To describe his kiss would be the same as uncovering a magic trick. It would soil the memory and render it invalid. But I think about his first kiss. Often. I remember his lips and the anticipation just before his skin touched mine. My hands were buried in the back pockets of his jeans. His hands were around my waist. Our upper bodies were touching, and I was afraid he would feel my erratic heartbeat through our layers of clothes. I closed my eyes, trying to enjoy his kiss with all my senses. I made mental notes and stored them away for later. But no, I can’t describe his kiss. Not the way his tongue touched mine, not the way I felt the intensity of it travel through my entire body. My knees were barely able to keep me upright, and my fingers massaged his butt through his pants. I will not tell you about the moan that formed in my throat as I gave myself to his kiss. No, because if I described his kiss, I would break the spell and… Oh!
Broken Julia (a to z)
Jaded eyes in a pale and gaunt face. Longing years had cost a lot; her beauty, her happiness, her sanity. Every pore of her body told the story of her life—the story of her love. It was long gone, but still there, a constant companion. He had sworn that he felt abject loneliness without her, but he had shown it with rejection. Broken Julia.
She was old and weary, still feeding off the fantasy man who had chosen to leave her for someone new. The craving, the want, the need for him, it consumed her every night and every day. He was her toxic obsession. She jumped when the doorbell rang. Broken Julia.
Jittery, she opened the door to a postman and signed for a parcel he held out to her. She grabbed the cardboard box and slammed the door shut. She reached for a knife and slashed the box, impatient to empty its contents on her sofa. She sighed. She liked what she saw. Broken Julia.
Julia called him, and after some convincing, he agreed to meet with her one last time. A plan came together in her mind, and with the little something from the online store, she had everything she needed to make him love her again. She dressed in a long dark skirt and a black shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her face looked even paler and thinner than before. Broken Julia.
He looked good, too good; she noticed him long before he saw her. It gave her the advantage of storing these pictures of him away for later use. After all this time, he had to suffer from their separation too, but he seemed to be happy, jaunty. She saw him scanning the coffee shop for her, and when their eyes met, her heart raced, and her stomach twisted into tiny little knots. He approached with long confident strides, and kissed her cold cheek, tracing her arm with a finger. Her eyes followed the move and it made room for new fantasies and memories. Broken Julia.
It felt good to have him back. He was hers again, but she disliked the distance between them. He had joined her for a drink, but he was not there. Putting on her most alluring mask, she asked if he would buy a cookie for her. She took advantage of his absence, producing a small flask from her purse—the online purchase. An elixir to make him love her again. She poured every last drop of it in his coffee cup and waited. Broken Julia.
He grinned, proffering the desired biscuit to her. He sat down opposite her and took a large sip of his coffee. She felt good. Her plan was working. If the elixir was as good as advertised, he would fall in love with her every moment now. Instead, he grew pale and held his stomach. He looked uneasy, queasy, and it made her worry. Something was wrong. Broken Julia.
He wanted to leave, but she reassured him that her house was just down the street and around the corner. If he wanted, he could wait it out on her couch. He obliged. He was sweating profusely now and bent over in pain. The ten-minute walk had never been so long. She led him to her home and to her couch, taking off his coat and his shoes. Once she was touching him, she couldn’t stop. He was protesting, but she undressed him, and he was too weak to put up a fight. Victory, she thought. Broken Julia.
His breathing became shallow, and his eyes were filled with knowing horror. He was about to die, and she was not saving him. He tried to move away from her seeing her for who she was, but his body was not responding anymore. Tired. Exhausted. He allowed it to happen. He took a deep painful breath, clutching his chest while she lay on top of him, running her hand through his sweat-drenched hair, and murmuring soothing words. The last person he saw was her; Broken Julia.
At first, she was shocked that he had died, but that was forgotten when she understood that he would never leave her again now. She dragged his lifeless body to the bedroom and heaved him onto her mattress. He was heavy, and it took all the strength she had to accomplish her mission. But now she had him where she wanted him. He was naked on her bed. He was hers again. Broken Julia.
She went back to the living room and collected his belongings. She found his phone and read through some messages and contemplated replying to some that made him appear alive. She decided against it. Instead, she destroyed the chip and the phone and disposed of them. No one would ever find him. He was with her. No one would take him away from her. No one. Broken Julia.
Once all evidence was taken care of, she went back to the bedroom where he lay on her bed. He looked as if he was sound asleep. Of course, he was not. His body was cold, and when she laid her head on his chest, there was no up and down of his breathing; there was no rhythmic sound of his heartbeat. Content, she sighed and cuddled close to him. Forever hers. This was perfect for her. Joined together in death. Broken Julia.
No one would have guessed that this tiny, jaded woman was filled with dark and twisted secrets. He would never feel abject loneliness without her. She would never feel abject loneliness again. She was happy. Broken Julia.
Insatiable (a to z)
Insatiable
iNsatiable
inSatiable
insAtiable
insaTiable
insatIable
insatiAble
insatiaBle
insatiabLe
insatiablE
*****
His hands on her skin. His tongue licking her juices. His breath raising gooseflesh all over her body. Engorged nipples. Trembling. Wanting. Needing. He is filling her so good. Again. Again. More. Deeper. Their moans are filling the room. Everything reeks of lust and passion. Their sweats mingle. Where does one start? Where does one end? They can’t get enough of each other. Insatiable.
Hero (a to z)
Helping
Supporting
Listening
Saving
Acting and reacting
Finding solutions
Being brave
Determined
Focussed
Leaving comfort zones
Staying silent
Speaking up
Caring
Being kind
Being gentle
Affectionate
Selfless
Filled with hope
Holding each other
Showing empathy
Compassionate
Merciful
Be strong
Allowing weaknesses
Patience
Perseverance
Tolerant
Gentle
Don’t show off
(…)
Heroes don’t wear capes. Everyday heroes are often not seen- invisible in plain sight. They are taken for granted.
Every one of us is a hero in their own right.
For some, being a hero in these times means watching Netflix on their couch. For others, it means saving lives at the hospital. Others are cashiers or working in stores that guarantee that we have food in our fridge and cupboards. We have the cleaners, the nurses, the doctors, the first responders, firefighters, police officers, social workers. Drivers (bus, taxi, train, tram…) Postmen and those delivering whatever had to be shipped to our home.
Heroes are owners of restaurants and hotels who are offering food and beds to homeless people. Bosses who insist on work being done in home office. Politicians taking risks and showing that they care for their countries, people taking responsibilities, and reacting to the ever-changing situations.
But, Heros are also parents being with their kids and explaining this unique situation. Being cheerful and keeping the kids’ safety and health in focus. The biggest heroes are the kids. They are suffering and taking everything for granted that the adults decide for them. They don’t know why, but they know that something is happening—something no one understands. And so, they keep their sorrow away from their parents.
No, heroes don’t wear capes.
Batman, Superman, Spiderman… Where are they? They are in quarantine too, staying home to flatten the curve.
Be a hero too. Once in a while, all it takes is a smile and a kind word, or staying at home for a bit longer.
Goodbye ( a to z)
Goodbye
Old
Ostentatious
Days.
Beautiful
Youth
Ending.
*****
Gloria took a sip of her lukewarm tea. Her eyes were glued on the TV screen. She was addicted to the news. Gloria was one of the many people socially distancing herself from her life. And after two weeks, she realised that everything she thought she needed to be happy was just junk piling up and clogging her living space. When had she turned into a shallow consumer? She snorted. Perhaps, it was around that time; her last boyfriend had left her for a younger, more beautiful woman. One with a tight stomach and firm tits that weren’t the victim of old age and not enough exercise.
Gloria sat back and put the mug of tea on the small table in front of her. She didn’t need a coaster, and there was no one there reprimanding her for this lack of caution. The young woman sighed. She was in her early forties, single and she had no children. She would probably grow older in this apartment. Her life was over. She had lived what there was to live. She heard the sound of commotion outside. Curiosity drove her to her window. On the other side of the road, a young man was singing. People were watching him from their windows and balconies. It was an escape from the dull moments in confinement, and the impromptu concert was over too soon.
Gloria watched her neighbors getting back to whatever they had been doing before the singer had caught their attention. She caught the young man’s eye from across the street. She smiled. He smiled. She sighed. He left. Disappointed that the only connection she had felt in weeks was not reciprocated, she pulled wilted flowers from the flower boxes on her balcony. When she looked up, the singer was back, holding a sign. “I m Gary.” He waved, and she waved back. On a whim, she began showing him her telephone number with her fingers. She hoped he would understand. After a couple of tries, he got it, and soon after that, her phone vibrated on the table in the living room. The TV was still on, telling stories about the misery and hopelessness the pandemic left everyone in. Gloria was lucky; her job was safe, and now she was texting with a man named Gary while watching him writing her messages from his window. Life would never be the same, but somehow, Gloria was learning that every negative situation had some positives too. She was healthy, her life was not threatened, and she had just met a new man. She sighed, trying to be her most charming self.
Gloria poured herself a shot of whiskey and said goodbye to yesterday and welcomed her future. Cheers.
Foster Finds Fame (a to z)
“Faith!” Foster yelled, falling to his knees. His eyes were closed but aimed at the ceiling. His hands were balled into fists. “Faith!” he yelled again, raising his arms into the air. He had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. He was the worst actor ever, but contrary to some of his friends, he got paid to make a fool of himself in mediocre plays. He sobbed theatrically, and the curtain closed. Foster released a breath, leaving his character to come back to reality. There was applause, but it wasn’t enthusiastic. Foster got up and reached his hands out to his co-stars, who joined him on stage to bow for the audience. But the applause faded, and the curtains didn’t open again. They looked at each other, shrugging, confused. There was no direction, and they stood on stage, hand in hand, waiting for orders.
“Final curtain,” the producer said, coming on stage too. He exuded confidence, and his appearance spoke of money. Next to him, the director hugged the play to his chest. He looked small and in terrible pain. He had written a script that reminded of other plays that found fame. But his was too trivial, too ordinary, to be acknowledged, and the producer refused to pour any more money into costumes, stage design, or advertising.
“Fired?” Fred asked from Foster’s right side? He was still squeezing his clammy hand. Fred was shaking. Maybe it was anger; maybe it was the adrenalin that left his body after the performance, or maybe, and more likely, he was getting down off something and needed his next fix. Fay held Foster’s left hand tightly. She was so still that he turned to her to see if she was still breathing. And she was. Fortunately.
“C’est la vie,” replied the producer and turned to leave with a wave across his shoulder. The director didn’t say a word. He retreated, too, picking up notes and scripts left and right. He was devastated and ignored his team.
Backstage, the actors wiped the makeup off their faces, they put their costumes on the designated racks to be taken to the dry cleaning, and then they hugged. Even though the scene was small and they would probably see each other again very soon, it felt like a final goodbye. Everyone hugged everyone. Tears streamed freely; after all, they were all in the same boat. They had just lost a paid acting gig. They had worked for months to get it right, and now they were out of work.
One after the other left the theatre for the last time. Their fading backs forgotten by the magnificent building, as soon as the doors closed behind them.
Foster was the last to leave the theatre. He turned to look at the stage, at the seats, at the chandeliers and the red velvet carpets. He took a deep breath, unsure when he would be hired to act in a place like this again. He left the building through the pompous foyer, ran his hands over the glass doors one last time, and closed the door on this chapter of his life.
He needed to get in touch with his agent, and then, he imagined himself going to castings again. It was exhausting, and the constant rejection was hard to take, but it was also part of the job. With the right script, Foster even enjoyed it; sometimes.
At home, Frances, the fat cat, was waiting. She meowed, asking for food. Foster opened a can of something described as fish on the tin can and poured it into the cat’s bowl. She hissed at her feeder, who retreated from the kitchen. Master and servant, it was clear who had which role.
Focussed on processing the evening’s events, Foster pushed his shoes off his feet and started his laptop. He browsed the leading websites for information about his latest failure and promptly found it. But, Foster said up straight, he was not ripped in two for being a bad actor, the play had the worst critics ever, his co-stars too, but he was raved about.
Foster Fields was the highlight of the short-lived play. He brought Finneas to life, and his love for Faith was palpable in every scene. We are convinced to see much more of Foster Field soon.
Foster clapped his hands and rose a fist to the ceiling. He wanted to celebrate, but no one was there right then. He sighed and decided that it was time for bed. It was not much, but these few lines were enough to raise his enthusiasm for his career again. He felt tired but content. Foster followed his usual evening routine, and as soon as his head hit the fluffy pillow, he fell asleep.
And the Academy Award for best male actor in a motion picture goes to… Foster gulped. His heart was racing, and his hands were sweaty. His bowtie was too tight, and the spotlight was too bright and too hot. In front of him, on the big stage, his picture was shown, alongside four other famous actors. Briefly, he wondered why he was at the Oscars and not at the Tonys. But it didn’t matter, because he won. Foster found fame – in his dreams, he did.
He snored peacefully; a smile was on his face. The future looked bright – with his eyes closed.
A-lbum-Z
Inspired by the A to Z challenge, I will post an A to Z of albums I own, and I have an extensive record collection. I will go with the flow and share the first that comes to my mind. The first time I noticed that I can complete an A to Z with my CD collection was when I moved houses in December 2017. There will follow many different genres of music and at one time in my life, I listened to it. I would love some feedback about this list. Do you know the albums? The songs? Do you like them? Are there surprises? Obvious albums or songs?
*****
Agent Fresco – a long time listening
*****
Bon Jovi – keep the faith
*****
Coldplay – a rush of b-sides to the head
*****
Depeche Mode – songs of faith and devotion
*****
East 17 – steam
*****
Fink – Perfect Darkness
*****
Gazpacho – night
*****
Her Name is Calla – the quiet lamb
*****
INVSN – INVSN
*****
John Frusciante with Josh Klinghoffer – Inside of Emptiness
*****
Kings of Leon – Only by the Night
*****
Long Distance Calling – Avoid the Light
*****
Matthew Ryan – May Day
*****
Nina Simone – finest hour
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6dDBrpCL5Qk
*****
Olafur Arnalds – For Now I Am Winter
*****
Pink Floyd – the Division Bell
*****
Queens of the Stone Age – Songs for the Deaf
*****
Radiohead – OK Computer OKNotOK
*****
Serj Tankian – Elect the Dead
*****
The Twilight Sad – Forget the Night Ahead
*****
U2 – Joshua Tree
*****
Veils (the) – the runway found
*****
Woven Hand – Woven Hand
*****
Xenia Rubinos – Magic Trix
*****
Yuck – Yuck
*****
Zazie (French singer) – totem
*****
I added songs today. The songs appear on the mentioned albums. None of the links or songs are mine. I bought the albums and have their physical copies on my shelves, but the shared links belong to the respective owners.
Do you have music to complete an AtoZ in your collection? Care to share? ❤
Everything
Every word
Every tear
Every smile
Every memory
Every regret
Every lie
Every truth
Every day
Every night
Every touch
Every time
Every life
Every death
Every you
Every me
Everything will end.
Seven doors
There was once a girl, blonde pigtails on her head, white tights, blue dress, and black shoes; that’s how she was clad.
She lived in a big house, with parents, servants, dogs and cats, and even a small mouse.
One day, she was fooling around, she opened every door she saw, counting out them loud.
Behind door one, the were balloons, confetti, a clown, and cookies; it looked like a lot of fun.
Behind door two, sat an old man. He told stories of ancient times, and her excitement for the new grew.
Door three was locked with a key; she imagined a forest, exotic animals, and a huge tree.
Behind door four, the girl had a quick peek. Were there dwarfs playing on the wooden floor?
Behind door five, she took a look but quickly exited the buzzing beehive.
Door number six was closed. She opened it and groaned. Nothing worth seeing, just pile of useless bricks.
Behind door seven, all her fantasies were fulfilled, and she flew straight up to heaven.
But every last dream must end, and it left the blonde girl, smiling, and content.
An adventure needed to be planned to be experienced firsthand. But first, the little girl had to reign over her vast land.
Never forgotten were the seven doors, after her father’s demise she had to fight more important wars.
Years later, the girl was grey and old, but many stories were waiting to be told.
By the fire, her grandchildren listened eagerly, to the fantastic stories of their favourite granny.
And she remembered: “There was once a girl, blonde pigtails on her head, white tights, blue dress and black shoes that’s how she was clad…”
Clouds in circles
I thought it would be easier to push the clouds away. Dancing in the rain, drenched in rainbows. And my mind is a hurricane of jumbled thoughts. Are they falling out of my eyes? Are they painted on my lips?
I am blind and taste the yellow sun—the fog on my tongue. I collect memories and store them in those clouds. The sound of light is a melody in my hair.
Old skin, lost under these clouds. I can smell the ink in my journal, the words on my fingers. Sing with me. Hug me tight. I want to survive another night and call it “a long time ago”.
I thought it would be easier to push the clouds away. I was dancing in circles. Front row in my own life. One last step. Out of the light. Into the night.
Before the night ends (a to z – b)
Before the night ends, keep your eyes closed
Remember my voice; my breath on your skin.
Before the night ends, hold on to that dream;
Images of us dancing in your mind
Before the night ends, admit that we were happy.
We laughed, we cried, we loved; at least we tried.
Before the night ends, I will kiss you in your sleep.
I will be gone when the sun kisses your naked body .
Before the night ends, we belong to each other;
But it is when we are awake that we hurt the most.
When we are awake, we wish we could hold each other.
When we are awake, we pretend that we don’t care.
When we are awake, we try to remember our dreams
When we are awake, we taste the remnants of each other on our tongues.
When we are awake, we long for another night.
Before the night ends, we don’t care about the cold reality of the lonely morning.
Adrian (improvised A to Z)
Adrian sat on the stairs in front of his house; a cigarette was dangling between his fingers. Ash was forming at the tip, glowing in the dark. He took a long drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke. He looked back into the empty house. No one was home. No ever was anymore. The situation got to him, isolation. Not so much the social distance, but the physical distance. In the distance, a dog barked, and Adrian looked up.
“I know, buddy. I know,” he sighed and flipped the butt of his cigarette away. Wiping his hands on his thighs, he got up with a grunt. Life was not waiting for anyone. Even less when most people were sitting in front of their screens, waiting for their daily distracting.
Adrian went to the kitchen, took a bottle of beer, and popped the cap with his lighter, and didn’t bother to pick it up. He set up his gear, took off his shirt, and exhaled through his mouth.
He pushed “start broadcast” and smiled. “Hi there… I am Adrian, and I am going to sing some songs for you.” He grabbed his guitar from the couch behind him and began his lifestream—the first one in April.
(My usual posts will continue…)
reflections of an unquiet mind 