February 12, 2018 · 8:59 am
The Iconoclast Says Goodbye, a short story
It was 1977. You’d majored in filmmaking at the same expensive, private school Stephen Spielberg went to. You were 25, and stalled. For entertainment, you drew a cartoon strip, Fred and Edna — they were strange four-eyed aliens, and of course all the humor was sexual. You had another idea for a cartoon — pieces of meat talking to each other, perched on barstools. We met at Mr. Pip’s discotheque. I was 5’ 7” and weighed 130 pounds but thought I was fat. Everybody was skinny then.
All that cocaine; cutting edge. You asked me to dance, I forget whether you asked my friend first or me. I would have been slightly offended. I knocked your glasses off on the dance floor. It charmed you somehow. We were drinking, probably vodka gimlets, that was my idea. We went off in your car, you parked at the beach. You got my number and said you’d like it if you could be my first lover. You cooked dinner for me at your parent’s — they were away for the weekend. I was impressed with your cooking, the French antiques and the view of the bay.
We took a sauna in your parent’s bath. We went upstairs; I was only slightly spooked by the huge oil painting of your mother in full jewelry regalia on the landing. Out came your pack of Trojans; it was difficult, painful. I can’t say I enjoyed it much the first time. “It’s just… got… to open,” you kept saying. My muscles were clamped tight as a vise. You worked up such a sweat trying to impress me, later you revealed you’d slept with hundreds of women. Over time, things improved for me in bed, but the closer you came to me emotionally, the faster I started to retreat.
I always dreamed and schemed for love then got strangely revolted when it appeared. I thought you were too old because you were approaching thirty. I felt typecast, imported from the sticks. Your mother seethed, your father smiled benignly. Every Sunday morning, you brought my mom the finest nova and bagels — but my grandmother cast a dour eye on our trysts.
For fun, we drag-raced on I-95 — always a tie. You said I liked to dominate relationships — to me it didn’t feel like domination, only self-expression. I didn’t want to be owned. You weren’t romantic enough, and never romantic at the right time. It could have been worse, for my first affair. If only you’d given me a nicer present our first Christmas together, maybe we wouldn’t have broken up.
I just didn’t like the sugar dispenser. Then there was your plan for my prom — you were going to wear a T-shirt printed with a tuxedo. I was 17 — I wanted to be taken seriously. One night, lying on my mom’s couch we discussed marriage and children — you wanted to name our first Bozo — but the next morning I knew it was over. My heart was sheathed.
I liquefied in your arms, then dribbled away. You tried for months, told me how wonderful I was, how beautiful I was, but I didn’t believe you. You said you were too busy for friendship. It had to be all or nothing. After we broke up I saw men who reminded me of you everywhere, and every time my stomach lurched. I waffled, waffled, waffled. I bought a plane ticket to see you, then came an attack of conscience, or memory, or both. You wanted to be my alpha & omega. Nice dream, love love love.
Filed under adolescence, apologia, dream, dreams, friendship, heart, human beings, identity, life, loss, love, maturity, men, mysterious, passion, personal responsibility, relationships, sex, short stories, spirit, transitions, woman, women
Tagged as Alpha, flash fiction, iconoclast, iconophile, love, omega, prom, Relationships, sex, short fiction, virginity
May 2, 2017 · 7:08 am
You may not remember me, but I was at Le Cirque one night, that December, when you were having sex with Marla & trying to get rid of poor Ivana. Remember your ski trip? I was there for that too! Isn’t life funny? Anyway, Ivana was still running the Plaza. You hadn’t destroyed it yet. Of course you would be instrumental in that, letting that fabulous, fabulous hotel where Scott & Zelda frolicked in the fountain — and where I & my daughters enjoyed many a Sunday brunch — get turned into condos (using nonunion labor, of course). Even then we knew what you were made of, and it was ticky-tacky.
You were a prematurely balding joke, you were getting soft & going broke, and your lovely, long-legged girl spoke to me — at length — while we were in the ladies’ together. She asked to borrow my lipstick. I’m a nice Southern girl, too, so like sorority sisters we joshed about the men we were with that night. We joshed about stuff like sex, and how it was really funny how men were so simple, so easily fooled. Turns out my mother knew her mother from way back!
I actually asked poor Marla what she thought of Trump Tower. One of my friends had tried to get me to go inside but I refused. It was too ugly, and you’d torn down that beautiful Art Deco facade & not even given it to the Metropolitan like you promised! I wish I’d known that night what you’d be up to in 2016, because I would have spit on your plate on my way out the door. I have good aim. I was a tomboy.
Anyway, back in the Le Cirque ladies’, Marla giggled and said she didn’t really like it much herself, but that she’d never tell you because she knew how much building that brass & glass dick substitute (her words, not mine) meant to you. Apparently insecurity knows no bounds. Plus, she thought you were rich. She played that gig pretty well, I must say.
I myself was there with my then-husband, a man who is on one of the Nobel Prize nominating committees. I was there while my then-husband & his boss discussed you at table. You were too busy grabbing Marla’s sweet little pussy under the table over in the corner to notice much else. So, while you pussy-grabbed, my then-husband & his boss regaled me & my then-husband’s boss’ wife (a tall, blonde doctor whose Polish-born mother had survived Auschwitz) with the rumors (all true) of your imminent financial demise.
You were also a complete laughingstock down in Palm Beach. All of old Palm Beach hated you! I’d heard how you were ruining Mar-a-Lago — which I’d visited as a child, playing happily out in the garden whilst the grownups did boring things inside which didn’t involve roses, or butterflies, or dogs. You destroyed it, just like you destroyed that beautiful Art Deco facade. And, by the way, I know all about Jared’s brother. And your youngest kid.
So you thought being President of the United States would be easy? Cry me a fucking river, Herr Blotus. I know exactly who you are. You’re that pudgy asshole crybaby who got sent to military school for beating up the little kids. You’re that fat old man who cut off his nephew’s health insurance because he didn’t like the way his nephew refused to bow & scrape to him after he stole his nephew’s inheritance. Honestly, sir, you are nothing more than a piece of shit.
Filed under adultery, anger, anthem, assholes, child abuse, con man, con men, corporate states of amerka, criminal, criminal behavior, criminals, daughter, daughters, evil, father, fatherhood, fathers, fear, federal judge, hypocrisy, idiots, ignorance, insecurity, jerks, justice, karma, law, legal system, legal writing, letters, manifesto, memoir, murder, personal responsibility, racism, satire, sexism, tea party mad hatters, trump, truth, united states of america, users, war
Tagged as art, Business, donald trump, f. scott fitzgerald, incest, ivanka trump, journalism, marla maples, news, politics, Relationships, science, tacky, the plaza, travel, trump tower
October 24, 2016 · 10:58 am
(Statements in italics taken from Ethics, by Baruch de Spinoza)
Look farther and farther toward thin blue sky, until the green feathery tops of the trees are like the northern pole on some dream planet. Put the anger back in its bottle. These trees are generous. Hatred can never be good.
Your carsickness from the ride up the mountain begins to fade, leaving behind a breathless, weepy echo not unlike your first religious fervor. Hatred is increased through return of hatred, but may be destroyed by love.
When have you not been afraid? The random can be scrutinized for meaning, the puzzle solved, when surveyed long & carefully enough. Anything may be accidentally the cause of either hope or fear.
These trees have plenty of time. As a child, you stared at Jesus’ sad face for hours, wishing you could marry him — wondering what it was that made him love you. Could you sacrifice yourself for the sins of the world, if it was that simple & necessary? Cathedrals turn us small and vulnerable again, for reasons both blessed & cursed. Devotion is love towards an object which astonishes us.
Vague, starry eyes like yours feel at home here; the air is weighty, burdensome & solemn. You’ve loved trees before; this is different. These trees have plenty of time – more time than you. If we love a thing which is like ourselves, we endeavor as much as possible to make it love us in return.
Your nerves are suddenly frozen, by the unaccustomed richness of perfect light. Your guide is tall & slender, hesitant to speak. Her mother has the tattooed forearm of a Polish Jew of a certain age. The knowledge of good and evil is nothing but an idea of joy or sorrow. Sorrow is [a hu]man’s passage from a greater to a less perfection.
These trees have plenty of time. She touches your wrist, and for a moment, you, too, want to grow taller, leaving the surface of the earth behind forever. Shyly, she picks up a tiny pinecone, smaller than a toy. You both laugh when she tells you this is their seed. Joy is [a hu]man’s passage from a less to a greater perfection.
These trees have plenty of time. And all around, their wise, fallen, hollow bodies litter the ground like the bones of saints. Childlike, you understand a wish to die here, never to leave this hush. They’re only trees – your neck bent back as far as it will go; only trees, yet wondering if the giants can hear your thoughts. Love is joy, with the accompanying idea of an external cause. Love and desire may be excessive. When the mind imagines its own weakness, it necessarily sorrows.
Is there anything we have less power over than our own tongues? These trees have plenty of time, growing wise as the Buddha, in their silence.
Filed under absent father, acceptance, addiction, adolescence, adult children of alcoholics, adultery, alcoholism, anthem, anthropology, apologia, apology, appeals, art, art history, baby, baha'i, beauty, bible, birth, black, blood, born again, boys, buddhist, Catholic, charity, child abuse, child neglect, childbirth, childhood, children of alcoholics, christian, civil rights, compassion, courage, death, development, dream, dreams, earth, enlightenment, eternal, eternity, everything, evolution, faith, family, father, fatherhood, fathers, flowers, for children, forgiveness, friendship, girls, god, good, graduation, grief, he, health, heart, hindu, history, hope, human beings, humanity, humor, jesus, jewish, justice, karma, kindness, law, life, logic, loss, love, mama, man, manhood, manifesto, maturity, men, mitochondria, mortality, mother, mothers, mourning, museums, muslim, mysterious, nature, parenting, paris, passion, peace, personal responsibility, personification, poetry, politics, pregnancy, prose poetry, rastafarian, redhead, regret, relationships, Saint Teresa, science, sex, sisters, soul, spirit, spiritual, spirituality, spring, transcendence, transitions, travel, tribute, truth, universe, warmth, wish, woman, women, wood, world, zoroastrian
Tagged as art, Business, cats, christianity, dogs, faith, family, feelings, frogs, games, Health, journalism, life, literature, medical, music, new stuff, news, poetry, politics, questions, Relationships, religion, science, sex, travel, truth, writing
October 15, 2016 · 12:32 pm
Conjoined Twins, a poem
Her entire pregnancy was uneventful until the second stage
of labor. Mother pushed and pushed, but we babies could not
budge. Surgeons came, made quick cuts necessary to disengage
us from the womb — found our joined skulls, an impudent topknot.
Mother wouldn’t let them separate us, she said the risk
outweighed the benefits. We learned to walk as best we
could; I, the taller, faced front in hopeful arabesque
while Sister followed. She didn’t mind, droll legatee
of my cranium, girl I never see. Despite our closeness,
we live in opposite ways; I view her face only in mirrors,
with my one good eye — our skin melts together, flawless,
pearly. A nice thing is, we never suffered night terrors.
We have never been alone. When they say, look, Siamese
twins, I want to scream. That is not the proper name for
our arrangement. Sister says, let them talk — I think she’s
crazy to let it pass, but I don’t say that. A big furor
won’t help at all. One trick we are good at is peace.
Negotiation has been our forte since that first incomplete
division; the moment each cell refused the other’s release.
We have minds of our own, thank god, and life is sweet
when you know where you’re bound. I go off to work,
Sister goes too. I sing while I type up my data, she reads
her mysteries, we break for lunch. My boss goes berserk
every once in a while; he’s got the same kinds of needs
for perfection we all possess. The one worry I have
not tamed is which of us will die first. I hope
it’s not me — how would she walk? I am the brave
one, the one who catches bugs. I would try to cope
without her. Once, in the night when she fell sick
with the flu, I held her until the shaking stopped,
until the fever broke. I wondered then, all dyadic
jokes aside, what if we had been cut apart, clipped
early into two separate forms? If it ever comes, will life
on my own be any easier? I’d save some of her long hair,
for sweet remembrance. She’d be a sharp phantom pain, a wolf-
gray stone with my birthday — my head a floating solitaire.
Filed under courage, faith, family, hope, human beings, humanity, identity, life, loss, love, maturity, mortality, mysterious, nature, poetry, relationships, science, sisters, soul, spirit, spiritual, spirituality, transcendence, transitions, tribute, truth, universe, woman
Tagged as art, faith, family, feelings, film, Health, life, medical, news, poetry, questions, Relationships, science, truth
September 13, 2016 · 1:17 pm
Notes From The Unconscious
Run me languid over a rusty road,
and you behind, laughing to pursue…
Take only my smooth love chain,
kiss me softly, without injury.
I am essential and lusty…
I will drive through it for her leg diamonds,
and use him at those bare places.
To sea and gone were the sweet peach thousand.
The blood goddess is frantic…
She knows how hard loving is.
All delicate language has arms of iron, so
sing elaborate love from your tongue.
How have I dreamed sordid roses?
Rob them of a tiny pink eternity….
As bees nuzzle, so shall I dive into you,
and sniff your scent like a mama bear.
A man I used to know lives less than anyone
under wool suits. He rips up rocks
as meat, then he must finger petals.
He has no idea this is happening.
For years, I floated bitter in a black lake…
I said, please, no beating,
leave out the ugly juice,
don’t make me drink any more.
No one listened. My eyes turned
red like woman vision…
I am still weaker & falling,
after death, beauty may ache raw & blue.
He let a void crush what we incubated….
Did it in my white bed.
One milk moan from an infants’
fresh red lips, haunting me forever.
Boil away the mist with lick power.
Heave away or use an apparatus….
Near the TV, these fiddles cry for feet
to dance and obliterate pain.
Our sad summer was like a repulsive
shadow of fluff. I floated like a dandelion seed.
But winter could recall a sweet day chant
with cool water, trips to the country like lazy sun…
Did the purple smear on the wall show size?
Why can the mad beautiful boy shake?
I watch a friend produce a luscious lie.
None trudge after me, but time will swim easy…
Blow your smoky symphony,
my green cloud angel,
and put the sacred blaze against a woman,
melting her like caramel.
Dirt will come and time bring ice,
so heal your broken voice, shed the marble
surrounding you like a deep bone prison,
while I bleed champagne.
Ask your heart to squirm, remember
the ship of spring, seek air blue kisses,
pierce the morning, know the color of liquid
magic, speak in a velvet stream, and love me.
Filed under beauty, birth, blood, buddhist, compassion, courage, development, dream, dreams, eternal, evolution, forgiveness, hope, human beings, humanity, identity, karma, kindness, life, logic, loss, love, manifesto, maturity, mitochondria, mortality, mother, mothers, mysterious, nature, passion, peace, poetry, relationships, science, soul, spirit, spiritual, spirituality, transcendence, transitions, travel, tribute, truth, universe, warmth, wish, world, youth
Tagged as beauty, compassion, death, dreams, faith, god, healing, hope, life, love, nature, peace, poetry, Relationships, sex, soul, spirit, truth, women
August 12, 2016 · 3:46 am
TRUMP is an informative guide on Donald Trump presented in a comics format by Ted Rall, published by Seven Stories Press. It is not a satire, nor is it a bombastic attack on Mr. Trump. In fact, if you were only to read a brief passage here or there, you might even warm up a […]
via Review: TRUMP by Ted Rall — Comics Grinder
Filed under assholes, con man, con men, corporate states of amerka, criminal, criminal behavior, criminals, emperor, empire, evil, fear, hypocrisy, idiots, ignorance, insecurity, jerks, karma, personal responsibility, politics, satire, star spangled banner, tea party mad hatters, truth, ultra right wing loons, united states of america, users
Tagged as amerka, beauty, compassion, fucked up shit, get your ass up off the couch and vote motherfuckers, god, hope, idiots, love, Relationships, trump ugly, United States
August 10, 2016 · 3:51 pm
Everyone’s caught this bug, talking to the dead, palms upturned.
Hope, long dead, the naked white bones a comfort; leaving homes,
wives, husbands, dreaming toward love; signs of birth.
People so disciplined, so filled with the rules of grammar; staying
married for life, or at least a day. A good day, kiss-filled; warm,
moist lips, not bloodless, cold & grey. How did we catch the fever?
Dreams uncatchable, passion withers; too much hope, too much
trust. Not much honesty; not much logic; a man wanted his wife
to talk to him. A woman wanted her husband to stroke her cheek
with his finger as if she was a flower, a child wanted her mommy
to drink less, wanted his daddy to stay longer… words come easier,
etched on lead sheets thrown into a sacred spring, asking favors of gods.
May he who stole my dog be plagued with gout; may she who
laughed at my husband grow warts on her nose… in a millennium,
nothing has changed except the curses, the fashion, the cheese & wine.
Filed under anthropology, development, dream, dreams, eternal, eternity, faith, family, fear, heart, karma, life, logic, loss, poetry, relationships, religion, rome, transcendence
Tagged as death, dreams, faith, fear, grief, love, marriage, men, poetry, Relationships, sex, soul, spirit, truth, women
July 18, 2016 · 10:47 am
Filed under women
Tagged as 1950s, 9/11, abigail, abortion, abuse, acceptance, adolescence, adultery, africa, america, Amphibian, angels, Animalia, appeals, art, artistic failure, attraction, baby, beatles, beauty, belladonna, bible, Biology, birth, bitch, blood, blue, bohemia, bones, boys, brain tumor, bravery, breakups, broken, broken heart, brother, brotherhood, buddha, butterfly, cancer, cats, change, character, charity, child, child abuse, childbirth, childhood, children, chin pu, China, civil rights, college, communication, compassion, con man, confession, conservative, conundrum, corruption, couch potato, courage, coward, cowardice, crazy, Crime, crying, custody, Czech Republic, dance, daughter, daughters, death, death and dying, deer, Defenestration of Prague, dementia, democracy, depression, desires, discrimination, disrespect, dog, dogs, dream, dream-time, dreaming, dreams, drugs, duck, dumb, dysfunctional family, eclectica, elizabeth I, emotion, emotional, emotional abuse, emotions, enlightenment, eternity, everything, evil, evolution, exhaustion, expectations, extinct, failure, fairness, faith, family, fate, father, fatherhood, faux news, fear, feelings, female, fiber art, Fiction, fish, fishing, Flora and Fauna, florida, flowers, flying, food, forgiveness, fort lauderdale, freedom, friendship, frozen, future, gainesville, games, ghosts, girls, gittern, god, gold, governor, grandfather, grandmother, gratitude, Greed, grief, guilt, happiness, hatred, haunting, hawk, healer, healing, Health, heart, heartbreak, hearts, heaven, heroism, high school, hippie, history, hitler, honey, hope, horror, hugging, human, husband, hypocrisy, hypocrite, identity, idiot, ignorance, illness, incompetent, infinity, insanity, italian, jealousy, jesus, jesus christ, joy, june, justice, karma, kimberly townsend palmer, kiss, kisses, kissing, knitting, laughter, law, lawyer, lawyers, legal system, leslie gaines, leslie m. gaines, leslie moreland gaines, letters, liar, liberation, lies, life, light, literature, longing, loss, love, lover, lust, madness, male, man, manhattan, marriage, mating, maturity, medical, memories, memory, men, miami, milk, mimetic consumption, misogyny, money, moon, mother, motherhood, murder, music, mystery, mysticism, nana, nature, nausea, new england, news, nursing, ocean, old age, oppression, pain, panties, papal legate, parenthood, parenting, paris, passion, peace, personal growth, physical, physics, piano, pink, poem, poetry, police, politics, poverty, power, Prayer, pregnancy, psychiatry, punishment, racism, rage, rain, rainy day, rape, rational thinking, reality, red, redemption, regret, relationship, Relationships, religion, reliquary, renaissance, reptile, responsibility, revenge, revolution, rick perry, river, romance, Rome, sadness, saints, sculpture, sea, seagull, sex, Short story, siblings, signs from god
June 25, 2016 · 12:42 pm
PRETZELS & CHOCOLATE
(rented room, cigarettes)
I am eating pretzels
and they are hard
but splinter into salty crumbs
with the merest bite
they only satisfy
part of my tongue
(rented room, cigarettes)
so I pick up the chocolate
greedy for it to melt
against my palate
sucking the firm square
feeling it mold to me
the way I imagine
my body molds to yours
(rented room, cigarettes)
retaining the character of sweetness
to complement the salt
to balance my mouth
I am eating chocolate
thinking of us
(rented room, cigarettes)
Filed under acceptance, adolescence, adult children of alcoholics, ancient history, apology, appeals, artistic failures, assholes, beauty, birth, black, blood, Catholic, child abuse, child neglect, childbirth, childhood, children of alcoholics, christian, compassion, con man, daughter, death, development, divorce, dream, dreams, enlightenment, eternal, eternity, faith, family, father, fatherhood, fathers, fear, fiction, for children, forgiveness, friendship, funeral, gay marriage, god, grief, he, health, Uncategorized
Tagged as birth, child, daughter, daughters, death, divorce, emotional abuse, everything, family, fear, female, god, grief, hatred, heartbreak, hope, horror, hypocrisy, loss, mother, motherhood, pain, peace, poetry, politics, Relationships, religion, sex, soul, spirit, truth, war, wisdom, woman, women, youth
May 9, 2016 · 8:30 am
Kimberly Townsend Palmer
(originally published in Burning Word)
Doctor’s Report: Patient A, a short story
Patient A is a living museum of femininity, and serves as transitory evidence of extensive neo-geo-psycho-socio-eco-political movement. Designed and built in the second half of the twentieth century, she first gained philanthropic prominence with a cynical, witty, overeducated man eight years her senior, Charles F. She stayed faithful to Charles F. for six months, but the intriguing tales of his former romantic partners, then numbering in the several hundred, irretrievably seized her imagination. She left, and never looked back. She shops for new men the way other women shop for new shoes.
She invariably rejects both the too-easy conquest and the too-stubborn resistance. Every season countless men flock near to witness her fleeting, hormonally-induced states of passion, and observe for themselves her classic “XX” architecture.
If it seems that everything has already been said about Patient…
View original post 800 more words
Filed under acceptance, anthem, anthropology, appeals, art, art history, beauty, birth, blood, daughter, daughters, dream, dreams, eternal, eternity, evolution, faith, fiction, girls, history, identity, justice, karma, kindness, life, logic, loss, love, personal responsibility, prose poetry, relationships, sex, short stories, soul, spirit, spiritual, spirituality, transcendence, transitions, truth, universe, wish, woman, women, world
Tagged as emo, emotion, emotional, emotions, god, healing, Health, heartbreak, life, medical, messed up, personal growth, psychiatry, psychology, Relationships, romance, spiritual, therapy, trauma