Bistro Bijou

[loststar]

that makes me giggle with happiness, may the geeks of the world rejoice

 

[Safe_Bet]

I see this:

I'm weird like that. And, yes, I am excited that the movie is coming out soon. I just hope they don't fuck it up.

Hommie - WTF is that thing? And how in the name of God could you possibly fuck it up any worse that it already appears to be?

 

[myinnerslut]

ETA: The last time I visited MIS, we spent an evening playing the "Trivial Pursuit: Star Wars Edition" that she has in her boardgame collection. How's that for geek love?

She won, by the way

yea, but it was the closest game i ever played. he held his end of things very nicely.

 

[Homburg]

that makes me giggle with happiness, may the geeks of the world rejoice

--

Hommie - WTF is that thing? And how in the name of God could you possibly fuck it up any worse that it already appears to be?

Rorshach, a character from the comic "Watchmen", written by Alan Moore. It is being made into a motion picture directed by the same chap that did "300". It is supposed to be out next year, assuming Fox Studios falters on their lawsuit.

 

[Homburg]

yea, but it was the closest game i ever played. he held his end of things very nicely.

Yep, we were neck and neck up to the very last question. She knows her original trilogy Star Wars, and knows the second trilogy better than I do for certain.

 

[sassynyc]

Yep, we were neck and neck up to the very last question. She knows her original trilogy Star Wars, and knows the second trilogy better than I do for certain.

Y'all are too cute for words.

 

[sassynyc]

Okay, my Sweet. What kind of shoes do you think of when you see



this... .

While I was perusing Rorschach images, it occurred to me that almost every one of them reminded me of labia. Talk about a one-track mind... Go ahead, try it. Type in Rorschach in Google Images, look at them and tell me what YOU see.

Just a thought...

Just remember, you asked....

I see the female reproductive system, but upside down. See, compare it to
this, and flip the picture. Now, being that everything is upside down, this means this woman is supine. Which brings me to why I can't see her shoes. Her legs are in the air. But, since this is the inside of my head, there is still foot wear. They're of the impossibly high variety, thus made to point heavenward, like so.

And just in case you care, this is was the full outfit, before only boots remained. Yeah, she's still wearing 'em.

 

[Homburg]

Y'all are too cute for words.

Aw, shucks. Just us geeks

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Just remember, you asked....

I see the female reproductive system, but upside down. See, compare it to
this, and flip the picture. Now, being that everything is upside down, this means this woman is supine. Which brings me to why I can't see her shoes. Her legs are in the air. But, since this is the inside of my head, there is still foot wear. They're of the impossibly high variety, thus made to point heavenward, like so.

And just in case you care, this is was the full outfit, before only boots remained. Yeah, she's still wearing 'em.

It does help a lot that it's in shades of pink...

Helps. A lot.

bj

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I used to say I was a butterfly
don't try to tie me down
I will fly away.
I used to be cocooned
imprisoned
but I won't go back
would rather die
and soar forever.
Brittle wings and mind
oh such a longing
a need
it rises within me
to be free.

 

[Safe_Bet]

I used to say I was a butterfly
don't try to tie me down
I will fly away.
I used to be cocooned
imprisoned
but I won't go back
would rather die
and soar forever.
Brittle wings and mind
oh such a longing
a need
it rises within me
to be free.

Mmmmm, UYS. Now that was a wonderful "good morning" hug of a poem. You hit that perfect balance between brevity and substance that impresses me so much.

 

[Homburg]

This story is beyond cool.

We need more teachers like this.

 

[sassynyc]

This story is beyond cool.

We need more teachers like this.

Great article......and great teacher.
I'm going to check out more info on the restoration of that house. I've been to The Louis Armstrong House, also in Queens. It's a museum that's been fully restored. I think it would appeal to kids, if they were introduced to the music, the way this teacher did for her class. The history is priceless. There's a painting by Tony Bennet, that he gave as a gift to Armstrong, hanging in the living room.

Jazz geek

 

[Angeline]

This story is beyond cool.

We need more teachers like this.

What a beautiful story. That's what education is all about when it's done right, not only to let kids know who this wonderful musician is but also to give kids a variety a ways to express their intelligence.

Great article......and great teacher.
I'm going to check out more info on the restoration of that house. I've been to The Louis Armstrong House, also in Queens. It's a museum that's been fully restored. I think it would appeal to kids, if they were introduced to the music, the way this teacher did for her class. The history is priceless. There's a painting by Tony Bennet, that he gave as a gift to Armstrong, hanging in the living room.

Jazz geek

I've always wanted to go to that house. That whole area of Queens was where many of the classic jazz period greats bought homes. Basie had a home there, Lester Young's wife and kids were stashed there. There's a cemetary nearby (Woodlawn?) where many of them rest now.

If I could check out those places and go to the Jazz Museum in Kansas City, I'd be very happy!

 

[loststar]

happiness

giggle giggle

ah what wonderful brain chemicals satisfaction brings

deep breath of an amazing life

 

[Safe_Bet]

happiness

giggle giggle

ah what wonderful brain chemicals satisfaction brings

deep breath of an amazing life

This posting is an amazing poem. Love it!

 

[loststar]

why thank you, its not so much poem as it is venting a bit of happiness before it boils over

thank you though, it is almost poem like

 

[Homburg]

why thank you, its not so much poem as it is venting a bit of happiness before it boils over

thank you though, it is almost poem like

Either way, I'm glad to see you happy, shiny.

 

[loststar]

you really should make the trek to kansas and see the smile in person. beej and I are still brainstorming, we should hold a bake sale or something

 

[Homburg]

you really should make the trek to kansas and see the smile in person. beej and I are still brainstorming, we should hold a bake sale or something

See, MIS worries that if I ever go to Kansas, I won't make it out alive =P

 

[loststar]

she can come too, we'll be good to her, the more the merrier

 

[Homburg]

she can come too, we'll be good to her, the more the merrier

I'm sure you would

 

[unpredictablebijou]

whew! I'm only up to page 120 and already I've got to buy yet another fridge after the last time. Another fridge coming soon for the next HUNDRED AND THIRTY pages the bistro has rolled out since then.

You people talk a lot, you know?

I love that about you.

and as an aside, I may be back from Hell shortly.

hearts.

He has given me my list he says he's not a poet but I reckon he has done fine just the way it is .. a morning for tears one way or another

Portrait of Annie

My blondie sometimes silly
infuriating embarrassing
in her need to fight for justice.
Life isn't fair
but my Annie won't accept it.
Maddening, lazy, selfish
has to have the last word,
life's too short for housework
yet cooks like a dream
when she feels like it.
Kind a good listener, comforting
when days are hard.
All I ever wanted, worth
the waiting years to find her
and I love her more than
I think she will ever realise.

A black and tan tail
sticking out of the closed
mouth of a smiling golden lab
attached to a ball of angry
fluff soaked with Jupe-drool

Tiny feast of rage angry
at the world
righteous mini-fury
directed at mouthy tormentor
and Tammy Terrifying

One too many wet spots
on the bed, how she
hated Tammy.

You had sex?
Wet bed for you!

Angry fluff ball comes
to live with me, and
owned the house before
we did. Mine, she says
with twitching tail

Drool is slowly cleaned
away, forgotten and
angry kitty becomes
dainty Sequel. Refusal to
give in is won over
by refusal to give up

--

She met me at the door when I came home
She slept curled against me at night
She would not leave me be when I was down.

It's been seven years, and I'm still tearing up as I write this.

Calvin
Your wet nose wakes me in the morning
your soft pads playing with the covers
you wont let me read
you lay on my book
demanding love in a way that makes me smile

Hobbes
Your desprate crys wake me at night
you cry until I call to you
then you come and purr with me
You wont let me knit
you snatch my yarn and sit on my needles
you steal my seat, begging for attention in a way
that makes me give in

Snow Fucker
Once a bitch, now as sweet as you can be
you watch with your curious eyes
sitting in the window waiting for me
you wont let me on the computer
you sit in front of the screen
and step on the keys
you steal quiet moments with me
and I have no choice in the matter

You fight one another
yet unite under a common cause
You all cuddle with me, keeping my bed soft and warm
You keep silence out of the house, and spiders too
You keep me teathered, when I want to run from life
You comfort me, make me smile, and demand I get up even if only to entertain you

Oh my wonderful kitties

It is only a slight
I try with all my might
to disreguard the pain
what is there to gain

Remind myself of the good
of all that could
be
between you and me

I hold on to the hope
it is how I cope
what makes it hardest on me
is when I can't see

So try what you will
go ahead take your fill
but dont complain to me
when I come up empty

Hello all,
I have been occupied in the flesh and blood world a little too much, and really must come in for a bit of virtuial voyerism, and a vodka lemonadae. but for my absence I am to post some of the work that buzzes around in my head until it wont leave so without further adoiu



The heart burns at the memorey of it
the pulse quickens
my lips part
shivers run through
making me tremble
my body is ready
orgasams voming freely as I remember
my fingers are still yet above
not touching
my erect nipples
or my wet folds
my breath is getting ragged
and my hips acke
for the thrust that will never come

chances of the moment
lost
gone
not missed
fuel for the fire of my dreams

miserable bored and lonely
never a good combination
I am envious
of the past
of you
of her

how I hate you both
for not understanding
for not accepting
for not acknowledging

"its not up to you"
"you have nothing to do with it"

I am dried up,
chewed up
spit out
all done with the taste of me

but still you crave me
you are feeling the pain of my absence
you curse your weakness
curse what you cant understand as love

she still teases me so
letting me in as far as innocence allows
still depending on me
not admitting any deeper love

still I am here
desperate for what once was
letting me be picked at
for only to feel the joy of rapture
at your sharp tugs

I love you both
I hate you both

pretending you don't want me
me pretending I don't want you
when all of us deep down know that it isn't true

Noisy sassy Chloe
not a beauty to be sure
but a heart as pure as gold
and a love that I can't cure.
We saved her once upon a time
brought her in out from the cold
and now this precious bitch
pays me back a hundred fold.

anticipation
the familiar breaking through
the adventure into a culture
dance
let it fall away
move with the rhythm
protect one we love
from those whom could hope for nothing more than mediocre
move on and away
into a place with smiles
and hugs
understanding and intrigue
deep words
laughter
page and pen
smiles
and Gothic pets
onward forth
to a welcoming comfort

My world is bifurcated. My heart sets watch o'er two sleeping forms. A short flight of stairs leads to one. The other I see through a window but a scant few inches wide. She is sleeping, pale skin washed out by incandescent glare. She shifts and murmurs, I can see but cannot hear, can look, but cannot touch. I am a man half adrift at sea, and this window is a lifevest to that half.

I watched each of my get sleep the dreamless sleep of infancy, and never been so satisfied as those moments up that flight of stairs where I watch one before I sleep, or when I cling to life on a turbulent sea and look through my tiny window at the other.

Peace lies in watching those you love sleep easy.

the blood is seeping into the sheets
spreading slowly from the wound
the sprit is tugging at the bonds
the mind is screaming
the soul is weeping

the blood is dripping on to the floor
flowing till it hits the rug
the body is letting go
the pain has taken over
the will stretched thin

the blood is finding the crack in the floor
falling away, down below
the pride is shattered
confidence taking its leave
still the mind is screaming
the soul is weeping

It is one thing to watch the clock instead of the time. Hands sweeping each second off the blank face, each subtly longer than the last, mocking your need for it to be then, not now.

It is another altogether to watch the calendar and will the days to fall off. To will those sheets to fly like time lapsed shots in old movies. They fall ever slower, ever more languid in their march towards your goal. The numbers mock you, sly looks on their curves and lines. You see the printer leering through his work, laughing at your need.

Soon is never soon enough.

we couldnt sleep
that monday night
hadnt seen each other in a while
couldnt seem to stop
the laughing
the giggles
the stories
it felt good to share
so good
I knew she needed sleep
but what was I to do
I was awake
and she was too
we went through all the rituals
stories
talking
even the cats had settled in
but no
we still marlved at our awakeness
I snuggled close
my body aked, and my heart yearned
but I am trying to give the illusion of behavior
for both our sakes
I petted her hair
running my fingers through it
long soft strokes
and finnally sleep came to her
and I was glad
but still awake
pondering why
I had a woman in my bed
a woman I love enough
to keep a friend
or at least to keep the illusion
that its just friendship
and nothing more
I watch her sleep
and wonder
what could life be

I can't fill the beds, and can't turn the covers. I hear plaintive sadness in the background behind her voice. It breaks my heart, the sad in her. I pray to a god that I've never known that I can wash that sad away. That my hands and my heart and love is strong enough to make them happy. And I can't help but think that love, like war, is god's joke on us non-believers. There are no atheists in foxholes, and I think nor are there any in love.

She's here inside of me
I should have birthed her,
but the barren wastes
deemed it never to be,
so I see her as the child of long ago.
Wandering girl along the beach in
a cotton frock, wet sand clings
to hem and toes, beachcombing shells.
Sun so hot in cloudless blue
always alone and sadly seeking.
Where she but mine
I could have made her happy.

time slips away through these bars
and i trade one cell for the next
caged behind beams of moonlight
awaiting pardon from my warden
to slip into sweet sleep before
the sun shed's light on the world
i listen to the deafening stillness of night
develop an easy gallop into morning
as the sun stirs and rises, i am caught
in the cross hairs of her rays
and receding moonglow.

this one has been beating around in my head all day, and while the words have finnaly come out i wanted to share them, and again I ask for advice, this one needs alot of polishing

seeds of words

words slip in, words slip out
around and around they spin about
my crystalline heart reflects snipits of light
caught in the beauty of the world
existing for only a moment before they are gone
yet tainted by what I know
a piece of my heart found in the road today
flesh squished flat
hope and blood leaving its stain on the pavement
but it shall be baked away but the sun
the sun whose happiness I can not shut out
it will burn away my skin
and I shall be glad for it
until the cancer of denial appears
after years and years of hiding in the drug of happiness

*clears throat nervously*

Two hands
intertwined
resting on the stomach
of the prone
figure
fingers touching fingers
touching sides and back
three forms
one perfect union

Dear Karma,

Please please please
let me meet that
motherfucker
in a dark alleyway.
Or a 7-11.
Or the library.
I don't care where.
Or when.
Or if I get caught.
I don't give a fuck.

Just let me catch him,
and put hands on him.
He'll never abuse another woman again.
He'll never cause wreckage again.

I'll be good.
I'll eat my veggies.
I'll even be nice to people that don't deserve it.

Just give me this
one
little
moment
of richly deserved violent retribution.
These books need to be set right.

-R.



(I apologise for the hate in this one. It is ugly, vicious, and snarling in the pit of my stomach. It is angry, and wants flesh between its' teeth and blood choking its' rage. It roars and batters at the thining walls of self control, and screams in fury at the wrack and ruin scattered in the psyche of someone that deserves so much better. So I am trying to write it out, lest I get in my car and go do what so richly needs to be done.)

I keep it tight inside in that dark place
where I sometimes go to pick over old bones,
writhing it's snakes coils around a knot of fear
keeping them enclosed lest they burst forth
into building hysteria and all shall know
how very, very frightened I really am.
See I can laugh, smile and joke
but the eyes don't lie and misery hides
beneath lids that dare not cry
until I lie alone, so alone without you.

And yesssssssssssss, I've got a Mini.. my reward for living through heart surgery #2. I wrote this when I was shopping for it, back in 2007. It's on the 30/30 thread.

2-1-14

Mini's Mini

I've got my heart set
on a little silver-grey
bullet that will speed
me into tomorrow.

The Italian Job's
got nothin' on
this little Cooper.

Hush, and let me dream
of sinking into soft heated
leather bucket seats
at full cruise in overdrive.

A straight Alberta road
drags me to anywhere
but down. An adventure
on four wheels
a hundred and sixty-plus
horses
and a steering wheel.

They better not have sold
it to someone else.

Maybe it's cars, maybe it's not. I can't figure it out.

Buddy Guy's Sweet Tea is blaring in the background...



What makes the road look so shiny at night
in the gleam of bright white headlights?

something to be said
to savoring the sound
of that engine as it rumbles
restless in the nighttime
moonless night
giddy at the danger
driving as fast
as headlight beams
sprint forward
to escape the machine menace
that threatens all in its path
an illusion of control
knowing the next curve
in the road offers danger
lack of control
as the tires break
and moan
until they catch on the pavement
power on through.

 

[Tzara]

See, MIS worries that if I ever go to Kansas, I won't make it out alive =P

You'd be fine, I think. Happy, even. Your pants, though, might not be so lucky.

 

[Homburg]

And I can't help but think that love, like war, is god's joke on us non-believers.

Sometimes I look at my own words and wonder "Did I write that? That sounds too good to have come from me."

--

You'd be fine, I think. Happy, even. Your pants, though, might not be so lucky.

Probably true. I like my pants. That said, I would sacrifice a pair for a good cause.