From Faraway

 

 

” Follow me ” she whispers from Faraway

where the night is forever

and awake is dream she used to have

a very long time ago.

” Follow you? ” he calls down to her from Faraway

where the night is forever

and all but a handful of stars have burned out

from his sky

a very long time ago.

Follow Me, Follow Me, Follow Me

her voice echoes from Faraway

where awake is a dream and the night is forever and all but a few stars still burn in the sky.

From The Diary Of

Bancho Church

June 20th 1911- October 31st 1992

Knock Knock

 

Today I dug up a grave.

I  turned the key, pulled the locks and opened the lid.

The body in the coffin was as it had been for a long time… it was still very much a corpse.

Corrupted and decayed it was a shell.

Looking at it in the bright March sunlight, it was hard to believe it had ever been anything beside a rotted husk.

Had it ever been alive? I wondered as I lowered myself down into the ground.

The eyes weren’t empty as I expected they would be.

They were full of death.

Then I crawled out of the grave, away from the  shell of what used to be and I when I was far away from the opened grave I ran because I still could.

And I laughed with relief as I ran with death’s scent trailing after me.

 

Today’s Special

Five a Day

You’ve being exiled to a private island, and your captors will only supply you with five foods. What do you pick?

This took me awhile to figure out. But when I did I went straight for my bathroom mirror and kissed my reflection.

:::DRUMROLL PLEASE:::

I would take:

J sometimes referred to in some circles as G

( old , tough and  probably gristly but  it’s soaked in wine so I’m sure it’s  good for broth making )

C

( definitely good for roasting )

S

( a little of this goes a long way )

T

( Oh, why not)

and of course

E

( no taste at all- for garnish only  )

So is this me being clever?

Do I intend to take as many food stuffs with those letters with me to the nowhere place that I’m going to be sent to?

Uh.

No.

All I can say is, I’m well schooled in human anatomy, corpses hold no fear for me I’m one hell of a cook and I’ll eat like a queen till help arrives.

You know.

Help for me.

Not them.

For them it would be too late.

 

My Favorite Things

As writer I am inspired by a lot of things:

Love

Music

The works of M.R. James

Music

Music

The works of

Franz von Stuck

( The Temptation of Saint Anthony)

and swimming puppies!

YAY YAY YAY

And The Truth Shall Send You Straight To The Principal’s Office

Daily Prompt

Truth or Dare

Is it possible to be too honest, or is honesty always the best policy?

Of course honesty is the best policy.

Honesty earns you trust and respect.

On the other hand, we’ve seen honesty used as a blunt instrument in many a murder of the heart and mind haven’t we?

So, that led me to wonder, are you being honest when you take the truth, twist it around someone’s neck until they turn blue and their tongue pops out of their mouth and they are for sure dead?

I don’t think so, I think at that point you used honesty for your own personal gain that makes it a lie.

 

When I was a kid one of my classmates referred to me as ‘ the black cat sitting on a Cadillac’. It was a TV jingle at the time. But before you knew it I was being called a Black Cat by everyone…she would not stop. So one day I hauled off and punched her in the eye and ended up in the Principal’s office with my Teacher- who was very fond of grabbing me by hair on the top or back of my head and shaking it  from side to side to get my attention.

In fact, that’s how she got me to the office that day. Dragging me down past my classmates, other teachers and a janitor by the hair on the back of my head.

Nobody looked surprised.

So, we get into the office and the Principal and Teacher tell me, in all honesty ( they said )  that it wasn’t my classmate’s FAULT that I was different. I was told -almost kindly- by our Principal that I looked different and what I NEEDED to do was develop a sense of humor about BEING DIFFERENT from everyone else.

And then they brought my classmate in – with her Mother who they called right away ( my Mom got a note two days later) and told me I needed to apologize.

I looked into those self righteous  faces, and into my classmate’s smirking expectant one- and from the bottom of my racing little heart-  in all honesty-  and on the verge of tears said with amazement

” That shiner is a beaut, isn’t it?”

Really?

Just a thought:

Sometimes when I mention I used to work in a Funeral Home some people  will say that they always wanted to do that work because

” They feel comfortable in a funeral home” , that they think death is “beautiful”, and dead bodies don’t ‘bother’ them.

For the most part I listen politely.

But this is how I really feel:

The living VISIT funeral homes, even the people who work there. It’s not your home, it’s a weigh station for the dead.

Show some respect for that. It’s not a club house.

Death is NOT beautiful.

It’s brutal.

It takes babies and children, old people, good people, bad people, beloved pets .It takes you when you’re happy, vulnerable, when you’re sad and depressed and lonely,  when you’re driving your car or just living your life and minding your own business.

How messed up is that?

Like Lister said in Red Dwarf, ” If Death comes near me, I’ll rip it’s nipples off “

For the most part that’s how I feel about death.

Bastard.

And FYI dead bodies SHOULD bother you.

They should make you think, feel, react, run, vomit SOMETHING.

Once there was all the hope in the world for that dead person and now it’s gone.

No more chances, no more reset, you get put into the ground or and urn and that’s all she wrote folks.

So please, if you want to work in a Funeral Home remember you are in service to the living and your job is to care for their loved one who has passed.

You’re not ‘of the night’.

You’re of the living and if you forget that you’re not going to be of much help to anyone.

The Clown Car

DAILY PROMPT

First Light

Remember when you wrote down the first thought you had this morning? Great. Now write a post about it.

 

 Every morning I take the same bus with the same people to the Transit Center ( they don’t call it a Park and Ride anymore ).

I like my bus driver, I like most of the people I ride with.

” Most ” being the keyword here.

One of the passengers is, as a very young commuter once pointed out,  a ‘motor mouth’.

She will ask me a question and then answer it herself.

So I let her do all the talking.

Does she do that to the other passengers?

Nope.

And in the event I can get a word edgewise I’m always wrong.

Brother.

And then there are the three jackasses on the second bus I catch.

These three guys all get on the commuter bus together- they each take a seat, put there backpacks or jackets or whatever next to them and then they lower the backs of their seats so far that it’s impossible to sit behind them.

And then they pretend to sleep- so nobody sits next to them and you can’t get to the seat behind them without climbing over  one seat to take the one they’re not using as a futon.

So this morning when my alarm went off and before I opened my eyes I saw those four doughy faces and I wondered if it was possible that today is the we get hit by a planet killer asteroid and the earth turns to dust or we get zapped by a gamma ray  and if today is not the day, what can I do to make it happen?

But I got myself up, did my morning routine went to my bus stop and did I play with my phone, stand on the corner away from the Motor Mouth like a couple of other people have taken to do after hearing her ‘talk’ to me?

Nope.

 I said my good morning and looked straight and stood a few feet away from her.

When she started with our one way conversation I stopped her mid sentence and said, ” I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”

When the bus showed up I got on and prepared for round two on the Commuter Bus.

My little sleeping beauties were settled into their seats and I chose one, sat right behind him, pulled out my notebook ( and not the electronic ones, it’s an old school binder and weighs about five pounds ) and used his head rest as a table.

When he turned around to glare at me I said ” Oh gee, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

” Can you move that?” he asked.

” No. It’s pretty heavy and I’m stuck.”

He got up, moved to the seat occupied by his jacket and as he did a woman with the big, I mean a HUGE purse sat next to him.

She proceeded to pull her phone out of her bag and and as she did I saw her elbow her seatmate a few times.

With my compliments, I thought merrily to myself.

At this point I may have said it out loud though.

At least, I hope I did.

So this morning before I opened my eyes I guess I had revenge in my heart.

And when my eyes were completely opened it sort of poured out of me like chocolate from one of those giant chocolate fountains they have had weddings and fancy parties.

It’s funny how that happens sometimes.

 

 

Help Wanted

 

Daily Prompt

Teacher’s Pet

Tell us about a teacher who had a real impact on your life, either for the better or the worse. How is your life different today because of him or her?

 

When I was in school they asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up.

At the time I was about 10 and that person was not a young woman to be trifled with.

I knew I was SUPPOSED to say a Teacher or a Secretary or a Mom- none of which appealed to me because I knew a lot of women who did that work and they weren’t exactly happy when they left for work in the mornings. It seemed like a grim existence.

I knew better then to say what popped into my head, but I did it anyway.

So I told my teacher I wanted to be a Hang Man.

I was great at  knots I said plus, I’d seen it done a million times on TV so I was pretty sure I was ready to enter the work  field of my choice.

 

She told me I was being silly.

That wasn’t a real job, besides women didn’t do that kind of work she said firmly.

The trouble was, I believed her.

Years and years later I was reading a book about death and one of the chapters dealt with executions and in particular there was a part about Ted Bundy.

One of the witnesses who could only see the eyes of the executioner ( Bundy was electrocuted if memory serves ) remarked that the Executioner had long thick eyelashes- they kind a woman would have.

Now this is noteworthy on two points- getting sent to  Hell by a woman after what Bundy did  is just to delicious for words.

I must say, if those words were a cupcake it would be topped with three inches of thick delicious frosting with a deep rich velvet cake buried in there somewhere.

Second point, I read that line a few times, let the book fall on my face in despair ( I was reading in bed, because nothing says fun, fun, fun like reading about death before your eyes shut and you’re plunged into darkness) I thought to myself:

Son of a bitch, I missed my true calling.

Because someone else answered the phone before me.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

I Really Hate Facing The Bloody Obvious

Forgive me oh my powerful and patient Muse for I have sinned.

I started goofing off on Facebook again.

And at about that time I stopped writing.

But I won’t pussyfoot around.

I stopped writing just before the holidays because I was tired.

Over the last year the Grim Reaper knocked on so many doors around me- a friend, a few of my relatives and my dog.

That’s right. My dog.

Losing my dog Domino was the last freaking straw.

I quit the human race.

And now I’m sort of back.

I guess when you go on a journey- good or bad you learn a lot of stories, you meet people, you taste new foods, hear new music.

You might not care a rat’s ass  at that particular moment but that’s what happens.

So tonight when my friends and I went into mourning because the Seahawks didn’t win their second Superbowl in a row I slapped myself upside the head and thought:

” Really Anita? After all the loss and sadness you’ve been through you’re going to mourn for this? The Hawks are awesome- they’re going to come back.

So let’s tally it up shall we? Your Dad, your cousin, your friend will not be coming back. Let’s keep the tally going from the previous sucky years: your nephew…gone…your cat…gone…your girlish figure….long gone.

So how’s about looking at it this way- suck it up, chalk this screwed up year as a life lesson and let’s soldier on shall we?

Ok.

Because at the end of the day that’s what you have to do.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

DAILY PROMPT

Twenty-Five Seven

Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?

I love to watch those tv shows where women are looking for the perfect bridal gown.

My favorite dresses are the ones that Gypsy women wear. They’re big and over the top and the drama behind it all…I love it. And do you know those dresses actually cause them physical pain? Bruises? Cuts?

And they do it anyway because this is the biggest day of their lives.

At least they don’t pretend otherwise. I know a lot of women who have marched down the aisle and when they got to the end of it that was it for them too.

They’ll never admit it though.

But I digress.

I noticed that the women who have a small budget and the ones who aren’t concerned about the cost have the same problem-

finding a dress.

One is hampered by the lack of funds and the other is hampered by their endless choices.

That leaves me with the question- what would I do if I had an extra hour everyday?

I could write, read, shop, eat.

In reality I think I’d sleep it away or do what most people do- I’d still be complaining that there aren’t enough hours in the day.

So instead of having 24 hours to bitch about I’d have 25.

But if I had an extra minute- I could use that.

It only takes a minute to decide to turn left or right- that’s life changing.

And who wouldn’t like to have a chance everyday for that to be a possibility?

When This You Read Think Of Me…

DAILY PROMPT

Reader’s Block

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without reading a book (since learning how to read, of course)? Which book was it that helped break the dry spell?

I have to have a book on me.

There’s one in my purse, one in my tote bag and another in the backpack I carry my laptop in.

I change them out, but for the most part  I travel with Dickens, King and M.R James.

I won’t say I prefer books to conversations, because I really do like to talk to people. But books, I love to read them. Every chance I get.

When I get my hands on a new book I’ll read it staright through. And whoa be to the rotten books because I won’t stop reading until I’m done.

If I invest that much time in a book, I feel like I have every right to tell anyone who will listen exactly how I wasted “X” amount of time on a piece of junk and how I will go to my grave and through all of eternity regretting the decision to pick up that book ever.

Or I will say, ” I can’t believe an innocent tree died for this piece of junk”.

There are times though when I will read one book for the pleasure of it, because the words are music to my eyes and I will read it slow. One chapter a night ONLY.

That book is Great Expectations by Dickens.

I love the way he uses the language, I love every single character, I love the darkness- both in the characters and the scenes- every turning point takes place in the shadows even when the characters are in full sunlight.

Lucky for me, I’ve never suffered from Reader’s Block…but then again I have had Charles Dickens in my life for a very long time.

That’s probably why.

Time Out

One-Way Street

Congrats! You’re the owner of a new time machine. The catch? It comes in two models, each traveling one way only: the past OR the future. Which do you choose, and why?

If I could visit anytime, anywhere if I could leave right now I’d go into the future.

When I was a teenager I had a terrible nightmare that I woke up, covered with dust and the ground under me was solid rock and under the thin layer of gray dust it sparkled like it was covered with frost. I looked up and the sky was orange, and the sun was gigantic red and bloated. The moon was huge- it filled the sky.

The Moon hung in the East and the Sun was in the North.

I tried to scream myself awake when I realized I was in my own yard and the world was dead.

Dead and barren and airless.

And freezing cold.

Nothing was alive, not even me.

That was the future I dreamed about and to this day that image of a dead world and a dead Sun and the Moon, which was never alive was turning the wrong way.

I couldn’t tell you if  it was a million years in the future or a hundred years but to this day I wonder if that’s what the world will look like after everything is dead and gone.

So if I could time travel I’d want to go into the future. All the way to the end of time. And then I’d want to see what happens next.

Does everything start over? Or does it die and just stay dead forever?

I can’t see myself going into the past.

I know how that story goes.

But the Science Geek in me has would probably want to go to one minute before the Big Bang.

I’ve heard that it was truly a hellacious event.

Think about it.

It was quiet and dark and then all of a sudden the Universe is ripped apart and it’s guts fell out and  ta da!

Here we are.

But that minute before. Sure. I’d like to see that.

Not a minute after.

One minute before.

I’ve worked with the dead, with loss and grief.

To me the past is a freshly dug and filled grave. I’d no more visit the past then I would take a shovel and dig up a coffin and pop it open.

But the future, all that uncharted territory, the not knowing what’s going to happen next. The surprises. The dreams that were realized ( good and bad ).  I figure sneaking a peek at the future is a lot like sneaking a peek at your Christmas presents- sure you know what you’re going to get on the BIG DAY.

But you still have to wait for the BIG DAY to get your hands on the presents.

The upshot is, I’d rather hope then go to a place where there is hope. To me the past doesn’t offer that.

The future is bursting with it.

And that’s where I’d like to go.

The Family That Slays Together

This is one of those pictures

that reminds me

of all of those perfect looking families I grew up around.

The parents took their kids camping, and their dogs were well mannered and during the summer a lot of my friends went to activities at the Pavilion and I’m pretty sure none of those girls in my neighborhood were told that the Blue Bird Troops in our entire county were full and they were sad to say they couldn’t make room for ( ahem ) one more.

They were just so…pristine.

So over the years I learned that some of those kids and their parents were  some pretty shady characters who did time or are doing time in Federal Prisons. You could have knocked me over with a feather. How did that happen?

I guess it’s true.

No matter how much time you spend around people, no matter how well you think you understand them:

You never really do know them.

GPS THIS!

DAILY PROMPT

Back to Life

After an especially long and exhausting drive or flight, a grueling week at work, or a mind-numbing exam period — what’s the one thing you do to feel human again?

 

 

 Just before I turned 49 one of my cousins died, my Dad died, both of my dogs died and  for the first time since I began writing at age 9 I honestly could not write a word because the inspiration, the joy of it all was just gone.

Losing my ability to write was the hardest thing that happened that year, it was hard because I had always seen myself as being the person who wrote.

So with my identity in the crapper and on it’s way to wherever raw sewage gets sent ( oh sure…it ALL gets sent to a treatment plant I am SURE) my entire life came to a screeching halt.

I felt less then human on so many levels.

The first thing I tried to get back was my Writing Mojo.

Do you know the world is full of advice on how to do that? They write books about it, you can go to lectures about it, ” All you have to do, ” I was told over and over again ” is just sit down and write.”

” Oh really? ” I remember thinking. ” Wow. That’s SO obvious. Why the heck didn’t I think of that?”

Well of course it wasn’t that easy.

Most of the time I wrote snarky obituaries for people who thought it was so simple, all I had to do was just ‘sit down and write’. You know what I wanted to do? Tell them I took their advice and show them what I was writing. I remember thinking I’d lose some friends but there would be a few less red wagons in need of fixing out there in the big bad world.

So in the end, as it often is often the case, I found my own way,  sat down and started to write again.

I didn’t read advice books, I didn’t go to a meetup and talk to other writers about not being able to write.

One day I sat down here at my blog and started to read my stories.

The older stories were the first stories I wrote- and I left them as is because over the years I thought it would be cool to see how I grew as writer. I’d do a lot of them different, but why mess with the work of a writer who worked that hard? As it was, I loved those. I’m proud of them. Even if they are far from perfect.

 And then I got to the more recent ones and I couldn’t believe they were mine.

It made me want to write again so I picked up on these daily posts at WordPress. I looks forward to doing one ( or two ) a day.

Of course I don’t think I’m doing them exactly right, but what’s the worst that can happen? I can’t get fired for not following the rules and nobody is going to die over it.

 My responses are what they are.

In  the end I felt human again, like Anita Marie the writer again because I went back and found myself lost there in the weeds and ruins- and there in that mess was my writer’s voice just waiting for me.

I think I was lucky this time.

May we never part ways again.

And Nothing But The Truth

Truth Serum

You’ve come into possession of one vial of truth serum. Who would you give it to (with the person’s consent, of course) — and what questions would you ask?

You know that saying, ” It’s funny because it’s true?” I like the truth when it comes at me like that.

I hate it when people use the truth like a mallet and bash your brains out with it and then say…”I’m only telling you the truth because I care.”

Oh really.

Anyway.

I’d use my little vial of truth serum on one of those people ( and we all know a few of them, don’t we?) and I’m sorry but I’d skip the asking part. I’d dose them and turn them loose in let’s say, I don’t know where is the last place anyone wants to hear the truth?

Oh got it.

At a funeral.

Second to that, weddings.

Funerals and Wedding are planned, they are arranged and we know how to behave and what the steps in the process of each are. We even know what we’re suppose to wear and what to say when we talk to each other.

Do you know what happens when you don’t observe the ritual as agreed upon?

You not only get voted off the island, you get sent to another island where you are buried up to your neck in the sand, your face is smeared with honey and then you are covered with ants and bees.

Nobody wants to know ‘the truth’ at these events and much in the way of reality tv I don’t expect to hear it there either.

So using this truth serum would be like lighting the fuse on a bottle rocket.

You know, you stick the bottle rocket in a bottle ( or a beer can ) then you light the fuse and wonder- is it going to go up or just blow up there on the ground and in your face?

It would be fun just like that.

Yes.

Without a doubt.

That’s what I would do- and that’s the truth.

 

 

It’s Like This

I read an  article called Stephen King On How To Write -and King says:

Oftentimes, you have to continue writing even when you don’t feel like it. “Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea,” he writes.

I agree but the truth is there’s always exceptions to rules and in this case the exception is puppies.

That’s right if you get a puppy you get to take time off from writing.

So that’s what I did.

Me and my husband got a puppy.

I named our pup Hamish Macbeth.

Hamish Macbeth was one of my favorite TV shows...and by far that name is one of the best names that’s ever been given to a character.

I almost named him Boris in honor of Karloff and Halloween.

Anyway, I’ve spent the last few days getting to know my own Hamish but  now it’s time to get back to writing and Dude..Halloween is on its way.

And in addition to writing I have to get a costume for Hamish to wear on Halloween.

Yes. I mean it.

On both counts

amm

Life And The World Of Secret Handshakes

Daily Prompt

Litmus, Litmus on the Wall

If you had to come up with one question, the answer to which would determine whether or not you could be friends with a person you’ve just met, what would it be? What would the right answer be?

This question might be harsh, but if you’re going to write you can’t be afraid to be harsh, to kill off your favorite character if the story calls for it or to face some painful truths about yourself.

So I’m going to give this prompt a go:

No matter how I phrase it, the question is

Would you want to be Captain of the USS Enterprise

or

Battlestar ( Galactica )

I’m old school, and adventurous and I really do love the strange, the campy and the unique.

The Galactica  and it’s crew are streamlined, sexy, edgy, and dare I say desperate?

Well.

Yes I do say that.

I could see myself in the world of the Enterprise, but in the Galactica  world?

I’m not sleek, sexy or dangerous. I don’t have a great set of boobs and a High IQ. I do think I look good in a mini-skirt and I’m no genius but the smarts that I have I use well.

So I’m not saying I wouldn’t make friends with someone who sees themselves as Captain of The Galactica. But I can see myself hanging out with someone who can be great in a fight and has a bunch of weird and wonderful friends.

So Beam me up Scotty and let’s go for it.

Tain’t What You Do

 

Daily Prompt

Flash Talk

You’re about to enter a room full of strangers, where you will have exactly four minutes to tell a story that would convey who you really are. What’s your story?

When I was about six years old and we

were living in Seattle we had this great cherry tree in our back yard.

Now the sweetest cherries are on the highest branches, so I used to scoot up there and lay on a branch and for each one I picked to take down to my Mom I’d eat three.

The problem is I’d when I’d get up I’d fall and down I’d go. It’s safe to say for awhile there I fell out of trees more often then I’d actually climb down.  In fact, it took me awhile to learn that part. I think that for awhile I just assumed that was the way you got out of trees.

So be it a big tree or a small tree- a fruit tree or a maple tree I had no fear in climbing up and zero fear of falling down.

Luckily I never broke anything. I twisted my ankle a few times and I knocked the wind out of myself more times then I could count.

If you’ve never been able to draw a breath, you know it’s a pretty terrifying experience. But for me, I’d just wait and then I took a breath and I was good to go.

I guess you’d think I’d have developed a fear of heights or falling or I’d have developed some kind of morbid fear of trees.

But I didn’t.

So that little kid who always climbed to the top of a tree to get to the sweetest fruits or wanted to climb as high as she could because it was fun to watch the world turn from being big and intimidating to small and very far away…

became the woman who wasn’t afraid to be who she wants to be or to go where she wants to go.

And Just in case you’re wondering.

Yes.

That kid is still with me.

Ella Fitzgerald –

‘Tain’t What You Do (It’s the Way That You Do It) lyrics

When I was a kid about half past three
My ma said “Daughter, come here to me”
Said things may come, and things may go
But this is one thing you ought to know…
Oh ‘t ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
That’s what gets results
You can try hard
Don’t mean a thing
Take it easy, greasy
Then your jive will swing
Oh ‘t ain’t what you do it’s the place that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the time that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
You’ve learned your ABC’s
You’ve learned your DFG’s
But this is something you don’t learn in school
So get your hip boots on
And then you’ll carry on
But remember if you’re tryin’ too hard
It don’t mean a thing
Take it easy
(band members:
‘T ain’t what you bring it’s the way that you bring it
‘T ain’t what you swing it’s the way that you swing it
‘T ain’t what you sing)
– it’s the way that you sing it
(That’s what gets results)
(band members sing while Ella adlibs:
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
‘T ain’t what you do it’s the way that you do it
That’s what gets results
Re-bop!)

// //

Something Wicked

DAILY PROMPT

Autumn Leaves

Changing colors, dropping temperatures, pumpkin spice lattes: do these mainstays of Fall fill your heart with warmth — or with dread?

 

What’s there not to love about a dark and dreary night?

How could you not love a bitterly cold foggy morning? Or better yet a foggy night with dead dry leaves crunching under  foot as you make your way home to a fire, something warm to drink  and your favorite novel, ( or in my case for sure ) a little something by Mozart.

I do love the Spring, I love the green and the fresh cool air. It’s full of promise. It’s open and free.

But Autumn is secret and sly. It’s the bad boy in the leather jacket  who plays the guitar or rides the motorcycle- the one you’re Mom warned you about because guess what. She probably met the bad boy’s acquaintance before too.

When the Fall shows up  those flowers you planted seem to just disappear one night, the leaves on the trees turn slowly from gold to red and fall off one by one until boom! They’re on the ground and being carried away to wherever  it is winter lives.

This is the time of year  when take out our dark clothing and we put on  our hats and scarves and cover our faces. We make our way, wrapped in our shadow friendly clothing, through a world covered by low dark clouds, full of snow or rain. Now is the time we blend easily almost naturally  into the shadows and doesn’t that just make you feel…just a little wicked?

People are alive during the Spring and Summer.

But I believe during the Fall and into the Winter

Everyone wakes up.

And Top Of The Mourning To You Too!

 

Ready, Set, Done

Today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.

Reflecting the biblical account of the Fall of Man, the snake-entwined figure epitmoizes evil and sensuality

I was in search of a Good Mourning Comic, but this picture from the artist Franz Von Stuck was the way to go.

The Seattle Times, in their review of Von Stuck’s work which was being shown at the Frye Museum in Seattle ( and I was lucky enough to see- Thanks Colleen!) was described as ” Spooky, Sinful and Seductive “

Why wouldn’t you know it.

Those are my favorite topics to write about.

In Von Stuck’s work I found it interesting that the less than holy subjects seemed to be more in charge of their enviroment then the more ” pure ” figures- even to the point to where the models representing all things “spooky and sinful and seductive”  seemed to be burning their way into Von Stuck’s and in turn the viewers eyes.

I like that in a monster.

I actually like it in people who are NOT monsters, but that doesn’t happen very often.

Isn’t it said that if someone looks into your eyes for more than twenty seconds they either love you or want to kill you? So I guess that’s why people thinking looking into anyone’s eyes is a sign of aggression. Maybe it is.

Maybe it is.

But when I need a little inspiration or when I just want to look at something that makes my brain and spirit sigh together in harmony I pull out the book ( they call it a catalog ) I bought at The Frye of Von Stuck’s work-

and enjoy.

 

( Click On The Picture To See More of Von Stuck’s Works)

Mr. Gill From Down The Street

Are you a good judge of other people’s happiness? Tell us about a time you were spot on despite external hints to the contrary (or, alternatively, about a time you were dead wrong).

When I was growing up on 52nd Ave just outside of Seattle, Felix Gill was a neighbor of mine.

Felix was, I thought then, a very old man, in reality he was probably in his mid-thirties. It was the gray hair that made him look old when I think about it, but you know how it is when you’re ten years old.

Anyone over the age of 18 is ancient.

The not really old Felix Gill  had short hair and wore short sleeved shirts and when he came home from work his billions of kids (I’d never seen such a big family before) would rush out to the driveway to meet him.

They always looked glad to see him, so were the neighbors. They’d wave when he drove by their houses and he always said “Ma’am and Sir “ when he talked to them.

Felix Gill was a solid guy, he didn’t drink or smoke or swear like the rest of the Dads on 52nd. He mowed his lawn and dutifully carried the groceries from his wife’s car into their home and not only did he take his garbage cans to the curb he brought them in right away and he hosed them down when they were empty.

I thought Felix was okay.

He coached his kids various sports teams and when he wasn’t doing that he was teaching one of his kids how to ride their bikes.

Felix was just Felix. He talked kind of slow and he was predictable. One of his kids told me his favorite tv show was the Six Million Dollar Man.

One day I was home from school early- I think I’d been to the dentist.

I decided to take my puppy out for a walk until my friends got home from school.

And then I saw Felix driving up the street.

I waved and he pulled over, stopped his car and rolled his window down.

“Hello Mr. Gill.”

“Hello.” he said pleasantly enough. “Say. I was going to ask. Is that  puppy yours?”

I nodded. “Yeah we just got him, his name is-”

“I don’t care what his name is Felix Gill said.  “Because if I see it outside- I don’t care if it’s in your yard or on the end of a leash,  I’ll blow it’s head off and I’ll do the same to you. Do you understand? Keep that dog out of my sight.”

And then Felix Gill drove the rest of the way home and got out of his car. He turned and waved to me and then walked into his house.

Just like always.

Two years later The Gill Family moved out of their house.

When they drove away I was standing on the corner with a few other kids and I saw Felix. He saw me and my now full grown dog.

The he rolled his window down,  he pointed his finger right at me like it was a gun and mimed pulling the trigger.

I don’t know what happened to Felix Gill, but about 20 years ago I saw one of his daughters on TV.

She was being charged with the murder of her stepdaughter.

Later we heard she had even killed the Stepdaughter’s dog at least a week before she murdered the girl.

Everyone in the neighborhood was shocked. A few people even cried. How could someone like that have been related to good old Felix Gill?

I wasn’t shocked. I just wondered though…

if it was his daughter who killed the dog.

I still wonder about that dog.

The Eighth Deadly Sin or Who Makes The Rules Around Here Anyway?

 

Post A Day Prompt: Eighth Deadly Sin

It was something to think about: If you could create the Eighth Deadly Sin what would it be?

I felt like a kid in a candy store.

People do so many idiotic things that you could nail them for. I mean where to start?

Okay. Deadly Sin should do what it says. If you commit this sin the consequences are going to be deadly. Plus you’re for sure going to Hell.

So if I could pick a new one I’d stay with the theme. It’d have to be something people do at least one of every single day : wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony.

Ok. Here it is.

Laughter.

If you laugh you go to Hell. Do not pass Go. Do not collect 200.00

 No more laughing when your trying to belittle someone and that laugh, that smile is just one more knife for you to stick in their eye and twist. No more laughing at jokes or movies or happy memories.

And if you do. Boom. You’re in a cuddle puddle with demons. And not the cute ones like they have on the TV show Supernatural.

And if you think so- I’d agree: Yes indeed that is twisted and mean.

But isn’t that what the Deadlies are? Don’t we all get angry?  Love to eat too much ( Hello Christmas and Thanksgiving ) Aren’t there days when you just don’t want to wear anything but yesterday’s t-shirt and your favorite ripped up jeans or sweatpants? And on those days when you’re not fitting into your favorite outfit  don’t tell me you wouldn’t  sell a kidney to look like someone on tv.

It’s okay. We’ve all been there.

Seriously. Who decided to make being human not just a sin, but a deadly one?

But this is my blog and my post and my response to the prompt and I have made Laughter The Eighth Deadly Sin.

You just laughed at that didn’t you?

Uh Oh. Uh Oh For You To The Max.

Absolute Beauty

We’ve all heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Do you agree? is all beauty contingent on a subjective point of view?

One of my friends told me about a conversation he had recently had with a woman about beauty.

She said men age with grace and that women turn into hags.

Hags.

Hag is such a bitter angry little word.

When I was young I was told I didn’t have much going for me in the face department so I should probably think about developing a talent.

I chose writing. And resigned myself to wearing a bag over my head- actually I spent a lot of time looking down. Same thing.

But on my worst day I don’t think I’d compare myself to a Hag.

Besides, I did spent a lot of time doing things where I didn’t have to worry about my lack of good looks.

I write, which is something that I do love to do. I rode motorcycles, I worked in a funeral home, I traveled. So I guess that was good. But I did most of those things alone.

But there has been a down side to my way of thinking and it’s a strange one.

I hate mirrors. I loath them. It doesn’t suprise me that there are so many superstitions about them:

… Mirror Superstitions:

• To see your reflection in a mirror is to see your own soul, which is why a vampire, who are without a soul, have no reflection.
• If a couple first catch sight of each other in a mirror, they will have a happy marriage.
• If a mirror falls and breaks by itself, someone in the house will soon die.
• Any mirrors in a room where someone has recently died, must be covered so that the dead person’s soul does not get trapped behind the glass. Superstition has it that the Devil invented mirrors for this very purpose.
• It is bad luck to see your face in a mirror when sitting by candlelight.
• Before mirrors, in ancient societies, if you caught sight of your reflection or dreamt of it, you would soon die.
• Someone seeing their reflection in a room where someone has recently died, will soon die themselves.
• Babies should not look into a mirror for the first year of their lives.
• Actors believe that it is bad luck to see their reflection while looking over the shoulder of another person.
• To see an image of her future husband, a woman is told to eat an apple while sitting in front of a mirror and then brush her hair. An image of the man will appear behind her shoulder

I bought my first full length mirror a month ago- and I’m almost 50 years old.

Mirrors  creep me out. I hate them. I hate that I get judged by a reflection they capture – be it the one I see myself or the one other people see.

What angers me is that the image I cast determines who will love me, if they’ll be kind to me or not, if I’ll be treated with courtesy or disdain.

Because of a reflection.

Years ago I had one of those scream myself awake nightmares.

I was walking through my house and it was full of mirrors. There were heavy ornate mirrors, cheap ones, mirrors with no frames broken dusty mirrors and hand mirrors.

I went from mirror to mirror and I saw…nothing…I didn’t cast a reflection. I couldn’t see myself in any of those thousand of mirrors.

I started ran from mirror to mirror in a panic and I was shouting, ” I’m here. Why can’t any of you see me…I’m here!”

I was trapped in this house with mirrors and because I didn’t have a reflection I felt like I wasn’t real.

Like I didn’t exist.

Is it possible to be less of a person when nobody ‘beholds’ your beauty? Do you get to be real?

More real then a reflection?

I wonder.

It Sneaks Up On You

Halloween is my favorite time of the year.

Not the holiday itself exactly.

I love Autumn, I love the Winter. I love the crunchy leaves. The cold dark mornings and the biting cold evenings.

I love considering the possiblity of those things that can happen when Spring comes.

But in the mean time.

Winter.

I read the classics during the winter. Dickens mostly. This year I’m going to read start off with David Copperfield. Last year it was Great Expectations, but then I moved on to Through The Looking Glass, A Journal of The Plague Year and Turn Of The Screw.

On Monday I’m going to my favorite bookstore in Pioneer Square ( it’s a small independant store and the owner actually talks about books and writers with you) and pick up my Winter reading.

And then later this week I’m going Halloween Shopping.

I like to get that done before October.

Because once October hits, I want to celebrate and enjoy each and everday leading up to the night itself.

I want to read and write and listen to hours of Mozart and The Midnight Syndicate

I want to enjoy scary movies and take in some not so scary ones.

That’s the thing about the holidays and life in general. It will sneak up on you and be down the road before you know it.

So make it count. Every moment.

 

Floaters

 

 

 

Down the street from where I work is the waterfront.

It’s interesting for a variety of  reasons.

Like there’s a couple of mummies in one place, a great fish and chips place in another and did I mention the mummies already?

Hands down one of my favorite things to do is to stand there, looking out at the water and when there’s a small group of people eating snacks and taking selfies I’ll turn to a friend ( this only works if someone I know is there ) and say

” So you know what they have to do here every morning?”

No my friend will say on cue.

” The City has to get out here early and look for floaters.”

” What’s that?”

” You mean who. They’re dead bodies. See the tide comes in and they get pushed up here and wouldn’t you know it?” There’s always a tourist looking down and there’ll it will be. A big juicy floater. Hitting the dock. I heard when they hit the piling it makes a weird knocking sound. Anyway. It’s bad for business. So the City gets out here early and fishes then out with a big giant hook

” Oh my God. That cannot be true. ” my friend will say.

I take a quick look around and at this point my little audience-and there always is one because people are nosey and eavesdroppers by nature. Anyway the little crowd is clearly on my friend’s side and I can tell the image of a bloated water-logged corpse being fished out of the water is something they can’t unsee- unless of course they can convince themselves that this is absolutely not true.

” Well they can’t walk out. They’re dead you know.”

” You made that up. It’s not true.” My friend will say for the little group.

” Fine it’s not true.”

” Really? It’s not true. You were just kidding. Admit it.”

” Sure. ” I’ll say clearly not meaning it. ” I’m just kidding. Really.” I’ll say as unconvincingly as possible. ” Just kidding.”

 

Have You Ever…

 

Have you ever touched a dead person?

Seen a dead person?

What’s it like, you may ask someone like me

who has indeed prepared the dead for their

last visit with their nearest and dearest.

 

Well.

 

Have you ever walked up to a house

doesn’t matter if it’s a new house or an old house or the remains of a house

and you’ve stood there and knew, in your bones, that nobody was there.

That the house was empty, and nothing was alive in there.

 

Whatever it was that made that house a home was gone.

 

So that’s what it’s like to touch a dead person.

That’s what it feels like.

 

It’s not to big of a thing and after a while you actually get used to it.

But when the dead touch you…

You never do get used to that.

When I Was A Kid

 

When I was a kid  I wasn’t afraid of anything.

I wasn’t afraid of falling down, I didn’t get defensive when people yelled at me and I also didn’t laugh a lot.

When I was a kid I was refered to as a Baby Monster- which was funny because I hated monsters with a passion and used to going looking for them in the middle of the night- in our basement, outside in the dark after everyone was asleep just so I could take them out with my little yet, I was sure of it, skilled and capable hands.

So I still wonder what made me appear so monstrous to anyone.

I have to say though…I miss those days.

And sometimes when I’m having a down day  or I’m feeling a bit vulnerable I can see Baby Monster in my mind’s eye.

And she is always smiling.

Expectantly.

 

Used To Be

It used to be that I only posted my short stories here.

And then I’d skip to another blog and post jounal-y random stuff.

That’s what I used to do.

But this blog is my favorite for a variety of reasons, so my Bridge is going to go all write-y, random-ly, jounal-y now.

But the weirdness and the macabre stuff?

That stays.

As it should…am I right?

amm

When Writers Write

” So what are you doing tonight?” the writer’s friend asked- sort of asked- because she asked by text message.

” Looking for monsters ” the writer wrote back.

Her friend  asked,  ” LOL. You mean writing right? “

” I’m a writer and when I write, I do choose my words carefully.”

” Uh. Okay. “

” But yes, dinner sounds great. Look. Do me a favor. Bring a shovel. And if you’re really a pal, you’ll bring two. “

” Ha! What are we doing? Burying bodies?”

” Doi. NO.We’re digging some up. C ya!”

When I write

I wonder what happens to my stories

when I hit that enter key and they fly into cyberspace.

I’ve heard  that when you put something on the internet it will live there forever.

I write about the things that nightmares are made of.

Now there’s a thought.

I used to think that living in the suburbs was boring.

Anyway, that’s the way the story goes right?

I grew up a few miles from a guy who started a racist movement that has been tied to murders and someone stashed a body in the woods where me and my friends used to play everyday after school.

The suburbs.

Home scream home.

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Before it froze

( to death maybe? )

I wonder if the water screamed.

( Stunning photos of frozen Niagara Falls By Aaron Harris, Reuters photographer )

 

Writer At Work

What goes on in your head when you’re writing
Anita Marie?

This.
Yeah.
Pretty much this.

It’s A Laugh

Photo By: A.M. Moscoso

 

I paid my quarter and watched him laugh over and over again.

And I indeed I got my money’s worth
Because
I can still hear him laughing
Over.
And.
Over.
And over again.

In Another Universe

In another Universe

monsters might be real.

We must face the fact

it’s a possibility.

However.

In this Universe

we can be sure

it’s a certainty.

amm

It’s The Thought That Counts

As a writer of the strange and macabre I  must ask myself:

What am I afraid of?

My list is short and sweet.

Monsters.

And being lost.

I’m also afraid of the dark, being buried alive and I’m afraid of being hit by lightning.

I know. I get it. Monsters aren’t real, if you’re lost you can always find a way back to the point you lost your way, the dark can’t  wrap its hands around your neck and squeeze and I doubt if I’ll be buried alive because once your embalmed there’s zero  chance of being buried alive.

HOWEVER I have almost been hit by lightning twice.

So when I write about Monsters, or the lost or the dark or death and the many, many, many ways it can come for you,  I guess I can’t help but to feel…somewhere in all of that there is something true, something real…and I feel- with every ounce of my being

relief.