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Tihmmnmmish's Cuddle-Friendly Fireside Threadcast

hum....

fear...is the f between the ear...meaning...fuck fear...am getting it...hugs...blue
 
This might be the best day I've had since signing up for this outfit. Got the sweet souls to thank. Blessed. Truly been blessed.
 
and yes, plenty of pillows and comforters and cocoa and lavendar and... that's what this is now. And it is good.

Well, got a Big Day tomorrow, so better motor down and draw the shades and go slip in some jammies.

What a wonderful day.
 
ah the Big Day. Got up and realized the power had quit for a bit: digital clock flashing, this prehistoric machine silent, dark, off; still don't know the precise time, and don't really care. I think that's a detrimental habit we humans have adopted: caring too much about the numbers on clocks.

Anyway, finally got going again, and checked for New Poems, since this is this reviewer's review day, since this is Friday, for Friday is the day this reviewer reviews poetry posted as poems. Saw what I thought were 2, 2 poems that is, but then gazed downward, and uttered 'oh' because there was a heck of a list, some of the names within that list being names known well and known with heaps of respect. But then I looked at the dates, their dates, not their companions for hopeful sexual engagement, but dates as in the day of the month of their unique appearance as poetic expressions in poems, posted. The majority were marked with the number 18. I was not yet fully roused, awaked, at that moment, or those series of moments, or more correctly, that long unending stretch of a moment that is not really a moment... anyway I then realized, "the 18th was yesterday" (although I did not recite roman characters in my head for '18' instead speaking/thinking the word, eighteen).


I then checked the numbers closer, looking for those claiming birth at 19 of the 12th month. There were only two. But, ha ha ha... I submitted one. It did not appear on the list. So I know there are more than two poems that shall come down the chute for another Poetic processing.

But when will they appear? And how many shall they all be when numbered? We cannot know that truth until later this day.

So I have a vision. A vision where by the side of a hearth and a fire that crackles and pops romantically, we have an evening lounge-around review, where we can take our time looking over the New Poems that come in, know not where they are or their purpose, or who will use them and how...

So try to gather near by the twentieth hour, if ye do want.
 
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Ah there's a few. Quick perusal hints at a challenging day for a reviewer who seeks positive merits in all things. But I also was just visited with a small but pesky headache. So I shall set upon the adventurous trek to obtain aspirin and perhaps whence they do enter into their assigned streams they will do their mighty works that purport to relieve pains small and great, and I may return to these poem glades better able to look more kindly upon the poor huddled poetics.

Oh.

Something to pass along, something I learned the hard way. It may be for you or may not, so consider or ignore as it applies to you:

I recently pulled all stories and poems off, for the purpose to start afresh: new stuff, renew old stuff... and what I've done lately, is to resist what became a habitual inclination to look at it once it is posted. Because you always can find something that you would do different. So, if I get myself to cultivate a certain sense of dispassion, I tell ya, life is that much calmer. Just thought I'd throw that out.

Okay.... later.
 
Ahhhh..... pesky headache has been sent packing, a soul whom I love and who possesses marvelous feminine physical features but who enjoys television shows that I do not, has been temporarily taken from this comfily small house... so I shall stretch, crack a knuckle, get a fire going, and take a closer look at them dang poems. Couple of them made me look more than once at them, and looked close, though they were reluctant and they do shiver in anticipation since I assured them that those first few glances were but preliminary and more and closer, much closer, inspections they would have to endure before I could release them. But they also betray obvious signs that they really enjoy the attention. They know their protests only goad my insistence and to use mild measures of force... them dang poems.

Back in a bit.
 
Now this is fuckin weird.
:eek:
In a reply to selena k, I wandered into a light-hearted banter and I ended up mentioning this black cat we acquired, and so on... part of what I wrote:

If there is anything to reincarnation that's what I wanna be: cute and cuddly, with big yellow eyes. You could get away with anything.
Click to expand...

Now, I swear, I promise, I had not read selena's poetic presentations today, (another pair of haikus, one erotic), until just a minute ago, well after writing what I wrote. But in her erotic haiku the very first line includes something about reincarnation.

I mean, reincarnation is not something I think of often, much less think of using as a word. When I wrote it earlier, it was just something that popped out.

Now is that weird or what?
 
Perhaps you knew her in a former life! Haven't you ever wondered where your vivid dreams come from???
Oh and by the way I had just started to write such a poem ...... drat better shelve it know!!
 
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Who knows? Reincarnation is one of those concepts that if I was sitting with someone and maybe having a few drinks or dinner or whatever and we got to talking about stuff, and they asked me if I believed in reincarnation, my automatic response would be a quick shake of my head and an easy 'no'. but then later something on the weird side would happen (like selena's usage of reincarnation and my mention of reincarnation without me knowing she used the same word on the same day), and then one of those quiet voices says something like, 'explain that', and then I have to admit that we can't discount any possibility.

There's places that I've immediately walked into and felt at home, like I'd been there, and places that I couldn''t get away from fast enough. Even here, on an internet site, like a lot of them are really wonderful people but we just don't seem to mesh and never will. But then along will come one or two and we just hit it off. Why? Who knows?

It would make sense if I'd been some kind of slave, because I absolutely and automatically rebel and resist at the merest word of being told what to do or how to do anything. I swear, if contemporary convention was to write verbose and purple prose, I would then go lean and spare and tight (because I really can if I want to).

Or, I might've been a bigtime publisher who could have saved a few worthy souls from a life of poverty, but instead I sent out too many nastily written rejection letters. That would make sense too. If so, I'd like to extend my apologies now. Maybe they're reappearing as poets and I'm supposed to take a closer and kinder look at works great and humble.

Who knows?
 
Found another one. Wow. Pre-Lit. Pre-trying-to-be-a-writer-of-erotic-fiction. It's where I plucked that signature quote: you will never be able to be what you mimic.

Maybe it's a harsh awakening, to see that though the idea of being a writer of erotica is attractive, some of us just aren't cut out for it. Or something happens when you get this conscious self-consciousness of 'this I am about to write is supposed to turn people on, erotically' but it is that moment the self-consciousness enters that desecrates any chance at authenticity.

Ya think?

I think I screwed up more than I had any idea of.

Time to go watch the snow fall and do some more soul-searching.

Because to me, the erotic is genuine. The less genuine the less erotic, no matter how big and bare a pussy might be. And I suspect that if some personalities get these little drivers in their heads that say 'write this way, now put in some sex' they lose that chance at genuineness and thus lose the eroticism, even though the actions and depictions are of sexual acts and private body parts.

Okay. Off to ruminate.
 
Sure do love it when the storms let up long enough to let the windshield wipers take a break. Man they was goin at it somethin hellacious tiday. Wap wap wap wap wap wap... but it all quit, the sun's shining, and I know what must be done and it suggests worlds of fun.

thanks by the way to Sheila. Those two were/are part of the latest new way to do it. Probably doesn't look like anything different, like getting a trim off the sides that's not supposed to look like you've been to the barber.

I also realize quite well that we can't let ourselves suffer at the whims of others, whether we are in a minority or majority or who sees things in certain ways. But it is also a pretty good feeling when, after the loud shouts of the majority which run counter to what you think, you do find a few who know exactly what you're talking about, or trying to do. Because though there is the tendency to doubt what you deep down know, you know you can't completely abandon it, and if you dare mention it amid the wrong crowd, and you're not in the mood for a lot of arguing, you can be in a heap of trouble double quick.

But then after all that struggle with doubt and the temptation to abandon convictions, it's like salvation comes at the last minute and you see you weren't as wrong as the loud crowd would want to make you believe you are.

Yep. Perfect note to hit the hay to.
 
And it feels soooogood to watch my suspicions played out in real time. Not because I wish to cultivate ill will towards any persons, but because I so often doubt. But those doubts are always the mistake because I generally always turn out to be right.

And so, in light of these new developments:

January 1, 2009 is the perfect day to really start all over.

I know exactly which way to go.

My Wish for everyone is that if they confront the same struggles, it will be made clear the ways they should go too, the one way that suits them and no others. The world is full of people always ready to tell you what to do, how to do what they tell you, what to believe, how to walk, talk, write, etc... and some of them may make public displays of how they think all ought to do, do as they, and since they do it successfully, some of us cursed with less self-assurance tend to think we should try to be like them. But that's a mistake. A fatal mistake. It's difficult enough to figure out one's own right way. Difficult enough.

Another great day.

Fuckinay
 
Well. Got woke up. Couldn't go back to sleep. Thinking about stuff. Besides we're in winter's firm grip. I happen to love it. Visually at least. And in other ways. Nothing like a dark and quiet winter morning. Icicles hanging off the roof. Long ones.

Anyway, while a few days allow until the New Year and New Garb...

I hear a roll call for the presence of Hypocrites and I have to raise my hand and say Here. It's true. Someday I will put into practice what I believe, but there's tremendous distractive streets and doors and lights and drinks and music.

Because I found another pre-Lit thing. It was pretty bad. I would never now ever offer it as I found it. At least under this user name. So... ? Guess I reacted the other day. Sorry. Also have to say that I I think I did improve it. It's no literary eye-popper but I think it's actually got a smidgen of potency it was lacking. Point being, if I made a bad thing better, it was because I used generous dollops of wisdom I've picked up since being a Lit member. So... thanks. :eek:

Found a few early Lit poems and had a similar reaction. And similarly applied what I've learned from generous people here. Because I really visit nor expose my stuff nowhere else to speak of. So... thanks. :heart:

Maybe just relax about all this... good idea.

Good morning.
 
Wishing abundant merriment and joy and every good thing to each and every one and that it carry on throughout the coming year.
:rose::heart::kiss:
 
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