Beneath Your Beautiful-Labrinth

couple-kiss-sleeping-hug-black-and-white

You tell all the boys “No”
Makes you feel good, yeah.
I know you’re out of my league
But that won’t scare me away, oh, no

You’ve carried on so long,
You couldn’t stop if you tried it.
You’ve built your wall so high
That no one could climb it,
But I’m gonna try.

Would you let me see beneath your beautiful?
Would you let me see beneath your perfect?
Take it off now, girl, take it off now, girl
I wanna see inside
Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight?

You let all the girls go
Makes you feel good, don’t it?
Behind your Broadway show
I heard a boy say, “Please, don’t hurt me”

You’ve carried on so long
You couldn’t stop if you tried it.
You’ve built your wall so high
That no one could climb it.
But I’m gonna try

Would you let me see beneath your beautiful?
Would you let me see beneath your perfect?
Take it off now, boy, take it off now, boy
I wanna see inside
Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight, oh, tonight?

See beneath, see beneath,
I…
Tonight
I…

I’m gonna climb on top your ivory tower
I’ll hold your hand and then we’ll jump right out
We’ll be falling, falling but that’s OK
‘Cause I’ll be right here
I just wanna know

Would you let me see beneath your beautiful?
Would you let me see beneath your perfect?
Take it off now, girl, take it off now, girl (take it off now, boy,take it off now, boy)
‘Cause I wanna see inside
Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight, oh, oh, oh, tonight?
See beneath your beautiful, oh, tonight.
We ain’t perfect, we ain’t perfect, no.
Would you let me see beneath your beautiful tonight?

I Will Wait for You….

471

Well I came home like a stone
And I fell heavy into your arms
These days of dust, which we’ve known
Will blow away with this new sun

And I’ll kneel down; wait for now
And I’ll kneel down; know my ground

And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you

So break my step, and relent
Well you forgave, and I won’t forget
Know what we’ve seen and him with less
Now in some way shake the excess

But I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you

Now I’ll be bold as well as strong
And use my head alongside my heart
So tame my flesh and fix my eyes
A tethered mind freed from the lies

But I’ll kneel down; wait for now
I’ll kneel down; know my ground

Raise my hands; paint my spirit gold
Bow my head; keep my heart slow

‘Cause I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you
And I will wait, I will wait for you

Friday Fictioneers-The Bell Jar

claire-fuller

copyright-Claire Fuller

My mother smiled. “I know my baby wasn’t like that.”
I looked at her. “Like what?”
“Like those awful people. Those awful dead people at that hospital.” She paused. “I knew you’d decide to be all right again.”-Sylvia Plath

Celeste peruses shelves while her mind flutters.

Wishes for clarity that never comes.

Says prayers for bliss that won’t subside.

How does she slow her savage heart?

With words, music, and love.

Wants to make others see her.

Hear her.

Understand.

She begs for forgiveness.

From God.

Family.

Friends.

Herself.

Is she Esther?

Caught in the Bell Jar?

Gasping for precious breath?

A force of nature.

Longing to be cared for like a child.

Unaware of her strength.

Her force.

Light.

She opens the book,

And begins to read.

Finding comfort in Plath’s darkness.

Sylvia, found no light.

Until death.

100 words (Genre: Hell, I don’t know.)

For anyone unfamiliar with Friday Fictioneers, we write 100-word stories. Stories based on a photo prompt, posted weekly on Wednesdays, on our master site:https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/. The stories run the gamut and the authors come from all over. Stop by Rochelle’s page to find out more. I promise, you won’t be sorry.

As I state every week, please criticize the hell out of my work. Either a red pen, or riding crop will suffice.

Mirrors and Tattoos

Infinity

Infinity tattooed on the left wrist. Roger Darling and I decided that life was better, together.

I’m looking right at the other half of me…..

It’s been a tumultuous few weeks. Oh hell, it’s been a tumultuous few years. Who am I kidding? I’m fucking crazy, and life will always be tumultuous. However, it will most definitely never be boring. I have struggled with a lot of issues over the last 25 years. Roger has been with me every step of the way.

Last Saturday morning I awoke with a smile and Dashel, the Wonder Schnauzer barking in my face. He was standing on the side of the bed, staring into my eyes and pawing at my arm. Heidi Jo, his lovely daughter was laying the bulk of her fat body on me and licking my nose. Roger Darling walked in and laughed at me.

“Five more minutes Ma.”, I murmured as the dogs continued their happy assaults on me.

“Nope, get up we’re going to the gym.”, he replied.

After a cup of coffee and clothing change, we were on our way. I whined and bitched during the entire five minute car ride. Roger did not falter. He made sure we got a work out in. I looked at myself in the mirrored wall and cringed. It was time to run. We both did, without complaint.

Afterward RD went to lunch with friends and I showered and drank coffee. I caught up on Friday Fictioneers and tried to write a little. I wasn’t feeling very inspired though, so I kept reading.

Roger came home and sat next to me on the couch. We’ve been snuggling so much. Laughing. Touching. It’s been a time of rediscovery. We’re happy. He makes me want to be a better person. He makes me better by loving and understanding me when no one else does.

With the springlike weather we decided to head to Ann Arbor and wander around Main Street. There were no big plans made. No reservations. Just us, clad in jeans, and holding hands. We shopped at the M Den and Cherry Republic. Roger held the door for a nice couple.

“Thank you, you are such a gentleman.”, she told my husband.

I looked at her and replied, “I kinda like it when he isn’t.”

She and her husband laughed and she fired back, “I’m not going there.”

“Not to worry honey, I already did.”, I exclaimed.

All four of us continued laughing as we made our separate ways around the Michigan based store. We partook of free samples, our sweet tooth momentarily sated.

We meandered down a few blocks and had a dark brew at The Arbor Brewing Company. The beer was smooth and quickly went to our heads. I sent a picture of my beer to Adam Boy. Explained how he should be working at ABC. He’d fit right in with the other hipsters.

“There’s a tattoo parlor on this street!”, I blurted. “Let’s go get our couple’s tattoo.”

“Are you serious?”, Roger inquired.

“Yes, let’s do it!”

Turns out Name Brand Tattoo could get us in. In an hour. We partook of dinner at The Blue Nile. We munched on curried meats and vegetables. Licked the food from our fingers and ate traditional Ethiopian bread.

“Tell me about the emotional affair you had.”, he said.

“Honey, I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”, I explained.

During the course of our meal, the story slipped out. Not all of it, but enough. The thing was, he never got mad at me. That’s my sweet husband. Don’t think he’s a pussy though. He’s not. He’ll defend me with his dying breath. Don’t test him, or me.

With dinner finished, we headed back to Name Brand Tattoo. Cole inked us up and then it was time to go back home. To our little town, dogs, and warm bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I looked at my tat and smiled. It was the same as RD’s. It was infinity. A bit of destiny too.

Tunesday and a Thursday Quote

Force of Nature

It’s been kind of a crazy week so I didn’t post music or a quote. Today, you get both. You may hate Courtney, but, well, I don’t. Never have. She’s a fucking train wreck. So am I. Who the hell isn’t?

The riot grrllll in me needs to thrash and break shit. So go on, take everything, take everything. I want you to!!!!!

And the sky was made of amethyst
And all the stars were just like little fish
You should learn when to go
You should learn how to say no
Might last a day yeah
Mine is forever
Might last a day, yeah
Mine is forever
When they get what they want, they never want it again
When they get what they want, they never want it again
Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything, I want you to
And the sky was all violet.
I wanna give my violet more violence.
And I’m the one with no soul
One above and one below
Might last a day yeah
Mine is forever
Might last a day, yeah
Mine is forever
When they get what they want, they never want it again
When they get what they want, they never want it again
Go on, take everything take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything take everything I dare you to
I told you from the start just how this would end
When I get what I want I never want it again
Go on, take everything take everyting I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on, take everything, take everything I want you to
Go on take everything take everything take everything take everything

Holy Shit I’m a Romance Writer!!

Nightime+Rituals+by+Jack+Vettriano

If I ever get a book written, I’m going to be like the chick in the tub. Smoking, drinking champagne and speaking Italian. Giggle, snort!

When I first started blogging, I wrote a post called Steamy Windows and Nineteen. It was a favorite memory of mine. Kyle told me in an email that I wrote very well, but my best stories were about love. The more tragic, the better. I’m sad he doesn’t blog anymore. He taught me how to write erotica. I miss him.

I loathe most romance novels and writers. Nicholas Sparks, Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, Stephenie Meyer, Robert James Waller, etc. Dear God, if I type any more of the author’s names, I’m going to hurl.

I’ll be happy to write like Robert James Waller though. I read The Bridges of Madison County and I swear to you I cried so hard, part of my heart broke. The damn thing won’t ever heal.   The movie? Fahgettaboutit. I could be in the sunniest mood when I first start viewing it. By the end when she grips that door handle, I’m sobbing like a lost child. I swear to you I am pushing against that door with all my might.  I want her to run to him. Even though I know she won’t. I pray that the story will end differently. I know it’s where I got the idea for the ashes of the woman to be buried with her writer in The Ghost of a Great Love.

I’ve written happy stories like Sunrise, Coffee and Sanctuary. Some of my stories have to have happy endings. Most don’t though. And that’s okay. I think I was supposed to write the tragic love story, like The Chill of Autumn and The Death of a Love. A little poem titled, Raindrops and Red Lipstick was one of my saddest. The angriest story I’ve written so far is The Madness of a Woman Seduced. I have to say it’s one of my favorites. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!

I’m not trying to tout my work. Be all stuck up and snobby, like my writing is exemplary. Far from it. What I’m  trying to tell you all is that I’m super frustrated by the revelation that I am a romance writer. I wanted to be deep. I wanted to be all cerebral and shit. It ain’t gonna happen though. This silly blonde woman wears her heart on her sleeve. I always have. Always will.

I have a fantastic editor. I won’t tell you his name, because he asked me not to. Plus he’s mine and I don’t share well with others. I’m working on getting published. I’ve found a couple of writing groups that I’m going to join. I’m even working with a local publisher/editor. I’m praying that something good will happen with this writing “thing” as an ex-friend calls it. I tell you though, if all I ever do is write on Rendezvous, that’ll be enough.

The image below is my  1/2 sleeve tattoo. I’ll be getting it soon. Starts at my left my shoulder and wraps around my elbow. See, I really will be wearing my heart on my sleeve. For everyone to see.

heartscenteredsharer1

Observations from “The Pier” by Jack Vettriano

The_Pier(H)-dcc39567-bfef-468c-a626-1e66ddd82c76-0-605x412

It was understood back then everybody needed a pier. Now there’s a perception of a value change. There’s a sensitivity to the scenic impacts of piers.-Don Lane

I’m seated in the gallery. My eyes focused on a painting by Vettriano entitled, The Pier. I’ve often wondered what the stories were for each of the subjects that he painted. The young lovers seated next to the solitary man. The lonely man gazing over the railing. The young girl in blue standing next to her father. The middle aged couple standing under the umbrella.

It’s funny how I can view an image and weave a story. Some folks think it’s a talent. Some think it’s me being arrogant. Like I know that I write well. For me it isn’t either of those things. I see the image and there’s a flash of clarity. A knowing. It’s not always a good story. Nor should it be. There’s a darkness to this talent of mine. A sadness that seeps into my chest. No one can remove it, but me. It escapes when I write.

I withdraw my notebook and pen from my purse. I stare intently at the older couple standing under the umbrella. My mind wanders to the pier. I’m standing at the railing with the lonely man. I take into my nostrils the tang of the salt water. Hear the squawk of the seagulls. See the waves lap the shore. I’m in my element. At home. My pen starts before I realize what I’m writing….

The lady and gentleman stand under the umbrella. Not touching. But there’s an intimacy in the way he shields her from the heat of the day. He looks at her and envisions the young woman he married 15 years before. She turns to him and gives him a knowing smile. That’s the nicety of being with someone for so long. The familiarity. They came to the pier that day to walk and soak up the sun. There was the shared hot dog and cotton candy too. The ride in the rickshaw. Holding hands while walking in and out of shops. They bought nothing. Only talked about what items would look pretty in their seaside home. They’re childless after so many years together, but they have each other. That’s all that matters. He wishes he didn’t have to hold the umbrella. He wishes they were at home. In bed. Sharing wine, chocolate and kisses.

Remember I told you, I’m standing next to the lonely man at the railing. I turn to look at him as he stares out into the wide open. There’s a crashing of waves in his eyes. A storm. There’s no serenity in the seascape for him. He’s thinking of the job he lost. The wife that’s no longer waiting for him at home. He knows his next double shot of whiskey will bring him no solace. He wants to end it all. Walk into the ocean and drown. Like Sylvia Plath. Stones in his pockets. The end.

The young girl in blue stands with her father. She wants to be any place but here. Actually, she wants to be with her sweetheart. They had shared their first kiss a few days before. She’s still preoccupied with the softness of his lips. The way they bumped noses trying to figure out which way to turn their heads. Where to put their hands. The tingling sensation that surged through them as they brushed tongues. Daddy is asking her about school. She answers automatically, “It’s fine. Everything is fine.” She smiles at him. He sees his little girl growing up before his eyes. She’ll be going away to college in two years. He’ll be lost without her. Even though she grows away from him, he loves her more with each passing day. Also, he knows about the first kiss from her sweetheart. It makes him happy, but wistful.

The old man is sitting on the bench next to the young couple. He thinks back to the day when the love of his life died. He lost all hope for living when he put her in the ground. His children are there for him. Take care of his bills. The housework. Bring the grand kids to see him too. They try to make it not seem like an obligation. Like they love him and want to be with him. He knows better though. They have their own lives to live. He wishes they would do just that and leave him alone. His mind wanders back to a pleasant memory of his wife. 40 years before, they’d walked the pier. Hand in hand. Her hair up in a bun with a few tendrils escaping the clasp that she had used to keep her hair in place. He bought her some popcorn. They shared the bag and smiled at each other when their fingers touched. He licked the salt from her fingers, and the blush that rose to her cheeks made a stirring in his loins. How he missed that feeling. How much he missed that beautiful wife of his. And how he longed for his death, so he could be with her again. For eternity.

Ah now it’s time to tell the story of the young couple. Not even a breath of air gets between them.  His arm is around her. Her hands, on his chest. It is sweltering, but the lovers pay no mind. They continue to touch each other. Sharing a sip of soda to cool their lips in between sweet kisses. She lays her head on his shoulder. He caresses her side and kisses her forehead. They gaze out at the ocean. Hear the roar of the surf. The crest of the waves surge, like their need for each other. How he wants to take her right where they are. On a bench in the middle of a crowded pier. She would allow him to, for she wants him also. Her dress billows in the wind caused by the surf. The young woman turns her head, and whispers, “take me home, and make love to me.” He answers yes, by lifting her delicate hand to his mouth. He licks the tips of her fingers.

I back away from the railing and once again find myself seated on the bench in front of the painting. My eyes open and notice my notebook bears the scribbles of the story I just penned. It’s funny, I barely remember writing anything. I thought I was standing next to the lonely man at the railing on “The Pier”. I place the items in my hands back in my purse. I get up to leave the gallery. It’s then that I notice hanging on the wall close by is, The Singing Butler by Vettriano. I head to the gift shop to buy the print. I always wanted to have a copy of it for my home.

The Passionate Son

The curl

Nothing you would take. Everything you gave. Hold me till I die. Meet you on the other side…..

Raised by false father

Mother lied of lineage

Brought into this world

The Passionate Son

Music was his muse

His outlet

His life

His friend

When alone

Avid surfer

The Ocean

His element

Sand in his toes

As he wrote

Created and

Became a

Superstar

Rode that wave

Head down

Eyes open

Body strong

Heart burdened

He rode the curl

Tears flowed

For an unknown father

Even after all this time

They still do

Today has been a Pearl Jam and Eddie Vedder kind of day. It started with a conversation with my colleague Shari. We discussed what song Eddie wrote especially for us. I won’t tell you what they are. It might be in another post. I talked to Harry for a minute and told him thank you for making me listen to PJ. I never liked them much, till he forced me to succumb to their genius. Now I can’t get enough.

I listen to Eddie’s album Ukelele Songs on a weekly basis. It’s not his voice that I’m drawn to, so much as his words. He’s a passionate soul. I’d like to think if I ever got the chance to meet him, our conversation would be deep. Like the ocean that he loves. That he’s written and still sings about.  Maybe he’d even teach me how to surf. Maybe he’d teach me that a little fear of deep water is nothing compared to riding that curl.

t is a genius. I will never be this good. t is good without even trying.

as long as i'm singing

Daddy, why did you leave the gate open? Why did you allow me to simply slide through and out?

Darling, I had to. There was no other way for you to test your weight, to find your way.

But daddy, I might have gotten lost.

Darling, I had no doubt that you would, and I wasn’t surprised when you eventually did.

Daddy, how then did I return? How did I find my way back?

You didn’t darling. You didn’t.

But I am here now.

You are.

How?

While I may have been lost to you, you were never lost to me. I watched you run, first with glee, then in confusion, and finally with pain. When your running ran out, and you collapsed at the curb of disillusionment, I brought you home darling. Just as I always promised I would, for I will not allow you to fade away.

Daddy…

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The Subject: Fragment

copyright-Victor Koos

Love is the extra effort we make in our dealings with those whom we do not like and once you understand that, you understand all. This idea that love overtakes you is nonsense. This is but a polite manifestation of sex. To love another you have to undertake some fragment of their destiny.Quentin Crisp

I saw her photo and had to write about her. Won’t tell you her name. That’s not part of the deal. I tell you her story. Or, what I think her story is anyway. She’s a beauty. Young and fierce. She’s her own woman. I love that about her. Yet I’ve never heard her voice or held her hand. This woman is a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud of her. I’m honored to write about her.

Fragment?

Never!

Ebony

Rose

Ripped stockings

Her story

Her scars

In ink

Sapphire eyed

Tousled raven hair

Lethal high heels

Inviting lips

Displays wicked grins

Perfect nose

Fuck you attitude

Knows her mind

Her soul

Her father’s daughter

Soft-heart

Straight Edge?

Maybe

Probably not

In her darkness

She sparkles

She glows

She shines

Completely unaware

Of her phenomenal brilliance