Valentina – an excerpt from “Amore”

sonnie-hiles-674755-unsplash

Love with her was pure irrationality and perfection in one sweeping, sudden fury.

The lancia boat I was lying inside on my back teetered side-to-side, creaking like trees moving by the wind’s hand. I felt the ancient splinters vying for my salt-dried skin. The sea splashed over the side of the boat, tickling my limbs, reminding me with each tongue of water that I was amongst the rawness of the sea, which could take me at any moment in one swipe. The sea reminding me of my immortality instigated the memory of Valentina. I closed my eyes, seeing her petal silk lips whispering if love, if love, if love, over, and over again until our lips were inches apart, almost kissing. Almost. It almost happened. Then I saw her hands dousing creamy white lotion onto my skin. Her hands pined for my skin. But she had already faded into a memory, as if what happened between us occurred many years ago, when it was only days ago. There was still more of her I had yet to experience; I feared this, and yet it thrilled me at the same time. She lingered, waiting for me to take the next step. One part of me wanted her to disappear, but never too far away from reach.

Advertisements

René Crevel

Passage from Mon Corps et Moi (My Body and I) (1925)

“But since God the Father wants nothing to do with me in His Paradise, the same as yesterday, I must go on using objects, earthly creatures. Today, however, I am not inclined to making advances.

Fortunately the other is here to save me.

The other feels that thinking has gone on too long.

I hear: It’s time to go home.

It’s true, dawn leads to love.

Let’s go.

At home I touch this body, as I have already had the honor to touch others, wishing only to rid myself of my most specific desires, without the hope of satisfying any, or the wish to prolong them.”

Screen Shot 2018-06-24 at 7.13.39 PM

Hampton Diamonds

Harper and August cruise down Ocean Blvd strip.
Car lights flash, clap, flash.
The two roll down their windows. Harper looks over briefly at August whose head hangs out the window.
Harper smiles. The first.
The honking riffraff bursts the sensual ocean whisper and salt breeze.
HARPER
Indulge me.

Get. Some. Lotus. In. Your. Life.

Do words come easy?

Two days and three nights, reason screams from the tops of its lungs, is not a sufficient amount of time to deem two individuals fell in love. Perhaps, I muse with the most logical sincerity, it was a simple bout of lust, just as one comes down with a bout of coughing seemingly out of nowhere. The cough exudes a miserable eternity, making you scorn yourself when you took for granted the days you walked about your silly normal life without feeling the combustion burning from your throat, traveling up your esophagus, only to spit in an unnatural force out of your mouth. That unforgiving day it begins, but as quickly as it came, it is gone, and once it is gone, it is completely forgotten until the next fickle bout tickles your throat.

When she looks back – Excerpt

A fire romps within the dwellings of a kept creature, I, a lost girl influenced by the masses, a timeless roaring rage to keep purity alive all in the name of doing what is right. Life seems long when the years trickle into a puddle, merging with otherness into sameness. It’s the acceptance of hiding which makes life normal. Sameness, hiding, long, acceptance.

I felt, I thought, I ceased. Time decayed after her.

The word lust is too sturdy and clear; whatever it was, it felt fragile and hazy in my bones and mind, as if for the past month I wandered lost in a foreign nightclub.

Another Passage– A Tease

Emerson said in Nature, “A man is a God in ruins.”

I am a broken statue— Donatello’s muse project gone wrong— mind chipped and irreparable.

But I come back to her, if even just in memory, and then I am whole.

Second Excerpt

I awaited during the lazy morning for this isolation. While all the others padded the stone courtyard musing upon their fresh pressed orange juice and tales of the crinkly-faced sun villagers who adore old lawless Virgil, I paced in a total wreck of a mood to get out.

The asters and carnations blooming near the eating table angered me for their sweet beauty that lived just for the sake of living and nothing else. The sun, always the sun out and about, irritated me, as the pits of my white shirt were already soaked through. Trickling water from the gold fiori water spout pulled at my chest as the water made its way to an idle, content state in the lilypad pond. My breathing became aware of me. I couldn’t swallow the grapefruit topped with sugar. The orange juice tasted dull.

Mother what is it?

My tongue pressed the backs of the front teeth in detest of… mater, mētēr, madre, mother. They contemplated me as if I were crazy or sick. Well, perhaps I am both.

 

Preview for an Upcoming Book

What is here? This life. This God. Creation beauty inhabiting every living and non-living soul of this planet. Dirt, ducks, beings, water. I breathe deeply the oxygen and exhale   carbon dioxide. I take steps beyond my land, beyond my world. Cautioned by those I know. Though my curiosity strikes against their warnings. I peer beyond the birch trees down the dirt path that turns into concrete.

Into a land it ventured of unspoken tragedies lip-locked horrors the life-barer warned of. Nymph of the Yonic forest, it wandered abound one morning five minutes past the jumping sun and rapturous pink-tangerine clouds.

Peace. It knew only of curious babes crawling through damp soil followed by dewy moss. It knew only of free walks of barer-hood, gliding deer not fearful of our presence. It knew only of the faces of those in the forest- not categorized. In fact, it had no name and accepted its biological features to reproduce young.

It acted upon any desire without repercussions and judgment, a temptress of nature.

It prayed to the grass, the ants, the flying birds, the running mammals. Suckling teat, provider of existence.

To those outside the Yonic forest, a mythological dream of un-realness could only describe. To it, this wandering nymph, the world outside the forest was the Underworld where Hades resided. It learned of a prescribed status outside the forest: Female. Woman. Girl. She. Her.

And with this new information, she looked upon the land stretching across mountains and seaside, soaking in buildings upon one another, individuals and moving objects amerced into one as a whole. A religion of consumerism. Religion of objects fascination with more.

I witnessed a fascination with sex, yet stigma attached to the act and body parts. I knew only of her sex as wholesome, and now I feel flushed. Embarrassed, ashamed even? Objectified.

Ruddy red cheeks perspiring palms and feet. Pursed lips and she walked toward the Tree of Knowledge and Good and Evil, the Tree of Life.

And there he was. I call him he because of his genitals. He called himself Adam. I expressed I had no name. He called me Eve. At that moment, a rushed desire to flee back to the Yonic forest ruptured throughout my body in tingles. I kept walking anyway.