Daydream At the Macky:

Daydream At the Macky:

A lonely Man sits next to his friend, daydreaming in the theater.
A second orchestra plays music beneath the stage.

Light bounces off the brass knobs of the instruments, dancing across the walls.
Illuminated faces of the musicians contrast the dark.
His friend watches the band, the conductor, music being created.
He can’t keep his eyes off Her.

The Harpist looks up and away to the very last row in the back of the house.
Calm, bored, waiting for the piano to lead Her in.
Stage lights make Her red hair shimmer.
Absolutely perfect in this moment.
She must be dreaming.

He checks His pocket watch.
It appears to be functioning more than perfectly.
He grabs His friend by the hand — A puzzled look from the adjacent seat.

He stops the watch.
He stops the show.


His friend looks around the room.
People in their seats, motionless.
Musicians frozen in their chairs, bows raised and ready, waiting for the next strike.
His friend looks to Him, bewildered.
He looks only to Her.

He lets go of His friend’s hand.
His eyes are fixed – bewildered. Frozen in time.
Absolute silence.
He stands and makes His way to the stage.

The musicians look different from back here.
The pianist looks tense, the flautist looks red in the face.
A blinding light in his eyes.
He sweeps it away with a careless hand.

She sits with Her back turned to Him — frozen, still stunning.
He draws patterns in Her hair with beams of light.
The sheen fades as His canvas ebbs away,
Ocean waves stripping away the beach.

He takes Her by the hand.

A bewildered look in Her eyes — Waking from a daydream.
He lifts Her by the hand from Her seat and winks, coyly.
“We have all the time in the world.”
Her spirit dances.

He leads Her off, far away,
past the curtains, past the stage.
Past the chairs and out the door.
Past the corner, past the store.
Past the living, past the dead.
Places further than can be said.

Lays Her down by the sycamore trees,
There is no wind, there is no breeze.
There is no light, there is no sound.
No more life left to compound.
By the banks they share a kiss,
Frozen water turns to mist.

Never once He leaves Her side.
He is Her Prince, She is His Bride.
Frozen here, nowhere in time,
They share the world, Alone, sublime.

But He knows, He knows, it isn’t fair,
To keep the One with titian hair,
His Harlequin, His Scamp, His Queen,
His Only girl for things obscene,

All to Himself – trapped — within a dream.

He feels the sun, the pull of moon,
The cosmic clock will soon consume,
Her life, Her ways, Her glow, Her spark,
Time turns all light into dark.

& loss of Her He could not bare,
frozen, blank — a cold cold stare.
They walk back slow, They take Their time,
In this world, so pure, sublime.

He leads Her back, to the stage,
To Her prison, to Her cage.
To the life that’s Hers’ to live,
Even to Her future kids.

He takes Her back, to Her chair,
Lipstick red, like Her hair.
One last Kiss,
One last Time,
No moment missed to make Her mine.

Sits Her down, in the stands,
He slowly drops Her nimble hand.
Frozen with a look so sweet,
Clementine, my rose to eat.

There you sit, and will remain.
In this moment – trapped — in My brain.

The music starts.
Slightly shaken, He looks around the amphitheater.
His friend stares intently at the conductor, the pianist, the strings.
He looks only to Her.

A flustered look upon Her face,
She looks slightly out of place.

She hears Her cue from the pianist
And quickly regains Her composure.

She tilts Her harp and starts to play,
Rounding up a wandered stray,
From things unreal, to things unseen,
Was it all a dream, within a dream?

NSV — edited 12/19/13

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“Trying (People)”



“Trying (People)”

“So when I’m gone, make sure the headstone reads ‘He did it for Us’ ” – De La Soul

“You know this is horribly illegal; don’t you, Dear?”

“Too Late to Back Out Now!” He shouted as the speedboat careened ever deeper into the heart of the Mexican Gulf, skipping across the stone grey swell. Lightning crashed overhead and rain slapped the glass windshield in thick sheets. Their aim was the spire in the foreground, a thin structure towering above Them, disappearing into the clouds and rising up out of the sea. “Full Speed Ahead!”

He shouted to Her as He stripped His clothes and crouched near naked in the bottom of the boat, stepping each of His legs through the loops of a black harness; “Remember: try to drop me Port-side! That way I can make it on to the platform.”

He looked quite funny as He strapped the black-belted harness to His shoulders, wearing nothing but tight compression shorts at His hips and rubber flippers on His feet. She smiled but quickly regained Her composure: “I’ll run circles until We can Rendezvous!” She shouted as She turned over Her shoulder back to the tower in the distance, torqueing the throttle to full tilt.

“No doubt! I’ll be counting on you.” He winced at His own words.

“Don’t worry — I’ll be there for You: don’t ever forget that.”

She winced as a thick sheet of rain slapped the windshield of the boat. Another thunderclap crashed overhead as They plowed onward to the thin wire structure jutting up to the dark sky before them – a real-life elevator to space.

He crouched, hunched and shivering. The harness was now secure — thin black straps lassoed His legs and shoulders. The oxygen tank weighed heavily on His back, shielding Him from blasts of rain and ocean spray. His knuckles were blue from gripping the rails of the ship, but His eyes remained fixed on the brewing storm between Them and the tower in the distance.

He felt the swell growing in the floorboards beneath Their feet. The craft was not made for the far deep, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take Them there: He was surprised They had made it this far, but the dual prop propellers at the stern seemed sturdy enough — the craft rip-roared across ashen-grey waters, each skip becoming less frequent and more violent with every wave and revolution. The water slapped hard against the hull of the soft machine — He knew it was only a matter of time before the whole thing went belly-up and sunk, victim to the deep.

They were roughly one hundred and fifty yards from the metal square at the base of the tower, a small platform bobbing in and out of sight, abandoned, all alone in the middle of the gulf. “Get me a bit closer, but be sure not to run Us aground!”

“I’m not sure how far out the support struts go – I’ll have to ball-park it!” She eased the throttle back and the boat came to a standstill. A heavy wave crashed onto the bow, planting the ship deep enough to nearly capsize it — She froze at the helm:

“Don’t worry about it – Go grab Him!”

The light came back to Her eyes, and tears started to well in the corners.

“Take the helm, Dear –“ She stood and shuffled to the rear of the ship. She lifted the egg from a pile of soaked towels and rags – it couldn’t have weighed more than 27 lbs., with black straps woven in place around the top and bottom of the white capsule. She cradled it in Her arm, cupping Her left hand against the glass on the front. She whispered to bright eyes behind the windowpane — “Never forget; I will always Love You –“ the bright eyes stared back at Her, wide, dumbfounded – the Child watched lips dance below red-swollen eyelids as rain pattered against the glass, but He couldn’t hear a thing.

She handed the egg to its Father – He held it against His stomach with His left hand, steering around the platform in wide circles with His right. She strapped the egg to His harness.

He looked up from the wheel and down to His chest; “Is He on there tight?”

She synched the straps tight against His body. “Yeah, He’s good — Are you sure you can make it?” She was shaking – it was too late to back out now.

He smirked as He reached down to His compression shorts, pulling a black pair of Speedo’s from the pouch at His crotch. He fixed them to His eyes and wrapped the straps around the back of His skull; “Oh, I’ll make it there.”

She cracked a smile and laughed before She could catch Herself. Her eyes swelled with tears, instantly mad at Him – She hated it when He saw Her cry. He pulled Her in close: “Just pull Us in a bit closer and drop me off — top-side!”

She circled Them around to the back-side of the platform. They were about thirty yards from the square as the boat came to a rest — They watched as ever-larger waves rose, fell, crashed, and seeped through the threaded cross-wires on the deck.

“Come On; Kiss me, Kate.”

She planted a big wet one His cheek – He was already so soaked and so numb that He shouldn’t have felt it, if not for the warmth behind Her lips.

“Give Him a Kiss Goodbye for Me, too!” She stepped away and plopped into the drivers’ seat. Her eyes nervously skimmed the skies and sea — “I’ll run circles until you get the box lifted!”

He stepped over the side of the of the boat with both flippers; “Don’t worry about me! Just get out of here!” He put His hand over His chest in pantomime – He ripped His heart out, brought it to His lips, pulled a pin with His teeth and lobbed it onto the deck – it landed as a live grenade, still beating in a pool of blood at Her feet:

“I’ll always love you Gorgeous – no matter what.”
He lifts the breathing tube to His lips and bites down on the mouthpiece, dropping backwards from the boat and sinking into the swell as the water falls beneath Him, vertigo under-tow pulling Man and Son deep into the sea.

The tide lifted Them to the surface once more – He felt dry air blowing through His fingers just before His head broke through the water. He inhaled deep and kicked His feet, throwing His arms around the wide sides of the egg in long, awkward strokes. He rose to the top of a wave as it plowed forth, crowning as it crashed onto the platform.

His side scraped across the jagged wires of the metallic floor — He felt a dull pain and a warm sting as He came to a rest on the woven metal and the water sifted through the wire beneath Him, draining down into the limitless ocean below. He scrambled to His feet and latched on to a support beam before another wave came crashing onto the small island, threatening to pry Him from the strut and flush Him out to sea. The water receded once more – His eyes darted to the platform’s central box as He held fast, wrapped around a tower with a ragged satellite dish attached to the beam high above His head, waiting as the water receded once more.

He ran to the center of the shifting platform and dove inside the wire cage.  Another wave rushed in behind Him – the swell rose, lifting His legs up and around the top of the cage, but He held fast, His fingers latched on to the back wall of wire. The water fell once more and He came back to rest on the bottom of the wire box as He scrambled to fit inside. The cage could not have been bigger than a lobster trap, and the thin wire mesh along the walls seemed far from adequate for space travel. He pulled both legs inside the box and gripped the ceiling wall above Him — He clamped down on His mouthpiece as another swell swept over the platform.

The wave plowed past Him to the abyss beyond. He waited until He heard the water sifting through the wire floor before letting go of the cage in front of Him and bringing His hands down, loosening the black straps around His mid-section. He fumbled His arms through the loops at His shoulders then back up to the ceiling as another wave rolled into the platform – it passed and He settled with His left hand gripping the bar and His right clutching the egg at its straps.

The waves plowed on. He stripped the last of the harness from His body and pressed the egg and air canisters into the floor with His chest, working the black straps around the support beams along the wire floor. He heard the roar of another wave coming in behind Him. He scrambled out of the cage, latching the cage behind.

The storm was more violent than ever. His hands gripped the door tighter as the wave slammed into Him, slamming His body across the front of the cage. He watched the egg as the rolling swell pressed His face into the wire mesh; a small white light sunk with the platform– He watched a stream of bubbles weave their way up through the roof of the cage and cracked a smile.

He found Himself resting on the floor of the platform once again. He fixed His sight to the gap in the clouds above; a small hole in the churning grey blanket. The hole drifted closer and closer to the vertical wires of the elevator, its rigging suspended deep past the zenith’s horizon. The eye of the storm.

A control panel was planted next to the crate — He stuck Himself to the small pillar like a barnacle. It could not have been larger than a children’s water fountain and there was a rotary dial built on to the slanted roof of the box. In the center of the dial was a large red button, glowing dim with a red LED that burned on through the rain like the last ember in a fire-pit suffocating on a storm night.

He punched the red button with the palm of His left hand and whirred around, looking over His shoulder at the crate behind Him:

it didn’t budge. He punched the button again – there was no response.

He glanced up to catch sight of a large wave brewing in the immediate horizon. The waves were striking less frequently now.  Shit. He scrambled His right hand to the rotary dial: 1– & punch! Shit.    3 — & Punch!   Shit! 7 – 7 Punch!! SHIT!!

The oncoming wave towered over the platform – it couldn’t have been more than 30 yards away, or less than 30 feet tall.

— Please; God —

“Nine!” He punched the button, ducking around the other side of the small pillar. The crate shot strait up with a single pneumatic pulse, as if drawn gravitationally up through eye in the sky and into the space-base beyond.

He dropped to his side, streamlined behind the pillar, and grasped the iron bar with both hands. He winced and looked down to His left – a watery trail of blood drained out of a deep vertical gash ran along His abdomen. It still stung with every fresh blast of salt-water. He looked up to the monstrous rolling wave – it was here. He gripped the hold with all His strength as the wave rolled through the platform — the raging current consumed His body until He was fully enveloped by a swell that threatened to tear His soul to tatters.

His feet finally began to drift to rest on the platform. The water sifted through the wires and receded into the ocean once more. He hopped to His feet, standing tall to scan horizon for any sign of the boat – He thought he heard a small off-board motor roaring at full throttle to His left, then to His front, then His right, and behind Him again. He was standing with His ears pricked up, listening intently to nothing the rain and sound of the swell around Him when He finally realized that He was all alone. He stared deep into the towering swell before tucking His body behind the podium once more, bracing for impact:

The wave hammered the platform, nearing its crest as it collided with the platform, submerging the small island entirely and driving Him deep into the wire floor. He felt the pressure build and fade as the wave rolled across His body — Icy hands grabbed at at the back of His neck and pressed Him into the wire before loosening, rolling over his lower half, and blazing by into the water beyond.

All of a sudden, the platform became very still.

The eye of the storm had already passed by — the clouds had filled in again and the skies were darker than ever. He stood up from behind the pillar and gazed to the titanic wall of water approaching at His 12 o’clock. It couldn’t have been less than 40 feet tall, and it was no further than 50 yards from Him. It was steadily reaching its full potential and nearly at its crest — the peak of its swell. He knew there would be no way to stay with the platform beneath His feet.

He sprung up, His flippers slapping against the wire floor as He made His way to the front of the platform. The wave barreled towards Him —Thirty Yards. He pulled His goggle straps tighter, bouncing Himself awake in the rain and the spray. He shouted into the grey expanse as His flippers shifted around His feet: “FUCK IT!” – He ripped them off and threw them into the ocean.

He bent over at the waist and gripped the edge of the metal platform, hanging the tips of his toes over the crease in the wire. He took a deep breath in.

He swung His arms, bringing them together in front of His body as His feet left the platform, tightening His core to an arc and diving headfirst into the gulf.

The salt-water stung His flank as it seeped into His wound and threatened to pull Him down to the ocean floor as the tide sunk further and further beneath the wave. 21 feet: He kicked His feet together and swung both arms out of the water in unison, bringing His head to the surface for one final breath before both hands came to a peak above His crown as He submerged once more – ducking His head under the water into the heart of the wave; the tide and the swell.

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“No Expectations”





“No Expectations”


“how lucky I am to have something

that makes saying goodbye so hard”


– Bill Watterson


She woke naked on His pink queen bedspread feeling sick to Her stomach. She hated this place with a passion: There were post-it notes covering the walls with shredded strands of thought, ideas for stories etched into the woodwork, charcoal sketches scattered across the floor, and the sickly sweet smell of vanilla hung thick in the air. His Footprints were all over this house. A burnt-out spliff lay abandoned and smoldering in an ashtray next to the bed. Boxes filled with clothes sat half-packed on the floor beside Her — She recognized the red-hot thong poking its ass out of the corner of one of them. The large bay windowpanes to Her left had been cracked (in more ways than one) either this morning, the last, or the evening prior.

Fuck Me. Her head was pounding. She rolled from the frame-less mattress onto the floor. She turned to the big bay window and swung it open on its hinges, standing blind at the mouth of His bedroom cave, squinting to greet the day:

The air carried hints from the sycamore trees outside — Light scattered through their leaves, and there was the faintest sound of children laughing, calling to Her, from a place far past the edge of the horizon. She began to feel hopelessly lost as She stared out the window and off into the distance until music closer to home brought Her back to the situation at hand — She heard it rolling up the stairs to greet Her at the worn and weathered windowsill; “Just put me on a train — any train in the station,” She sighed. “and I’ll never pass through here again”.

She collected Herself in a brief moment of clarity before turning away from the glass and walking slowly towards the hallway to meet this morning’s ruckus.


He was busy cooking a fruit omelet in the kitchen, whisking eggs in one hand and dabbing oil onto the pan with the other. He had become extra-ordinarily good at cooking breakfast recently, and His technique was better now than it had ever been in all the years She had known Him. She stood motionless at the kitchen doorway.

“Would you like plums, or pears?” He asked with His back to Her. She was glad He wasn’t facing Her — He would have seen Her jaw drop to the floor before She could catch Herself. She paused; She did not have an answer for Him.

“Where is my purse?”          He turned to look Her in the eyes. The pan behind Him simmered on the burner.                 “Why — leaving so soon?”

She didn’t reply to his question; She simply walked over to the kitchen table and grabbed it from the same seat She had plopped it on the night before.


“Why did you do that?”


He turned His head away from the burner and looked deep into her green eyes:
            “You needed a ride! You needed a place to stay… A bed to sleep in.”

“Not with you,” Her words were laced with venom. He knew how awful She felt the morning after, no matter how hard she tried to hide it; He always saw Her shame exactly the same, whether or not He felt She deserved it. But this time was different; this time it was pretty up in the air, even for Them:

“You took advantage of me.”

Their eyes were locked, in place, Together. Both of Them were well practiced at holding back tears, and neither had recognized the faint shimmer behind Each Other’s aquamarine pools from across the room.

He licked He lips nervously and cleared his throat to speak: “You were drunk. You threw yourself in my car.” Her eyes burned into His. He couldn’t take it anymore — He finally turned and looked away; “And… So what if I did?”

Her smirk turned to revulsion in an instant as She realized what He had done to Her. Her tongue was barbed, and Her words sharp with malice; “I should have known it could never be just a drink with you.” Her eyes started to tear over, ever so slightly, as She fumbled with the pearl earrings just retrieved from Her purse. She blushed as anger bubbled out from under Her skin and began seeping through to the surface of Her very being. She still hadn’t managed to get Her left earring on as She shot Him a nasty glare and barked a command — “Take me to the airport!”


He stood, unshaken. Her eyes were burning. His were cool, calm — collected. His lips parted, and He began to speak softly — “Sorry gorgeous; I’ve got no gas to take you.”

A brief pause and a queer silence, followed by an exasperated sigh:


She plopped Herself onto the steps behind the threshold, strapping the black, four-inch Stiletto heels to the soles of Her feet. “Why do I always find myself with guys who are days away from being evicted. Don’t you even Dare calling me again!”

He looked deep into Her smoldering eyes, then turned Himself back to the stove top. He spoke behind His own back, cooing to Her in a sing-song voice:

“We both knew what this was. ‘I Had No Ex-Pec-Tations…’”

“Don’t be cute,” she spat back at Him.

He spoke His last words to Her, gazing deeply into the dark pits of Her spiteful eyes:


“You know, I always said that You threw Your pearls at swine.”


She glared at Him,  –, fuming:


            “Yeah, and you were the biggest Pig of them all.” He looked deep into the frying pan at his fingers. A single tear ran down his nose and dripped onto the pan. It made a brief hiss as it stuck the searing oil and evaporated in a wisp of smoke:


            “I know.”


She snatched Her purse from the ground and stormed across the hall to the front door. She yanked it open, still steaming with piss, vinegar, and wonton aggression towards the man that She used to love as She cast Her gaze back at Him, standing contrapasso, falling into the sinking hole behind the gaping doorway:


“I’m going to the airport, and I’m going to tell them ‘put me on a plane’,

any old Fucking one, just so long as it is The FUCK AWAY From YOU!

Be sure to burn in Hell, ASSHOLE!! And I hope You kill Yourself soon —

Spare the rest of us the God-Damned pleasure, You Fucking LUNATIC!”


She slammed the door behind Her. He watched Her walk away, listening to the clacking of Her heels on the flagstone steps as She faded into the peace of the quiet suburb.  He held the finished omelet in His left hand, still simmering in the saucepan.

After a few moments He turns away from where She stood at the door, dumps the omelet into the trashcan, replaces the pan on the lit burner and leaves the room.

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in the Baroque — “Going to California”






“Going to California”

“I may not believe in myself, but I believe in what I am doing” – Jimmy Page



He woke to the sound of the wake beating rhythmically against a rocky coastline Oregon shore. He lay on His side until He oriented Himself in space and time: He was travelling alone, as He had been for weeks, due South down the American West Coast, determined to find His love somewhere in far-off territory of California.


            He blinked the sand from His lashes and shook the dreams from His hair. Standing barefoot in sharp sands, He greeted the rising sun, stepping backwards until His heels passed the precipice and crossed into the rolling tide. He waded backwards deeper into the water, holding His hands up to the sky and framing the brilliant daylight star with His fingertips.

He spent quite some time holding Himself in various poses knee to waist deep in water before trudging back in to shore. He sat atop a massive stone, drying His skin in the morning sun as He pulled a bunched-up pair of socks from His worn hiking boots and gently worked them right-side out, taking special care not to tear at the many loose threads and tatters.

He stood atop the Hill of the rocky cliff-line overlooking His transient’s port, His one-day home bay. He slipped the seven-shot revolver from its side holster and checked the chamber for ammunition: there was only one bullet left to His name. He had traded every last paper Canadian bill He had to a passerby on a trail coming out of Victoria for a bottle of Jack Daniels two months prior. He kept a small bundle of Euros in His pack and carried three loonies in His pocket for good luck. He used His American bills for tinder on wet nights. He had been nursing the bottle for months as He made his way down South from British Columbia, tracing the Western coastline of the massive continent. He checked His latitude by the stars each night to approximate His current territory. He was not worried about overshooting His target: His final destination would make itself quite obvious to Him, and He had miles and miles to go before He could sleep soundly once more.

He rested on a log in a clearing above the coast, sitting with a can of cheese in His hand and a bag of saltine crackers in the other. A coat of morning dew still lay in beads on the forest floor, coating the woods and grass around Him, and the trees echoed with the gentile melody of morning birdsong.


He heard a deep rumble in the pit of His inner ear and felt a low electric hum in the air: He turned His eyes skyward to catch three airplanes flying in formation a mile overhead. He strained His eyes to focus on the jets and not their streams, trying to catch a glimpse of a marking, some symbol of recognition; He knew not all planes were the same. Come on, He thought to Himself — where did you boys come from?

The planes dipped out of sight, obscured by a cloud of aspen trees with fireball leaves and a wall of tall evergreens in the foreground.

The silence was broken by a chirp.

The airplanes faded from His mind like the memories of summer as His eyes fell to the fiery-red thicket before Him. He sat in silence as a gentile wind passed through the circular clearing, and the birds began to sing once more.


He heard a branch snap and saw a rustle in the aspen branches before Him as a large Bear stepped out into the clearing. They caught each other’s eyes in and both froze in place, standing completely still for a split second before the bear broke form and began treading lightly towards Him:

Fuck. He jumped on top of the log, tossing His crackers and canned cheese aside and slowly reached for His revolver. The bear was hefty, but it could not have weighed much more than two hundred and fifty pounds, two hundred and seventy-five tops: it looked more like a black bear than a grizzly — it approached Him like a young and nervous hunter, but it was far too large for a normal-sized bear cub. He drew His bead on the bear when it was about twenty-five meters away from Him. “HEY!” He shouted at the Bear, “You Better BACK the Fuck OFF, I’m Warning You!” The bear hunched down lower to the ground and started running faster at Him.




The last .44 caliber shot went off in His hand, but the bear was already upon Him.


He held His Hands to His face as the bear mauled His core, gouging a hole in His rib cage and abdomen with its piercing teeth and iron jaws. He drove His thumb into the bullet wound on the beast’s shoulder – the Bear roared in pain, lurching it’s head up from His haggard body and clamping down on His left forearm:

He feels the teeth sink through His skin – in an instant His mind starts to drift far away from His body, the Bear, His obligations, and the quiet wooded meadow resting along the coast of the Oregon shore. His eyes drift towards the Heavens and He sees Her face in the clouds above Him – gentile plucks from harp-strings echo through the woods as He hears a soft Voice calling to Him serene from the distance:


“It’s ok – everything is going to be just fine. Don’t worry – you tried your best. Don’t worry, Dear, things would be much worse had you never been born. Believe Me.”


A dull pain in his gut pulls Him back to reality. Suddenly, resistance is not as hard as it seems. He lifted His hands to the face of the bear, placing His palms squarely on each cheekbone of the gorging animal, and drove both of His thumbs deep into the eye sockets of the beast, twisting the nails until He felt the severing of each Optic nerve behind His fingertips.

The bear kicked its head up and moaned in agony:


He fumbled His hands through the grass and gravel, searching for anything He could use as a blunt object. His hand chanced upon the bottle laying lopsided on the ground beside Him — He seized the neck in His right hand and scrambled to His feet. He raised the glass high above His head as the bear the air sniffed the air blindly and brought the bottle down upon it’s brow, then rained multiple blows on it’s dome in rapid succession, striking the cap of it’s skull over and over again:

Finally, He tossed the bottle aside and lifted the large rock next to His feet over His head. The bear was still stunned and sniffing the ground as He leapt from the top of the log, careening the stone in a devastating spike down upon its head:

The bear’s body stiffened as blood squirted out from under the rock.  A sickening crack echoed through the trees as the boulder split its cranium, planting the head of the beast deep into the earth beneath the stone. The bear rolled into its left shoulder and the rock tumbled off to the side of its’ head; It was obviously and seriously hurt, barely breathing, and bleeding from the ears profusely.

Thinking quickly, He went for the bottle of whiskey — He picked up the bottle and dumped the contents onto His torn-open abdomen. The liquid burned like fire as it seeped through new wounds. He smashed the empty hull on the bloody stone, still holding it by the neck as the bottom shattered and gave way. He set the shank on the animal’s neck and punched a hole square through the throat of the bear –Blood spilled from the arteries in its’ neck as He severed its windpipe in two places. The bear gave one final shudder, exhaled deeply, and never breathed in again.


He stepped away from the slain animal and sat on the log, His knees still shaking.

His peripherals warned Him not to look down to His core. He reached down to feel His side and sent sharp pains shooting through His body. He pulled His hand back up to His heart – it was stained red with His blood. The leaves rustled in the trees above, and He felt a deep sleep coming on.

His conscience flickered, straining to keep Him awake:

Fuck, No, No: I cant — There is too much to be done,

Miles to go. Miles to go. Miles to go. Miles to go before I sleep.

“Fuck, gotta get up — up, up! Get Up! Come On, Fella, Gotta Get UP!” He stood on His wobbly knees and took a step towards His pack. He pulled his old faithful Bowie knife from the side-sheath and squeezed the hilt until the knuckles on His right hand turned white; “Fuck, Fuck, FUCK! Fuck man, You’re going to be All Right!”


The trees shook behind Him. A massive creature stepped out of the forest and into the clearing; it was much, much bigger than the last bear that walked in.


“Sweet, Mother of Jesus, you’re one big-ass Mother Fucker, aren’t you?! Shit Girl, you look like you’re from the Kodiaks!” She looked to Him, then to Her slain child laying dead in the dirt, then back to Him. Her eyes grew wide as a snarl built to a full roar until she was bellowing at Him with everything she had. He screamed right back at her: “Well Come and FuCKiN’ get me you Big, Ugly Mother-FUCKER! I just Killed your Fuckin’ Kid – what the Fuck are You GONNA DO ABOUT IIT!!!”

He lifted the blade from his side and held the broken bottle in His mangled left hand — The bear dropped down to its’ front legs, pawing it’s pads into the dirt:

A shrill battle cry escapes the ravaged Man’s lips and pierces the crisp morning air as the mother bear charges Him, consumed with the intent to tear His soul to tatters.Image

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James Taylor [tribute] “mex mix” NS to Vincent

james taylor interview, “only a night in rio”, “fire & rain”, “mexico”, “don’t let me be lonely tonight”, “bittersweet”

pink floyd “wish you were here”

“superstition” by stevie wonder

jackson five remix feat. naughty by nature — “abc/123”

postmodern jukebox “beauty and a beat”, “die young”

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“The Ayahuascero”










“The Ayahuascero”


“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit.

Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing.

People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous.

How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel?

Pain is meant to wake us up.

People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong.

Pain is something to carry, like a radio.

You feel your strength in the experience of pain.

It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling.

Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality.

If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them,

you’re letting society destroy your reality.

You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.” 

― Jim Morrison

He opened the cabin hatch on the driver’s side of the small bush plane. He winked at Her as She lifted Her head past the threshold. “Did you spot the place all right?” She reached Her hand in to His. He clasped Her under Her shoulder and behind Her elbow, helping Her out of the airplane. As She stepped onto solid ground He pulled Her into His body, locking His hips with Hers and falling deeply into Her dazzling green eyes. He shielded Her body from sight of the plane windows and his eyes blazed with the intensity of the afternoon heat. “Hey Gorgeous,” He cooed to Her as His fingertipss gently approached Her lips. He coaxed Her mouth open with His index finger before slipping it past the gates and under Her tongue, massaging the underside of Her sublingus as Her lips wrapped around His finger. “Did you miss me?” That spark in His eye. She had seen that spark before, somewhere, long ago, sometime far away…

And then She realized what He had done to Her. His intentions were all too transparent — She could taste bitter anticipation and the three hits of blotter acid He had slipped under Her tongue. Her eyes danced in the waning sunlight.

Rhodes, J.D., & Vincent piled out of the passenger door. She pulled Herself away and attempted to regain Her composure as Her husband rounded the tail tip of the plane. He raised His eyes to meet His old companions.

“Gentlemen! I trust you had a smooth flight?”

Rhodes approached Him with a jubilant smile; “The smoothest, thanks to this Bombshell over here, am I right? So how are you, my good Sir? Any dreams lately?”

“Just one; a strange one,” He replied as He stepped in to meet His old friend,

“I dreamt that you Fucked my Wife.”

There was a brief pause until He broke the silence with a loud scoff, and His eyes danced in the sunlight. Rhodes was taken aback – he cocked his head to one side and looked at Him with a puzzled expression. “But, aren’t you still single?”

“You could call it that,” He winked at him as they locked eyes. Rhodes looked away and snorted loudly, stamping the heel of his foot into the ground – they locked eyes again, softened, and shared a chuckle.

“Are you boys almost finished?” She called to Her men from the opposite side of the plane where J.D. and Vincent were already removing equipment from the cargo hatch and stacking it on the jungle floor. “We’ve got a lot of work to do!” Her voice was swallowed up by the sounds of the forest canopy over-head, drowned out by the chirping of tropical birds and hidden rustles of the South American jungle. “Time to get busy!”


He and Rhodes led the party down the dirt road to His main settlement, the rest trailing behind them. The travellers had never been to this place before, but extended correspondence through the electronic postal service had already made them feel at home. Rhodes looked up at the trees around them, and He looked to Rhodes:

“So — how’s life on the Northern front?”

“Bleak, except when it’s close to home! We are trying to have a baby.”

His eyes grew wide. “Really?? Congratulations!! Have you had any luck yet?”

Rhodes’ gaze shifted down to the ground. “Nope, none yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me if I got the news any day now,” he looked up and to His eyes with a burning sincerity, “I really appreciate that you have arranged for us to stay here. Thank you.”

The jungle began to wake as the sun sank into the horizon. He raised His eyes to meet his long-time partner’s: “No-no, thank you: The pleasure is mine.”


Cabins were already prepared for the visitors – seven guest huts were strewn along the main arc of the compound. “There are two common buildings at each end of the ‘Bow’, with the Main Hall slightly West of its intersection with the runway ‘Arm’. There are 20 lookout stations total across the constellation and clear-cut lines through the brush creating a web between each one. If you get bored, feel free to step out on your roofs – there should be quite a phenomenal view of the stars from your observation decks.”

She yelled up to the men ahead of Her: “I thought the stars on the ground were equally as brilliant – how do you keep the trails so clear??”

“Praise from Cleo! With a flamethrower, my Dear. And thank you Rose, but it’s nothing like seeing them at night from above, when they are all lit up, Together!” He smiled coyly and winked at Her. “The property has a few big cats that we know well but will rarely see: they do not usually come by the beaten path, so I wouldn’t worry about them. You also shouldn’t have to worry about being walked in on in the night — The high fence around the perimeter keeps most traffic, foreign predators, and riff-raff out of the compound, and keeps all the best meat inside. Just stick to the trails,” His voice tapered as he turned and winked to His friends trailing behind Him, “And you should all be fine.”

Each traveller had been asked to stay in their own huts to prepare for the coming sacraments over the course of the next few days and weeks. The huts were spaced at least a few hundred meters apart from one another and linked by wide gravel paths cut through the jungle. They knew this trip meant a lot to Him, so they gave their full compliance.


The group made its way to the largest community building built nearest to the runway. He pulled a heavy iron skeleton key from a chain around His neck and unlatched the deadbolt on the massive mahogany doors. They stepped inside and He lit seven candles atop a candelabra. They drew keys in the dancing light, each numbered one through seven, out of a fishbowl on a table in the center of the room just as the last dregs of the sun began to slip past the horizon, still seeping in to the hall through the skylights. He looked to His flock adoringly as they stood with the keys in their hands expectantly:

“Phenomenal. Now let’s get you out of those Gringo clothes.”

He stood just South of the center of the circle of twelve stumps with the campfire ring at His back. They had all changed into something more comfortable; they wore an assortment of Ghanian-styled shirts, shorts, and robes that split down the middle. They each wore a robe over the rest of their clothes, or so the men had thought — She smiled to Herself: She had a secret that none of the men could see. “Now, if you would each please sit at your appropriate spots – at the numbers for your rooms.”  Each seat was positioned at a different hour of the clock, and a seven-foot tall metal flagpole rose from the center of the fire pit. He built the bonfire pit around the polse, so that the bottom of it was already completely charred and blackened by ash. They had lit the new wood pile just a few minutes ago, but the cap of the pole was already inches within reach of the fire, licked gently by the tips of the highest flames. The dome at the top was just beginning to glow red as night fell and the sun finally sunk behind the furthest edge of the horizon.

Rhodes took the stern, sitting at 6 o’clock behind Him. She took the 5 at his side. J.D. and Vincent took the 2 and 3 o’clock positions, giggling and giddy, sitting side by side. “Gentlemen,” He addressed His esteemed guests as he sat at the 7, “will you please join me in prayer?”

They held their hands in their laps and bowed their heads in silence, listening to the careening winds of the bonfire behind them. After a few moments of this peace He pulled His hands apart from each other, and slowly began to speak:

            “Can’t we all – just pretend – that death is not the end?” She rustled in Her seat. The men remained stoic. He repeated Himself, much louder this time; “Can’t we all – just pretend – that death is not the end?”

            They called back to Him in unison; “Let us all – just pretend – that death is not the end.” “Let us all – just pretend – that death is not the end.” His voice rose to meet the sound of the crowd as the fire raged before them. The hymn grew louder in the night:

“Can’t we all – just pretend – that death is not the end?”

            “Let us all – just pretend – that death is not the end.”

“Can’t we all – just pretend – that death is not the end?”

            “Let us all – just pretend – that death is not the end!”

“Can’t We All – Just Pretend – that Death is Not the End?!”

            “Let Us All – Just Pretend – that Death is Not the End!!”

 Silence fell across the tribe as the fire between them blazed on. He smiled and relaxed, letting His head droop and His gaze swing low. He took a moment away from Himself, letting the silence seep through His people as the logs crackled in the fire before Him and He stored this perfect moment in the catacombs of His mind.

After a few more seconds of life in the absolute present, He spoke once more:

“Thank you for that. And now, my best and brightest friends up from the far North — without further ado — I am very excited to say… I come bearing gifts!”

He reached behind Him and snatched a large burlap sack from the ground at his feet. The bag was nearly empty, and the few meager contents swam around the bottom of the fabric, bustling and bumping into each other with the dull sound of impacts on wood and the occasional chink of glass on glass:

 “First!” He turned to wink at the Woman behind Him, “For the Lovely Lady –“ He reached into the burlap sack at His feet and produced an unmarked jar. He stepped over the bag and handed it to Her. Her hands lingered at His fingertips His before She took the jar from Him and examined it inquisitively:

It was filled to the brim with a colorless liquid, but if it weren’t for its weight She may not have noticed, thinking quickly to tip it upside-down and watch a small, trapped pocket of air swim from the lid to the base of the jar above it. He smiled at Her curiosity.

“It may not mean much back in the States, but that is some of the finest home-brewed moonshine I’ve ever had the pleasure of making. And believe me – around here, strong drink like this is most certainly NOT a common thing.” Her eyes sparkled and danced in the firelight. She bowed Her head to Him in appreciation, unscrewed the lid atop the jar, and drank deeply from Her new treasure.


“And to you, Mr. Rhodes,” He reached into the bag and removed a slender wooden case from the floor of the sack. “I gift one of the most premium, hand-crafted, livin’ life to the fullest, biggest baddest mother-fuckin’ best B-Lunts I have ever rolled; chock full of all the finest herbs and spices South America has to offer,” His eyes glowed in the firelight, “The shell is Dominican with a red hue and a Northern origin – they called it ‘Red Man’s Tobacco’ back up where I got the seeds. The filler is my own select strain of cannabis; a heavy indica I have been calling “Slim Reaper”, after where it was grown. The blunt glue was spiced with Columbian cocaine, you know, to help keep you awake,” He winked at His companion devilishly, “the outside is lathered in honey, and the inside has been coated with a strong opium tar. All in all, this truly is one of my most beautiful pieces of artwork, and I would be Honored if you would chief it tonight.”

The broad smile on Rhodes’ face started to crack. “My God… Is it safe?”

He smiled and His teeth flickered in the firelight. “But of course! I smoke one every evening on the Sabbath! (and, sometimes, at breakfast with coffee.) Try puffing on it like a cigar, and, if you are feeling adventurous, feel free to take as much as you desire into your lungs: you may find yourself… incapacitated at times, but you will never be in danger.” She nodded along to His voice and gave Her husband a reassuring glance. This seemed to put him somewhat at ease, and he let his body relaxed into his seat. He stole glances at Her until He caught Her eyes — They winked at Each Other, and He beamed. He reached into His robe and produced a reflective object from deep inside His pocket:

“Here Babe,” He tossed the small metal brick to Her — His zippo lighter, covered in a jet-black grip and embossed with a gold-colored Mayan sun disk. “You really have to start these things up in style. But now! I have to go get these guys set up with their own gifts inside – do You think You can take care of yourselves out here?”

“It would be My pleasure, Sir.” She smiled coyly at Him, “And don’t worry about us — we can handle ourselves. Go; Go! Go take care of your boys,” Rhodes shuffled on his stump then lifted his eyes to meet Him: “Yeah, we’ll be fine out here.”

He smiled and tipped His tan safari hat at the couple. “I’ll see you shortly.”

The two men rose to follow Him as He stepped out of the fire ring and towards the Community Hall. Rhodes watched them until they walked out of sight, the blunt resting gently between his forefingers.


He heard the flick of lighter flint at his side. She lifted his hand to his lips and brought the flame to the tip of his blunt. He looked Her in the eyes nervously as She rolled the blunt in circles above the flame; “Aren’t you going to share this with me?”
            “Of course not, dear,” She rolled Her eyes at him, “You wouldn’t be able to pry me off the floor! But I know you’ll have lots of fun with it,” She smiled at him devilishly, “Go ahead, dear – you’ve earned it.”

He averted his eyes and dipped his head to meet the butt of the cigar. He puffed the flame into the body of the cigar a few times. He took a breath away from the blunt and inhaled the smoke into his lungs. The cloud was thick and sat heavily in his chest, yet tasted remarkably smooth – like a chocolate tobacco leaf wrapped soaked warm milk. He held the smoke inside himself until She was satisfied, finally withdrawing the flame.


He was gone by the time the men had returned to the fire. The two boys in the back were giggling more uncontrollably than before. He led the pack with a folding chair tucked under His left arm, chuckling with His stoned companions as He showed them back to their seats. The potion was beginning to cast its’ spell over them as they began to awaken into their dreams. He plopped the folding chair next to them and opened it in between the two of their seats. He turned around to see Rhodes’ eyes watching Him intently from a lonely beach, miles way.

“Hey Mike! How would you like to get off those elbows? You look like you’re thinking! Here, this chair will be much nicer than a lousy old stump –“ He stepped over to Rhodes and put His arm under the shoulder of the hand he supported himself on. “Come here buddy, let’s stand up –” He lifted him to walk across the fire ring, “Easy now, almost there – we’re almost at 1:30, just a few more steps.” His legs felt like some sailor’s rather than his own as He hobbled past the bonfire pit.

At last they had found themselves before the seat. He rolled His doped companion across his shoulder and into the chair. The weak man sunk deeper and deeper into the fabric. He maintained his composure, but his blank expression wasn’t good enough to fool Him: He watched the cigar, still burning in his hand, but He knew the damage had already been done. The blunt had taken hold of him entirely: he was past gone, further than faded — a marionette with abandoned strings.

The fire blazed on before them.


“Yo, Rhodes! How’s our main man at the one-thirty doing? Still hanging in there?” His eyes were glossy and His voice was long-gone.

“One Thirty? Wow — Well then, I better take my leave.”

He cocked His head as if to correct Her, then caught Himself. He sat fixed in thought as He chose His words delicately — they fell like honey from His lips, dripping down Her ears and sticking to the insides of Her head:

“Oh Beautiful? – won’t you please take a torch with you?” She shot Him a look:

“That’s all right, Sexy, I don’t need one – it’s a full moon out tonight. Goodnight sweetheart!“ She stepped over to Her husband and planted a wet kiss on his forehead. It sizzled for a second then melted on his brow like butter on rye in the heat of the bonfire.

“That’s right! The Harvest Moon, if I am not mistaken,” His eyes danced across the fire with Hers, “Will you at least take a pistol? Pretty please? For Me?”

She winked at Him across the fire.

“I would have taken one anyways. They’re still inside, right? In the corner cabinet?”

He winked back at Her.

“Right – and it should be unlocked. Take whichever one you desire.”

            She turned Her right cheek to Him and tilted Her head down, ever-so-slightly. She brushed the hair away from Her face and brought Her eyes back up to His:

“Actually, I had my eye on the wicked Seven-Shooter in the bottom drawer… would it be alright if I took It out for a spin? Pretty please? … It would just for tonight.”

Momentary silence. He turned to obscure Hinself as He licked His lips and brought his hands to His collar to let the heat escape from beneath it. After He had collected Himself He turned His attention back to center, and His eyes drifted slowly back to Hers. They sparked as He parted His lips, and then, softly, He began to speak:

“Sure, Babe, no problem — just don’t plan on shooting anything off into an Animal that you aren’t serious about killing.”

The words foamed past his lips in monotone like the head of bitter Ale seeping from the mouthpiece of a stricken bottle — they had already soaked deeply into Her soul seconds before She had grasped their meaning in full effect:


She stood motionless against the gentile sounds of the tamed forest. Her eyes remained affixed to His for quite some time. Finally She glanced away, bowed Her head to Him, and turned silently to make Her leave.




She stopped dead in Her tracks. She pivoted on Her right foot and looked back to Him. He immediately regretted His decision:


“I — … walk safe.” His voice wavered and fell faltering at Her feet. She narrowed Her eyes at Him as His grew wider. He was aghast, shocked by the foreign nature of His own voice – That doesn’t sound like me… does it? Taken back momentarily, He shook the doubt from His rusty locks and brought Himself back to the moment: “And stay on the trail! Nothing should bother you there… But I can’t make any promises.”


She looked at Him coldly. “I certainly hope not.”


There was a brief pause. Neither of Them said anything.

After a few seconds, He cracked a smile at Her stoic expression.

He couldn’t help it, and then, neither could She.


She turned, heading back towards the main hall and shaking Her head and hips as She walked away — further and further from sight, but never far from mind.



Crickets chirped as the moon passed its apex, and the waking world had settled into dreams around the fire. The two time-travellers were long gone – they were lay on the carpet of gravel motionless with empty eyes, staring blankly up at the stars. Rhodes was deeply asleep, and the blunt between his fingertips had finally stopped burning.


He stood quietly and turned to leave the campfire ring.


He took an eighth of penis envies with tea at sunrise. The heap tasted earthy in His cheek but He coupled the flavor it quite well, wrapping it as a quid in a dark tobacco leaf.

At noon he rejuvenated himself with hashish and phoenix tears,

Waiting for his friends to fall from the sky.

He ran to His cooler once he spotted Her plane rolling in.

He pocketed three tabs of blotter acid stored inside a thimble

and swallowed seven hand-packed pills of ground head-caps,

weighing about a quarter of a gram each.

                                    His friends had ventured by themselves tonight,

alone in their heads with the DoMinaTrix,

                                                but they had goaded Him into a third dose.

                                                A quarter eighth was all he needed this time:

His mind was Booming.


The gravel sifted beneath the soles of his feet as He walked down the main Ark of Orion’s Bow. He held His torch behind His head so He could look up at the swirling patterns in the stars above: The night was alive, and the jungle danced around Him – leaves on the trees billowed and swelled towards Him as He passed, and His footsteps sent waves through the liquid floor as tiny stones pulsed from the tips of His toes. He felt the plants along the unkempt edge of the rocks licking at His ankles as a voice He did not recognize cooed into the thick depths of the jungle: “Here, Kitty Kitty Kitty Kitty…”


He passed the first and second cottages in a trance. He stepped past their gravel paths without even glancing up at each tributary from the main vein. He had almost convinced Himself to turn around to check them by the time He realized His Mistake.

He ran past the third and fourth cabins in a fervor, glancing up their paths at their windows and front doors. He saw no reason to stop by – He knew there was no fire behind their walls. He was getting more nervous and less patient: He did not feel quite Himself in the thick heat of this steamy jungle night.


He stood in front of the path that led up to the fifth cabin for quite some time before He crouched to the ground and planted His torch at the river’s intersection with the tributary. He left the flame burning behind Him as He made His way up the gravel drive:


The driveway was long and well-lit by the massive orange moon hovering in the sky above. He walked at the disk until He found Himself standing alone in front of the small cabin — His heart raced, beating like a jackhammer pounding against His chest.

He bent to the gravel floor and carefully selected three stones. The first was black. The second was grey, and the third was blue. He stared at them in His palm for a long time, and then rose to face the hut:

He took the first stone between his fore-fingers and tossed it. It bounced off the glass windowpane by the front door with a warbling chink! and fell to the wood deck below with a light pitter then patter.

He waited.

There was no answer.

He took the second stone between His fingers and tossed it at the window again, then threw the third in succession. Still, He felt no stirs from inside the building.

He ran to a ladder on the side of the building and climbed to the roof. There was a flat observation deck atop the single-roomed bedchamber. He bent down and tugged at a hatch built into the floor – another ladder came down from the ceiling hatch to a rest on the floor within the small structure. “It must still be locked from inside,” He spoke as thoughts raced through His mind. He hopped from the roof and ran back to His torch, still burning in the middle of the abandoned gravel trail.


He approached the door of the sixth cabin more cautiously. He thought longer and harder before bending down, selecting three more rocks from the sea of stones below, and turning His sights on the entry window. He tossed the first stone, striking the glass:

He waited.

There was no answer.

He lifted His arm, released the second stone, and struck the glass yet again.

He waited.

There was no answer.

His heart beat faster as He waited for a few more seconds to confirm:

There was still no movement inside.

He felt warm pools of optimism in His chest. He caught Himself: Maybe She went to one of the right cabins, He reasoned, rather than the Wrong one.

He dropped the third stone and ran up to the window. He cupped His hands against the glass and peered through. There was no light coming from inside. He whipped around to the side of the building and climbed up the ladder, sticking Himself to the tarpaper deck as He rapped his knuckles gently on the metal ceiling door.

The Moon glowed a brilliant orange before Him. At last, He had arrived: at last He would be with Her again. A flame in the window called His name, beckoning Him to come and stay a while inside, shelter from the warm jungle storm. Dark Clouds billowed around the moon above as an emerald blue haze crept over the drive. He had heard the siren’s song, and there was no turning back. He started down the thin gravel corridor cut through the thick of the jungle. The world buzzed electric blue around Him and He seemed drawn to Her – a captive to Her spell. He felt Her magnetic pull calling to His belt buckle through the charged air as the hairs all over His body started creeping up to attention: He felt the power building in His soft machine as His feet carried Him down the wild blue drive towards Her, miles away from any other soul.

He bent down and selected three stones from the gravel floor. He raised and flicked the first stone at the four-paned window at the Front Door.

 A rustle inside. A figure obscures the flame, standing before the lit window.

The remaining two stones drop from His hand. He approaches Her sheepishly, stepping up the deck gingerly and to the front windowsill. His left hand slinks up to Her chest and sits against the glass open-palmed while the knuckles on His right lightly rap the window at His beltline. She blows a kiss to Him through the glass, then steps to the door, turning the bolt. He hops over to the door eagerly – His hand jostles the locked handle before He realizes what She just did. He steps away from the door and back to the window and She meets His eyes with a devilish glare: She raises a finger to Her lips and licks it playfully, beckoning to Him through the glass. He crosses His arms, cocks His head, raises His eyebrows, and taps His foot on the wooden ground – He isn’t going to let Her off the hook this easily. He shoots Her His horniest glance, and it’s on:

She drops Her robe to reveal a satin under-lace number 7 in black. God Damn. He licks His lips, and feels like His pants won’t fit Him soon. She undoes Her black lace bra, holding the cups against Her breasts and pouting Her lips for a split second before they fell to the floor, and She stands nude with Her head turned down and Her eyes looking up at Him, menacingly.

The fingernails on His left hand claw down the glass. He leans in and waves His right hand, motioning for Her to come over. Her hips swing in time with the beating of His heart as She approaches the glass. He cocks His head to the door at His left and mouths to Her through the pale blue glass: Let Me In.

She shakes Her head at Him, Her eyes still glowing — still menacingly playful. She points to the hatch at the roof. His heart skips a beat.

She stood alone in the bedchamber hut, wearing nothing but two black Stiletto pumps and Her garter. She heard a scamper up the wall to Her left, followed soon after by a gentle rapping at the ceiling hatch: “Come In,” She cooed to Him through the thin metal door. The hatch parted slowly, and He slipped inside.

“Here, Kitty Kitty Kitty Kitty Kitty …” He called back to Her as He rappelled Himself slowly down the railings of the ladder, headfirst. His voice was deep and raspy, yet somehow still smooth, slick — more words began to slither out of His mouth: “I’ve been waiting, just for You, for a long, long time, Gorgeous…” She felt like He was already licking Her ears. God Damn — He had truly been gifted with a Serpent’s tongue.

“You have no idea, Sexy.”

She grabbed His head and They locked Embrace. Their tongues turned to Yin and Yang inside of Him as She swirled Herself around His mouth, stroking inside Him from top to bottom. His head was spinning. Her pushed Her away with His core and flipped Himself from the ladder onto His feet, standing right-side up on the cabin floor. He shoved Her onto the bed as She pulled Him on top of Her. She tore His clothes off before He could make it back to all fours, crawling across the bed and all over top of Her.

He slid Himself inside of Her and immediately thrusted as deeply as He could. She squealed softly as Her anticipation melted away. She had been waiting for Him. Her insides were steaming, and He could feel Her opening to meet Him. He became lost as She clutched Him close, keeping Him deeply inside of Her as He pumped harder and harder, Her legs wrapped tightly around Him. Breath expanded deeply into His lower abdomen as His core expanded to meet the soft skin Her above Her belly button and Her chest withdrew from His, comforted by the shelter from the storm. Things were heating up in the small Cabin — He could no longer tell where His body stopped and Hers began.

She lost Her concept of time. She knew only Him and only Her in This moment, Together; Forever. She could feel Her body give way as Their carnal desire accelerated inside of Her, creating a space within, just for Them, Alone, to share. She was lost in the dream. Their hearts beat in Unison as She feels the coming passion throws of burning lust and forlorn desires. She calls to Him from the depths of the tremors: Ah! Ah! Aeh!

He answered Her with a rumbling growl. He pumped faster as He parted His lips on Her neck and bit down. She yelped at Him, bringing Her Hands to His head and shoulders as if to stop Him. They hovered for a second before falling around His neck as She devoted all the strength in Her body to clutching His hips into Hers, pulling Him in as closely as She could with Her legs wrapped tight around the back of his pelvis.


Her vision faded to stars as He came hot passion inside of Her. Her legs couldn’t handle the pressure and fell to either side of Him as He collapsed on top of Her — She shuddered beneath Him, sending shimmers through the tip of His cock and up His spine. He lay on top of Her, steaming, as She shook beneath Him in the heat of the muggy jungle night. She lifted His head from Her shoulder, tilted it in front of Her, and let it droop slowly as His lips met Hers in the Embrace of waking dreams.


Finally, after what seemed like ages, He pulled Himself up and away from Her as She lifted Her knees to meet together in the center of Her chest.

            He was already nude, save the two worn and weathered sandals strapped to the soles of His feet, as He Slid His fingers across Her shoulders and down Her arms and slipped the robe over Her shoulder blades, falling softly to the ceiling floor. His right hand slid to the center of Her chest, laying flat across Her ribs with Her breast perched atop it. His thumb sat gently on the skin between Her titties and His palm helped absorb the blows from Her every heartbeat. His left hand stopped midway as it traced down Her arm, and His thumb and forefinger closed firmly around the notch above Her elbow. His palm fell into place as He pulled Her in closer to Him, locked in a one-way embrace.

She leaned back into Him with all of Her weight and rolled Her head up onto His shoulder. Her left hand rose to meet His right and She placed it over top of His scars. It curled over His as She slipped Her forefingers and thumb under his palm. He let Her take hold and slide it to the center of Her core, ever-so-gently, laying it to rest at a spot above Her belly button. She pressed His hand into Her body until She felt the pressure back, and the warmth spread through Her as She let Her hand slip away from His. He held Her firmly in place, incubating the fire within Her. Dreams came to Her eyes as She folded into His arms. He supported Her body completely as they looked up Together at the heavens in awe, sharing a kaleidoscope of passion.

They heard a rustle in the bushes below. They turned to catch the gaze of a white Bengal tiger on the forest floor. He stood frozen for a moment with wide eyes and broad shoulders, looked them square in the eyes, then turned his back, lopping silently off into the jungle. They watched the patch of trees in his wake intently until a spark on the horizon down the road drew their attention – a torch was heading directly towards them:

“Fuck.” He was not amused, “Who the Fuck do You think that could be??”

Her face was turning pale. “That Jerk – Shit! Who does He think He is, I don’t even… doesn’t he trust Me at all around You?” Aggravation seeped through Her words as She bounced nervously from foot to foot.

“Well I’m not going to stick around to find out – you’re on your own, Gorgeous,” He shot Her a dirty look and lifted the ceiling hatch.

“Aren’t you going to hide Me too?!” She asked incredulously.

“Na, I don’t Fuckin’ think so — He is YOUR husband, after all,” He said in a smug tone, “why don’t You figure it out?” He shut the hatch behind Him and locked it. She bent down to the hatch and banged on the metal door. She waited and listened to the impending silence before snatching Her robe from the rooftop floor and wrapping it around Her body as the flame bobbed ever closer.

J.D. had made it to the corner of the driveway by the time She heard his shouts through the muggy vapors of the warm Peruvian night:


“HELP! HELP! HELP! HEELLPPP! Scott – Please!! We Need You! Come Quick, We Need HELP!!!” He raced up the driveway towards the very last cabin in the Bow. He leapt up the steps without even noticing Her standing like a gargoyle atop the roof to pound on the door: “SCOTT — SCOTTT!!! Please! WE NEEEED YOOUU!!!”

“J.D! What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” He sprung back once he heard Her voice, stepping off and away from the deck to see Her standing above him on His tarpaper rooftop. His eyes watered and he turned away, still shaking his head at Her:

“It’s Mike! He — he isn’t breathing. We woke up and thought we would smoke the rest of that blunt he was holding in his hand, but then he woke up, and, he looked like he wanted to smoke it with us, so we handed it to him, and, he took it, and, he breathed it in….” J.D’s face was twisted into a grimace and his eyes were pinched shut and still leaking tears, “And … he never really, breathed back out again.”


Suddenly the cabin door blew open — A dark figure barreled out the black chasm and bowled J.D over as it leapt over the steps of the deck and into the gravel road. The two of them watched from the roof above and floor below as He ran down the drive at full tilt, His skin glowing pale in the blue moonlight, careening at a dead sprint towards the fire ring far-off into the unseen distance.

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