Listen, love ain’t free. You and I both know it, so let’s stop beating round that sad old bush and face the facts, OK?
Even when you wistfully think, “hey, no strings attached,” you just know that you’re lying to yourself. There’s ALWAYS strings attached. If not in heart, then at the very least, in purse…
And sometimes in heart as well, sometimes even a heart filled with disappointment…
But for the masses, disappointment is a worn-out old suit. Ill-fitting, uncomfortable and an embarrassment. Especially when the purse beckons towards instant gratification, especially when disappointment can simply be turned into a jaunty lil’ jingle to help celebrate the sin…
And speaking of jingles, are there any better than the one where instant attraction leads to instant fireworks? And instant fireworks leads to rings being exchanged? And rings being exchanged leads to some sort of happiness ever-after? But most often, only after those rings have lost their shimmer, going off on their merry pawn shopping way…?
But that’s just it – a blessed few get to realize their happiness ever-after, and the rest of us are simply relegated to dealing with the truth of the matter (most usually, only long after our purses have been drained of cash and fight) that eventually everyone has to pay, even Nimoy…
So Jen told us this week’s Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday prompt was “No Strings Attached,” and I instantly gravitated towards prostitution. None too sure why, but I feel that Anita said it best, when she cooed that she had been through the “mill of love,” only to find every type but True. And maybe that in itself is the truth of the matter. I mean, at least when dealing with General Hooker’s women, you know that you’ll be broke by the end.
Oh, and speaking of Hooker’s women, here’s your bonus track for this week – I hope that you enjoy =)
After a long stretch, I’m finally jumping back in to bed with the kids of Master Class 2013 (No! Not like that…!), and I hope that Professor SAM is pleased enough to give me at least a passing grade for this long-overdue assignment…
I woke up in bed with a man and a cat. Well, I suppose I could’ve also said “pussy,” but that would’ve given an entirely different spin to the story, you know? Besides, the cat was far too cool to be considered anything less, and the pussy wasn’t really all that bad as to warrant an insult.
What? Yeah, man, cat – both were men – one pretty generic, the other pretty cool. What I was doing in bed with them, was what I do in bed with all of them. I was making a living. A damned good one at that. Usually it’s strictly “one per,” but these two had some sorta weird “let’s fight over the boy” thing going on, and were willing to pay a helluva lot more for the “pleasure.” They’re all like that though, cattle. Show them less than a minute of absolute bliss, and they’ll come running back every time, cash in hand.
True, I don’t need the money. That’s not why I do it. And true, they won’t actually go to hell just for “bumping their bits” against me, but they think that they will. And that, my friends is all that’s needed. The sin isn’t breaking some predetermined law given down from “On High.” The sin is breaking the law as you see it, breaking the promise that you feel should be honored, but then don’t.
Big Daddy God is not cool with that. Trust me.
So these stupid fucks give me all their money, get their rocks off, and then condemn themselves to hell to boot! Pretty freaking sweet deal, if you ask me. Right?
What? No, none of them ever have figured out what I am. First off, they’re thinking with the wrong head when they’re with me. And quite honestly, I like to leave the horns at home when I go to work, anyway.
This week’s prompt is from Robert Heinlein’s “To Sail Beyond the Sunset,” and the song is – well – just what popped into my head as I wrote this, I suppose. Go figure.
No, I didn’t have one of these last year. As I was still relatively new to the blogging game (a mere 5 months old at the time), I honestly had no idea what “NaNo” was when everyone first started chirping about it.
This year however, I was wiser – less wet behind my bloggerish ears. This year I was with the “in” crowd, and had actually signed up with NaNoWriMo. I even went so far as to write a post about it. One that would, in the final analysis never leave the status of “draft.” Well, not until now, that is:
I just created a NaNoWriMo account.
Now, what in the hell did I go and do that for?
I can’t write. I mean, for a sustained period of time on one subject. Oh sure, I can blubber on and on about any number of random topics – made-up or real – but I can’t actually write an honest-to-God story. Or at least I don’t feel as if I can. I think we can all see that, in the “Stranger Things” tale that is spinning slowly out of control (that’s right, part 2.2 is currently sitting around with a very sour look on it’s face somewhere in “drafts;” being very hard to please and even harder to talk with). With it, I can feel myself falling into that old trap I constructed all those years ago, wherein nothing I create is ever truly good enough. “Sins of the fathers” sort of thing, you know. As a result, each installment is getting harder and harder to beat out through my battered keyboard. True, my “100 Words” tale is coming along nicely, but I’m none too sure if that’s because of me, or more because of the community involved (that, plus the fact that the 100 word limitation makes you work really hard to get your point across!)
So then, why’d I do it?
I have no idea.
Which of course means I have a very good idea. I think it all comes back to that concept about bettering myself. Finding my way. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I’m finding my way, and in so doing, I want to share my story. A story that I just can’t believe isn’t up there in my grey matter somewhere. I know it is. I can feel it, taste it. I can glimpse it even, but every time I go to write it down, it simply disappears into the ether of my mind, hiding out until it thinks I’ve forgotten about it. But I don’t forget. I keep coming back. Trying to find it again, so that I can plunk it all down, and share it with you.
My fear is that my story – the one so rudely involving me in a game of “hide & seek” that I didn’t ask to play – is pornographic in nature. C’mon now, stop laughing, I’m being serious. I believe I’ve mentioned before just how important sex is to me. Hell, look at how many tags I’ve created involving it:
And I also think I could spin a pretty good yarn revolving around it. But you see I wouldn’t want it to be porn. Or perceived as such, at any rate. For me, sex is way too important – and enjoyable – to be muddied by plastic boobs, bleached hair and canned dialogue. That, plus I’m still not sure just where exactly J.C. stands on the whole “sex thing.” I know for a fact that the folks claiming to follow him have it all wrong, but seeing as he nary said two words on the whole subject, I would just never be sure if what I wrote was somehow sinful. Again, stop laughing. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to “play it safe” and as a result have my story perceived as some dime store romance either. Sex is way too important – and enjoyable – to be flounced by bullshit rainbows, happy-ever-afters and over-the-top dialogue as well. You see, it’s somewhere right in between the porn and the romance. Smack dab in the middle of “real.”
Now wait, what in the flip was that last bit all about?
This post is supposed to be about writing, not sex (dammit, C is right, it IS all I ever think about). Anywho, sorry for falling off the map like that. Moving on…
So, there you have it. I signed up for NaNoWriMo. And I did so – I believe – in the hopes of forcing my story out of its hiding spot. Once done, I’m hoping that other stories will come easier. I’ve a darling blogging buddy who wants to co-author with me, and I’ve been a very bad person, blowing her off as a result of this current trepidation. I’m terribly afraid that, similar to my solitary work, I’ll start to short-circuit while writing our story together, and attempt to bail on the whole thing. I simply couldn’t do that to her. Well, I could. So I won’t. Hell, even when she asked me what we would write about, I blanked. I shut down. It’s been over a week since the question was asked, and my mind is still stumbling all over itself in the dark. And I really wanted to do this with her.
Maybe my fear isn’t that my story will be pornographic, maybe it’s that it just doesn’t exist in the first. Maybe what I feel, taste and catch glimpses of isn’t a story at all, but rather a ruse I invented for myself, something to keep me occupied. Who knows? I suppose we’ll find out this November when I’ll have to slam down umpteen words into a fashion that creates some sort of a yarn when they’re all laid out. I still have no idea what that yarn will be, so it had better come out of hiding soon…
As I think we all know, the story didn’t come out. But it’s not because of any failure on its (or my) part. No, instead school came out. And two additional kids came out. And work issues came out. And C’s (continuing) health issues came out. And – well, I could go on – but I’m sure you’ve got the idea by now. Life looked me square in the eye and said, “Son, tain’t gonna be no NaNoWriMo for you this year. Not if you want to keep your family, your job and your sanity.” Duly noted, Life. Hell, if I’m still around Blogsville next year, I might give it another go. Maybe Life might cut me a break. Until then, best of luck to all of you who are participating – I hope your keyboards are still speaking to you by month’s end!
Now, here’s a little ditty – the BEST song the 80’s EVER produced, I might add – to help spur you along…
i’ve heard “You Don’t Have to Know The Language” done by several different performers, but i like Lena Horne’s version best.
The premise of the song – on the off chance that you’ve never heard it – is that a man travels to Brazil and falls in love with a local resident, even though he doesn’t speak Portuguese. Of the versions I’ve heard, most play it in this fashion. A nice and breezy, albeit improbable, love song.
But Lena is much smarter than to believe that this is the true meaning the songwriter was hoping to express, so she cuts to the chase. In her version she has a way of almost “growling” through certain verses, with a tone that reminds you what the song is really all about. So while you hear innocent phrases like “the girl in your arms”, you know from her tone that Ms. Horne is decidedly not thinking about mere snuggling.
If the real story line of the song is to be believed, it would seem odd that two people could meet and exchange “pleasantries” without ever being able to understand a word that either one is saying. Engaging in almost any task where the sole means of communication are facial expression and finger pointing must be difficult – never mind one wherein the fingers will be otherwise occupied and the facial expressions, well, a tad difficult to control at times.
As an idea, you’d be tempted to say that these types of unions don’t happen – but as a former member of the military who went overseas, i must report that it does occur quite more often than you’d think. Its surprising to see how humans can overcome almost any obstacle in the pursuit of sex. If nothing else, the lack of verbal communcation negates the need to exchange numbers, and it provides a great “out” should the “pleasantries” start showing signs of becoming less than pleasant.
i don’t know that much about Lena Horne – but the way she sings this song – i have a strong feeling that she too knows that these “improbable” hook-ups can and do happen. i have an even stronger feeling that this knowledge may very well have come to her first-hand, much like it did me.