and now you die. good riddance might be apt but i don't have the heart. so chisel your way deep to be uncovered when your tongue has turned to dust, vocabularies are lacking leather bindings, tabulated alternatives are lost. but your child lives, i shall attend to all its nascent needs bound as i ever am to prospect-- to all sanguine shimmer.
Poseidon became an adventure and Prometheus is now a lab, Orion was a studio, an opera before that. Minerva is the inventor of music, she's also poetry's virgin goddess even now. an Oracle has morphed into a utilitarian database, and yes, Vespasian can mistakenly be thought Armenian although he was not, yet in eighty-one we acknowledge him emperor of our land.
although bravado's memory is said to be faulty except for when there is phlegm in its eye so too when pet slop's smeared on the face, splattered on ceilings left to rot then dry. i know, i know, once Borg always one, as they say, resistance is you know what. what's equally true is escapees won't track-back except in nightmares morose and black save for the sake of endangered lives but never for a fuck nor an alien form of love unlike refugees who occasionally do, escapees won't, particularly the reviled, numbered and tattooed or maligned.
although bravado's memory is said to be faulty ~noxalio~
i store the extracts you send in crystal bottles embossed with Crosses of Lorraine. i have also hidden double daggers along with sheathes and belts fit to wear while crossing frozen tundras and the ice deserts ahead.
next, i shall decide on clothing, starting with the layer closest to our skins. to be sure to be kept driest i will select moisture-wicking polypropylene. the next layer, for warmth, lamb's wool will be my choice. for the final, the windbreaker, it will be down filled coats.
extremely well insulated winter boots are also a must. truth be told i do not recall your shoe size anymore. remind me of this the next time you write me, please.
today, i practice cutting perfectly round holes for fishing in the ice, deep and chiseled clean as i also prepare diamond tipped steel hooks and nets made of spider-spun silk rope for scooping and landing more reliably than doing so in our bare hands.
all this said we still need to select our point of departure and the day on the calendar, we also need to settle on the ultimate destination. please advise by month's end next. until then, as always, i stay sincerely yours.
P.S. we also should discuss matters related to shelter, as you might imagine there remain a few questions to be addressed.
twenty and ten although numerically pleasing so too transformative if adamantly converted in certain steps unwavering. the alternative, patricide, blatant assassination, your own by your own inertia or hand; subtracted all censure and sermon if you don't mind.
today is a fitting day to contemplate Henry Miller and why any of his books could have been banned in an attempt to understand the world i have lived in and apparently still do, notwithstanding the sizes or the number of holes hitherto accrued or yet to be found.
on this Christmas Eve although replete with serenity and peace it would be blatantly false to surmise nothing's amiss for those somewhat torn and thus remiss, devoid of hands given or held so too lips not kissed fervid nor ardent or even simply with tenderest love for such is their life this day or otherwise one less sacred or exalted and yet it shall continue to be lived plainly and enjoyed, not simply tolerated.
done carefully, sweet yet somewhat salty slightly bitter on the tongue as mahlab is from an ancient land thoroughly blended yet sophisticated is what you are to me.
i knead you slow and deliberate, head to toe when you lay there, face down and bare. palm roll your pale cream-colored skin from shoulders to the tips of your delicate limbs, and hair, long and thin, glistening drip drizzled in exotic oils kept in bottles of crystal, crowned in sandalwood and gold.
abruptly, i snap you, double you over lay you flat on your back. rope spun then double crossed hips, ankles and thighs then blown in heated breath coal-fired crimson blast across your entire undulated form making you blush and flush, first rose then red, later amber-bronze then pale again as it dissipates.
i shall hold you firm in my hands, raise you to my hungry lips, nibble in a french kiss, circle-roll my tongue as i take small bites and kitten-laps i sample and taste then swallow your very essence, slow, with a squint in my eyes and bated breath.
i will remember your aftertaste all day today and still tomorrow
it may be time to light a clutch, set adrift, scroll laden feather light, tiny of vellum velvet wrapped, compartments sealed then waxed water tight, illuminated silver or golden, inscribed in scripts from lands distant almost forgotten songs of times perhaps to arrive conjured thus presently begotten.
and its mouth never stopped beating not even when held edgewise, otherwise its heart might have done that, i suppose it was the wisest thing to do -- innocently bleating while fidgeting and grinning all the way though.
yes, we were the first to adopt and as specimen in a surprise encounter though somewhat road-weary and caked in mud from the Rift and the San Andreas with the dousing of a warm summer rain, wind-dried on a line in the Golden State or else laundered by hand in ancestral ways on a rock by a river's bank i suppose i could and i might represent us well as you might imagine first of a kind and one of a kind do not tend to repel with polarities set accordingly well by the acquainted with the nature of faults.
remember FDR; not "when the going gets tough ..." blah, blah, blah, but the other. "Persist" is the name of the new favorite board game. it's all the rage over here, have you played it yet? one of the clues in it is what Spoke said before he perished temporarily until the very next installment aired. even he could not go through with it, if you can believe that, it's insane. i know i couldn't, even though sometimes it might not seem so.
remember FDR; not "when the going gets tough ..." ~noxalio~
for when you're feeling amber-gold with a subtle touch of tyrian purple or red-violet as it's ordinarily called though certainly not a common pearl a fitting ornamental color and form set upon an intricate golden frame; at other times when crystalline or when light is reflected off the moon, silver and diamond, tipped in black, arched sole yet delicately supported dabbed with the aroma from a small café after midnight where amber colored candles, dipped in sandalwood oil lit the night.
icons stay and nay to notions of servitude, his is his today's queen empress if she wills tomorrow. on bended knee head hung low otherwise rode a winged foal of a pair sound beaten as one impossible so to unwind a heart nor a mind in deed nor want neither desire nor in attitude diminished tilted not steep toward faded black but for some nether slung intrusion by god of doom or prey as imagined. for love is love plain after all his categorically hers whole and sole and they the breeze possessed thus blown above all mild, swung fearsome on call.
all good offers stand their ground a chance meeting a chance besides not a tale begun at story’s end splayed over layered twice then again once frayed or snapped so now repaired spliced and knotted here and there spun bobbin style when begun over wrapped or bare a tale if so by chance or offered circumstance when given so taken either stopped or not first right then left contingent on one's story line from the start or the middle-on raveled now unwound certainly not by chance nor declared happenstance all that did begin will spin and spout while nightmare ends turn relentless till time immemorial.
'tomorrow let's try it laterally' he said with some hesitation then he realized what he'd done 'or maybe we'll do it kneeling down?' well that too went over like a charm, you can imagine how he was feeling then. 'whichever way you would prefer my love, it is up to you, you know, the next time, as you can see, today i'm out of it', when he said this a smile flashed on her face. 'just shush, will you , you're doing just fine -- we'll talk about it when we're done', she said as she leaned forward and picked up the pace whereas him, all he could do was to frown.
monday at dawn we board. we will set sail through the narrows and head along the protected waters of the seaboard slowly making our way north.
i am filled with great anticipation as i sit here thinking ahead. i have hardly slept for three nights now.
i suspect at first we will stay close to shore, near enough to be able to see towns perched high on distant hills, smoke rising up to the sky from small fishing villages which dot the shoreline over here. it should be smooth sailing and serene.
this until we veer directly offshore two or three days hence and then turn due north once again cutting a more deliberate line as we settle into the first long leg of our passage headed your way.
i know from that point on we will be at the mercy of good fortune himself in regards to the weather and conditions at sea. i so detest open sea voyages, as you well know dearest - i can feel my face turn gray as i think of this even now.
this journey, which we have put off oh, so many times, is not one i consider to be the crowning event of my lifetime but the thought of the final destination, especially the fact that it will mean we will be together at long last, makes it such that i would endure those hardships willingly many times over.
i am now beside myself as i envisage this eventual outcome, i flush -- i have missed you immensely my dearest, more than you can imagine.
i will now post this letter as i give you my word that i shall write more while on board - the first installment of which i will dispatch at our first landfall a month or so from today.
goodbye for now my love, wish us well. wish us fair winds and fair skies from now till the end -- we will need them both i am certain of this.
i send you my heart felt love and every good sentiment possible along with even more if you will accept them.
i stay yours alone as alone i stay till then my love, xxxxxx.
the meal is prepared, the bread is baked and stacked, the wine is breathing as we speak. the fire's lit, the table is set, the butler's gone for the night. the lights are dimmed, the curtains are drawn and the candles are ready to burn. the cat is asleep on the bed keeping your side warm. the covers are drawn and still i'm sitting here sure that you know the drill so just get your sweat behind home before i begin without you, you hear?
today i shall visit the wise men here in town they were passing through and to my surprise they granted my request to see them; i am prepared — gifts in hand i go, i take my scroll with the list i wrote in cuneiform; i will read from it to them simple queries of what has been and what is here and a pair regarding what will soon come as well. i will let you know if i may what they have to say in particular those things they chose not to tell.
today i shall visit the wise men here in town ~noxalio~