It was already dark when I left John’s farm. I was lucky that the path was recently smoothed over by some sort of heavy equipment, so my truck made short work of the distance from the farm to the main road.
Paused in the stop, the darkness was already thick…
The title for this story may sound strange to many but that is exactly what happened. The book wrote me, it used me to produce itself and now I sit feeling used, not abused, but definitely used with a hint of good sully.
Under normal circumstances, the sound of raindrops on the roof and splashing against the window pane calms me down. No matter what is going on inside my head, the thoughts trail off into nothingness and I get to enjoy the moments of little to no thought.
Rummaging the back of my freezer, searching, for treasures well-hidden, past frozen bananas and breadfruit slices, I spy a tin — small, square, mysterious looking, just the right thing to perk up my morning.
I remember when I tucked it back there, the hoarder in me declaring, that the time would come when the contents will serve for a time machine, taking me back to moments we shared a cup of black with bay leaf and all spice.
Sometimes the remedy to remove the blues that colour our lives, is to get a new palette of Simply Pleasures and paint them over all of the depression and lost hope and disappointments and regrets that compete with the sky and sea for their shade. We joyfully layer it with vibrant reds and oranges, brilliant…
Moist and ready for nesting, eager hands checking fingers exploring the mysteries that lie beneath the darkness; only exposing itself to light to welcome the seed that incubates, floating in a sea of wet and air.
Stirrings, life triggered from within, a force torpedoing towards true light; bursting forth with power and…
Absolutely adoring this ability to tune the body to experience great thrills, sending chills that burn through pain — delectably. Enraptured by the feel of a fine pen on silk paper, flowing and experiencing growing sensations of pleasure, holy be our names! Inscriptions in the heavens, juxtaposed against a never-ending existence, where time knows no ticks. It’s just us. Lovers or lovers of loving, we merge each time and meet at that place called Nirvana. O, is the name of the game we play, where quivers of emotions, running up and down the spine tell us that the trip has begun and it’s Utopia or bust! Vainglorious and knowing it. We revel in our x-rated display of a yen-filled lust and zest what coming here offers.