, the cloudiness caused by a father.  He was, and would be, forever absent, yet she struggled to win... somehow his love.  Forever absent.  Forever unattainable.  Yet still...

she strove.

Her live knew horrors, knew pain, that none could ever know.  Yet he did.  The grief.  So powerful... so inundating, that all she could could do was form a concrete shell against it.  Let it pour against that which is maintained, if only to keep ones sanity.  How did he know.  He knew because he had his own shell.

Yet each shell had its tiny fissures.  The cracks that let in the oxygen.  That allowed one to live although surrounded by death.  The creation of boundaries.  One could enter.  If only to visit a hollow atrium.  The laughter.  The giggle.  How much one wants to believe.  She played so well.  So long as none could notice her animated death.  Only problem was.. he did.  Not because he was better.  Not because he was worse.  But because he was.  Though the footsteps were different... he knew... if only the pain.  He knew the facade.  He recognized its uselessness.

But that is where she was stuck.

Love and determination will conquer all.  Possibly one of the greatest jokes of all time.  Speaking truth, were his gangrenous arms reaching out from a hell you had long forgotten too much?

Too much?

Beaten...

Beleagued...

Serenades of the past can merely be swept under the rug.

Regardless,,,

Grab your things I've come to take you home.

Slid into the night

Stevie Ray Vaughan - Little Wing

So it was.  Jordan softly slid into the night.  Eyes closed body arched sublime, to his touch.  His feel.  The trace along her neck.  A gentle bush moving back hair that prevented his gaze along the border so soft, so ripe, so heated.  It longed for his touch.  Her eyes were closed, but desire was boiling, for his touch.  The heated trace, soft, slow burn, across her face.  His movements were sure, in a pressing touch. 

Slowly he approached the prize of her heated lips burning.  Passion boiled out from every pore, as she longed for so much more.  His lean.  An eternity held in the microseconds pause until he crossed the unbearable distance unseen and placed his lips on hers.  The fire only rose.  She arched hungrily into him.  She longed to devour that which she had so long waited for, to die in his embrace, so that she could be born again.  Hands pulled the other close. 

Followed by the grind, the arch, soft... slow... burning.

The touch... soft slow... burning.

Each and every contact... soft... slow... burning.

The gentle burning death....

To live again.

As the touches, moves, turned to the primal.  In touches responding only to the other, bodies spoke volumes in a language unspoken.  In the movements of the night... the two melded into one...

Soft...

Slow...

Burning.

Gemini

Marvin Gaye - I Want You remix

"It's my hair," she said.  She smiled.  "I'm going to win."  She didn't know.  Standing there.  Staring there.  It was her eyes.  It was always her eyes.  The passioned captured energy.  The turbulent sea underneath the placid appearance of the still blue.  She was a Gemini.  What imprortance was that?  Well, he was Gemini.  He knew.  The cut of the appearance against the turbulent sea that flowed within.  The contradictory, holding balance against all.  Perhaps it was earlier.

He had felt her clutch.  Her hold.  Her press.  Her soft, the delight in a moment stolen, her supple rub against his hard.  So supple.  So welcoming against him.  Perhaps longing for the feel, for the return somewhere, somehow, in the darkness.  How he longed, for the trace, that which could so easily be forgiven.  They had been surrounded in the dark after all.  The press.  The brush.  The draw along the gentle curve.  The rising soft slow of her tender rising forth.   The building, burning heat in the dark.  It could be forgiven just as easily as it could be savored.  It was the dark after all.

Yet... he was busy.  He had to do.  The project above all.  Yet she continued to simmer in his periphery.  She was beautiful... did she know.  Her form perfect topped by the smile so simple... so inviting... so seductive as it promised the refuge within the storm.  Eyes that promised shelter from the tempest of life raging.  She sent a message... would it be received.   All he had ever asked for was the word... proceed.  Envelop me.  Draw the burn from me.  Though they both knew... the fire would consume them both.

They were Gemini.

They could live with the dichotomy.  They enjoyed walking the line.  So it was.  All that awaited was a reason to cross.  They would dance on the line.  The boundary frozen between desire and the real.  Though both knew that reality is little more than a sedating comfort of the mind.  A stop check to the next.

Allison

ELVIS COSTELLO Alison 1977

(by the way... this song is not about a girl named Allison... read on)

Allison.  A song... though beautiful, I swore I would never use.  Yet here I am.  Perhaps it tells too much.  Perhaps it reveals the cuts of the heart, so deep, so critical.  Yet I survive, if only to die again.

Such is life.

Where was my writing on Tuesday?  Well it was Halloween, that day were those long dead emerge into life.  Though bony hands pierce the ground as you walk though the graveyard, sometimes it is best to let the dead lie.  Curious how sometimes the dirt that weighs the bodies down is little more than lies from the past.  Despite the cry, let the dead lie... life was made for living.

We have all made our choices.In the tales of bones in the boneyard wonders happen.  Saints miraculously turn into sinners. sinners turn into saints.  What a world.  What a glorious world.  The dance continues until the circle is complete.

But is the circle ever complete?

...or the dance?

Sleep well.