Lit blog

[WickedEve]

I can't help but sit here grinning, despite that fact i am in my 4th day of the flu....


dear Fool, so very nice to see your handsome face


Eve and Ange, Ball is a brand of jar and the poem is on g_g's page.I'll post it...I got some strange FB on that one, via email. Some folks just ain't got no sense o'humor I edited it, made it "better" but cannot find the edited version.anyway....


http://doitbest.com/main.aspx?pageid=64&sku=630464&memberid=0129&associate=true

Canning Mr. Wrong


I bought six dozen Balls
(pint size jars, of course)
with lids and rings
and did not forget the brine.
He loved the taste of salt.

One, two, three tablespoons
pickling salt,( per jar)
crushed red pepper
and garlic for flavor
as he had no taste of his own.

As I lower the jars
into the boiling water bath
it strikes me as ironic-
his refusal to bathe, now
so clean in his final division.

But I will not rest
until I hear him cooling.
The inverted pop of the lids
that seals his fate
sets me free.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~\

I'm sure part of the reason that I like this poem is because it reminds me of some of my dark poetry.
I recall a really old poem of mine about grocery shopping, and at the end I pop the bag boy into my mouth... as in I eat him. I guess it wasn't satisfied with what was in the grocery store. I should have canned him.

 

[WickedEve]

Hugo swears that we have weather dementia. For months we've laughed (a few giggles and a stray guffaw) at my mom and dad. "I hate your mom." Then he swore he didn't mean it. "I don't really hate your mom," but it still sounded like, "I hate your mom." Hugo likes my dad. He says he's laid back and cool. I'm surprised he even likes one of them, since they are the carriers of the old people's weather dementia that Hugo and I caught.

"Crap! They're calling for snow flurries."

"Which site are you on?" Now you have to picture this. I'm in my small town, sitting at my computer (in front of what I call the redneck window -- complete with hillbilly view) sipping my folger's gourmet espresso roast, while talking with Hugo who is 45 minutes away, in his even smaller town, at his computer, drinking his espresso roast.

"The weather one. I'm not using that weatherbug anymore. They're scarecasters, like that weather channel!" Hugo is wise to the wily ways of the weather scarecasters.

"Darn, they're calling for it to be in the 30s when we get together again. And did you see the aches and pains meter? It's calling for a 9 on Tuesday!"

"There's a pain meter? What the fuck? How would they know? Maybe it's a bdsm pain meter -- like how much pain I'm going to give your ass!"

"Have you checked out the middle of March?"

"It only shows a 10 day forecast. Right now I'm looking at the hour by hour."

I'm anxious about mid-March weather, since we're returning to Atlantic City during that time. The last time was in December and the weather had the potential to be snowy and icy here in VA. My dad paid a visit to Hugo's office just before our casino getaway. "She's our only daughter, Hugo. I don't know what her mother and I would do without her and she's all the kids have now that their daddy is dead. It's calling for some bad, bad weather up north." It wasn't calling for bad weather in Atlantic City but Atlantic City was "up north" as far as my dad and mom were concerned. Hugo believes that my parents are watching Day After Tomorrow instead of the weather channel.

"I hope the weather is nice when we go again in March."

"I'd settle for 50s and sunny skies."

"Hope it doesn't snow."

"We'll have fun anyway, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, right. It's not like we're my parents."

"Crap!"

"What?"

"Snow flurries outside!"

 

[Angeline]

Hugo swears that we have weather dementia. For months we've laughed (a few giggles and a stray guffaw) at my mom and dad. "I hate your mom." Then he swore he didn't mean it. "I don't really hate your mom," but it still sounded like, "I hate your mom." Hugo likes my dad. He says he's laid back and cool. I'm surprised he even likes one of them, since they are the carriers of the old people's weather dementia that Hugo and I caught.

"Crap! They're calling for snow flurries."

"Which site are you on?" Now you have to picture this. I'm in my small town, sitting at my computer (in front of what I call the redneck window -- complete with hillbilly view) sipping my folger's gourmet espresso roast, while talking with Hugo who is 45 minutes away, in his even smaller town, at his computer, drinking his espresso roast.

"The weather one. I'm not using that weatherbug anymore. They're scarecasters, like that weather channel!" Hugo is wise to the wily ways of the weather scarecasters.

"Darn, they're calling for it to be in the 30s when we get together again. And did you see the aches and pains meter? It's calling for a 9 on Tuesday!"

"There's a pain meter? What the fuck? How would they know? Maybe it's a bdsm pain meter -- like how much pain I'm going to give your ass!"

"Have you checked out the middle of March?"

"It only shows a 10 day forecast. Right now I'm looking at the hour by hour."

I'm anxious about mid-March weather, since we're returning to Atlantic City during that time. The last time was in December and the weather had the potential to be snowy and icy here in VA. My dad paid a visit to Hugo's office just before our casino getaway. "She's our only daughter, Hugo. I don't know what her mother and I would do without her and she's all the kids have now that their daddy is dead. It's calling for some bad, bad weather up north." It wasn't calling for bad weather in Atlantic City but Atlantic City was "up north" as far as my dad and mom were concerned. Hugo believes that my parents are watching Day After Tomorrow instead of the weather channel.

"I hope the weather is nice when we go again in March."

"I'd settle for 50s and sunny skies."

"Hope it doesn't snow."

"We'll have fun anyway, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, right. It's not like we're my parents."

"Crap!"

"What?"

"Snow flurries outside!"

This is a sign of getting old, you know. eagleyez and I adore the the Weather Channel. We pore over their predictions. Sometimes he has it on the tv, while I check it on the computer. Yes, at the same time. In the same room. How sick is that? And the ten-day and hour-by-hour forcasts? Oh, they're thrilling! At 2am tomorrow, we will be having heavy snow and a high pain index.

We're supposed to get ten to twelve inches of snow between tonight and tomorrow night. It will be blizzarding outside, and I'll be checking the Weather Channel to see if it's still snowing.

We're made for each other. Doug was right. Leave Hugo and marry me.

 

[WickedEve]

This is a sign of getting old, you know. eagleyez and I adore the the Weather Channel. We pore over their predictions. Sometimes he has it on the tv, while I check it on the computer. Yes, at the same time. In the same room. How sick is that? And the ten-day and hour-by-hour forcasts? Oh, they're thrilling! At 2am tomorrow, we will be having heavy snow and a high pain index.

We're supposed to get ten to twelve inches of snow between tonight and tomorrow night. It will be blizzarding outside, and I'll be checking the Weather Channel to see if it's still snowing.

We're made for each other. Doug was right. Leave Hugo and marry me.

But if we have an outdoor wedding, what about the weather???

 

[Angeline]

But if we have an outdoor wedding, what about the weather???

Better bring Hugo and his computer. Maybe we can all get married and go mooch off tungtied.

 

[WickedEve]

Better bring Hugo and his computer. Maybe we can all get married and go mooch off tungtied.

He has nothing! Not even tupperware!

 

[Angeline]

He has nothing! Not even tupperware!

Well send him a catalog! Where am I going to keep the lasagna he's demanding from me?

PS T, if you ever give me tupperware I will so be mean to you.

 

[champagne1982]

Well send him a catalog! Where am I going to keep the lasagna he's demanding from me?

PS T, if you ever give me tupperware I will so be mean to you.

You mean you haven't Wedding Registered with Tupperware??? How am I supposed to know if you want ovals or squares. Oh, nevermind. You're an ovalist so that takes care of that, but what colour seal? My gawd! Woman! Think of the agonies we'll have trying to match your leftover holders to your spatulas. Have a bit of mercy, will ya?

 

[Angeline]

You mean you haven't Wedding Registered with Tupperware??? How am I supposed to know if you want ovals or squares. Oh, nevermind. You're an ovalist so that takes care of that, but what colour seal? My gawd! Woman! Think of the agonies we'll have trying to match your leftover holders to your spatulas. Have a bit of mercy, will ya?

You know, having an engagement party on a porn forum and getting Tupperware from a bunch of porny (albeit loveable) poets has got to be one for the history books. Or some book. The very idea just makes me giggle.

 

[WickedEve]

God, I hate being such a moody person. I never know which way my mood is going to jerk me around. Right now I feel like I need a car (not one of those tacky cars like my neighbor has) to run over my head. Squish! Pop! Ah, that's better getting that brain out of my head. I need to air it out, maybe slap its butt, take it to a bar and cop a feel. I suspect that my brain isn't easy, though. Damn! Too bad is has so many hang-ups. I want a party brain! Then I'd put back in my head... nice, fun brain. Not this dark brain that's probably out to get me. I'm pretty sure the thing attacked me last night in the bath tub. I thought it was the schnoodle, but now I'm not sure. It didn't have feet but there was a tail -- brain stem?
By the way, my brain (I call her Imogene) left while I was typing.

 

[WickedEve]

Did he notice when I reached for the riding crop? It came from beneath the sheet and comforter. I thought it strange that I was lying face down, in pain, on a comforter. I found more comfort in the riding crop, and it still surprises me, somewhat, that I silently handed it to him.

I went with my first impulse, which was to hide it. I quickly slid it under before he came back with the spreader bars. The crop was actually uncomfortable pressing against my left breast and collar bone, yet I found comfort in having control over the thing, having it buried under me where it could do no harm... until I was ready.

In the middle of it -- it being a flogging, a brutal one and, yes, I tend to exaggerate -- I turned my head to the side and watched him the best I could in the darkness, with only a hint of bathroom light coming into the room. At times, I almost felt sorry for him. He exerted so much energy, so hyperkinetic, muscles burning with each rise and fall of leather. And there I was, viciously pampered, my body still as peaceful death. I can't help smiling about it now.

Eventually, the pain faded some and I was on the edge of subspace, nearly dancing in it, but only managing to let it pull some skin inside. I've never quite gotten back in so deep the way I did that night in the office, draped over his desk. That night it came suddenly and mysteriously. Now I'm prepared and aware of who and what he is. One day I may loosen my grip on the edges and fall back inside.

When my arms ached and I asked him to free my hands, it was then that I could finally retrieve the riding crop and hand it to him with shy, wordless determination. I needed my inner space to be calm, and I'm talking about my thoughts that seemed to jitter inside my head. They scurried down my neck, then crept back up my arm to my throat, spreading across my chest, finally plummeting into my belly, like sour stress, depression, anxiety that left me sick until he whipped it out of me.

Last night I thought about the riding crop and I thought about Tuesday when I see him again. I want to hand it to him, quietly, since no words are needed -- yet something is needed.

 

[normal jean]

................

 

[Angeline]

It has been at least six months since I've seen the inside of the gym, but I'm about to leave and start the long climb back again. I'm full of new beginnings, starting with my old name, the one given me at birth. I'm taking my old name and my new me into the gym and who knows what I'll work off there. Twelve times around the track is one mile. I'll shoot for eighteen times around today--a beginning, Fifteen minutes on the bike, fifteen on the rower and some ab crunches and thigh lunges. That'll get me started. I haven't even left the house and I feel the burn already. I'll hate myself tonight because I'll be a mass of aches: my muscles don't snap back to healthy elasticity the way they would when I was younger. But I want a new me so bad I can taste it. It's time to begin remaking myself again. I'm ready, and Papa, I'll do it wearing your name again.

 

[WickedEve]

I think I paid the nice, lady vet to tell me that my schnoodle ejaculated.
"Hugo, there's something on the schnoodle's pee pee! I think he has an infection."
"I bet he shot a load."
"Well, he likes the cat a lot... but no, it doesn't look right."

So I take him to the vet and there's a very, old man in the waiting room with a very old dog.
"Your dog ain't got no eyes."
I've already been told that my dog needs some professional help for his dreadlocks that are hanging over his face.
"He sure is nervous, too."
"That's because he can't see anything."

Inside the examining room I told the vet all about his problem and I even explained that one evening, while the schnoodle was hiding under the kitchen table, I realized I was talking to the wrong end. She was kind enough to give me a list of groomers. Then she told me that the schnoodle was probably having "normal male discharge."
"Does he have a favorite stuffed animal that he likes to... use?"
"He likes the cat a lot."
"Hmm... that's strange."

She gave the schnoodle some antibiotics just in case and made an appointment to have him fixed, then she charged me fifty bucks. I wasn't satisfied, the cat wasn't satisfied, the schnoodle was almost satisfied and the nice, lady vet was very satisfied.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

I think I paid the nice, lady vet to tell me that my schnoodle ejaculated.
"Hugo, there's something on the schnoodle's pee pee! I think he has an infection."
"I bet he shot a load."
"Well, he likes the cat a lot... but no, it doesn't look right."

So I take him to the vet and there's a very, old man in the waiting room with a very old dog.
"Your dog ain't got no eyes."
I've already been told that my dog needs some professional help for his dreadlocks that are hanging over his face.
"He sure is nervous, too."
"That's because he can't see anything."

Inside the examining room I told the vet all about his problem and I even explained that one evening, while the schnoodle was hiding under the kitchen table, I realized I was talking to the wrong end. She was kind enough to give me a list of groomers. Then she told me that the schnoodle was probably having "normal male discharge."
"Does he have a favorite stuffed animal that he likes to... use?"
"He likes the cat a lot."
"Hmm... that's strange."

She gave the schnoodle some antibiotics just in case and made an appointment to have him fixed, then she charged me fifty bucks. I wasn't satisfied, the cat wasn't satisfied, the schnoodle was almost satisfied and the nice, lady vet was very satisfied.

I really should refrain from reading Eve's blogs while there are customers in the shop. It's hard to explain why I'm laughing so hard...

and by the way, "viciously pampered" is a stellar, absolutely perfect, spot-on phrase.

bj

 

[Maria2394]

here it is spring, again. beautiful flowers, flowering trees, all that yummy pollen. i miss my froggies

 

[Angeline]

here it is spring, again. beautiful flowers, flowering trees, all that yummy pollen. i miss my froggies

It feels like five below zero here with the wind chill--it's hella windy today. When I went out to go shopping around 1pm, I had to crack ice of my windshield wipers. And then my tiny little car blew all over the interstate while I was driving. Spring? I want spring! But being the eternal optimist I am, I bought fresh asparagus (on sale for $1.99 a pound, woohoo) to serve with the (gulp) little ham I'm making Sunday (first one I've made in years, actually). Sorry, ancestors.

We're getting snow squalls later this afternoon into tonight. Wish a little pollen this way, k sis?

 

[Maria2394]

It feels like five below zero here with the wind chill--it's hella windy today. When I went out to go shopping around 1pm, I had to crack ice of my windshield wipers. And then my tiny little car blew all over the interstate while I was driving. Spring? I want spring! But being the eternal optimist I am, I bought fresh asparagus (on sale for $1.99 a pound, woohoo) to serve with the (gulp) little ham I'm making Sunday (first one I've made in years, actually). Sorry, ancestors.

We're getting snow squalls later this afternoon into tonight. Wish a little pollen this way, k sis?

If I were able, I would deliver it to you myself sweetie

 

[ZenChick]

Spring Flowers

I saw a big pot of pansies blooming in front of a home today.

First flowers of spring, always a joy.

 

[WickedEve]

I should think it's odd that I burned Rob Zombie and George Michael on the same CD. I pray to a God I don't believe in. Maybe that's odd. Maybe a leftover part of me believes. Maybe it's just my comfort now that I drink vodka and collect bruises.

This morning I spend time worrying about my birds and the empty feeder. It's suctioned to my bedroom window near the computer and speakers. Usually the same birds show up. There's a blue one and a red one and several tiny brown ones with just enough red that it looks like they must have rubbed up against the red bird. They seem pleased to listen to The Devil's Rejects and I Want Your Sex while they watch me dance. Hey, it's like dinner theater -- speaking of odd...

 

[normal jean]

............


Nj

 

[WickedEve]

sweet Eve, I will let you in on a secret...

I burned Marilyn Manson, GodSmack and The Partridge Family on the same CD... and my kids only thought that was odd because I like the partridge family, lol...where did I go wrong?




ps, could you post, your poem, Dark Continent of SC somewhere that I can show my oldest girl? please?

luv you


NJ

Manson and the Partridges? And you're not locked up somewhere? lol
I'll see if I can find the poem.

 

[normal jean]

................

 

[Homburg]

It was hot today. Hot enough that traffic was misery, and I spent too much time with sweat on my in-need-of-shaving head. Hot enough that I regretted the jeans I put on this morning. Hot enough that I was perpetually thinking about sex throughout my driving day.

Spring is certainly here, and my gonads still happily have not gotten the message that they're cut out of the loop. This means poor viv gets a vicious pounding on a regular basis, and our painplay swerves more to the animalistic play of teeth on skin, grasping and clenching, snarls and rough hands. She's certainly not complaining.

Yet, emotionally, I wonder what happened to my vaunted self-control? Iron and steel has been replaced by substances less phemeral.

And, Angeline, I regular abuse my body in search of greater physical capacity. I've found my tolerance for abuse is occassionally impressive. Fortunately, my body enjoys this brand of abuse, so...

 

[WickedEve]

Dear elderly neighbors that I've known since childhood, please stop making me feel guilty. Okay, I'm making me feel guilty. Sister Bessie tells me how I'm such a good and nice woman and how happy she is that I'm seeing a nice man. Door-greeter Polly is overjoyed that such a good mom and fine lady like me seeing a decent man. The 60-year-old virgin across the street talks to my mom and she seems to know every move I make. She told me mom that I'm always home with the kids, just the kids, no man, no bad behavior. She has stopped talking. What has she seen? I'm not that nice or good. Well, I am but I'm not.

Dear neighbors, I'm sorry about all the oral sex on my front porch. I'm sorry about what's going on in my yard and on my deck and about the noises coming from my bedroom when the window is open. I'm sorry about some other things that I can't mention.

Okay, that's about it.