Monday, March 10, 2014

To lose it...Love

To lose it...Love
Is to question the worth of it

But the worst of it comes with the loss of heart
Never to begin
Never to start

It tastes of the bitters of sour
Hating the clocks turn of hour
Emptiness-like hole devours

No way to know right from song
If its the Language of the Birds
What is this strange lovers song
They all say 'Come'
But I can not come alone

For years at a time
I hath lost my mind
Felt the weight of my chest give-in
To know the hurt of forlorn like sin
Those who laugh at my loneliness
Their evil-wicked grins
And their smiles -smile from my past lovers
Coo'ing to bliss under new dirty covers

Ages pass in the mortal coils eye
It dries into dust upon wind doth fly
As if these moments like metal rust into dry
Melody not heard the heartless lullaby

Each one no different from the past
Each to leave and run never to last
Will the next glorious one surpass
Or have I yet met another naked impasse
No Maidens, No Damsels, only lonely lass

Watching this time, a broken figment or yore
Thinking it was your kiss and touch I was to forever adore
Remembering the scent of that expensive Dior
How ever to refill the hollow like forgiveness restores
Perhaps it is only the yearning that explores

I am not evil though you call me Devil
Although you could not tell from your lofty level
In your ugliness I loved your dishevel
The shape of your lips a fine bevel

Many years have now come and gone
Your love a poison killing like vermilion
Under the shadow of deaths pavilion
Count the stars as they do pass by million

To lose it...Love
Is to question the worth of it

Strawberries and Cherries Go Together Forever – Adventures in Unexpected Gothic Cheesecake

A True Story

The world is full of madness I tell you, madness.

Anyway, the past several weeks have been…entirely surreal and un-expected(?). Well, that is putting it mildly. I helped a lady and her crew of four other girls, get their car unstuck from a curb. That led to being invited to have a few beers at a biker-bar. Wow. Not sure how many times I will do that again –the biker bar that is. On the way to that invite, I keep seeing signs of strawberries and cherries.

After that (a few days later), I find myself traveling around from house to house to house, becoming a wall-flower, while attempting to learn to program better with little success. Although, I have managed a few small applications, which might help me to make some money –about ten years from now (ha). One of the tutorials I was working on was a fruit game, and, it had strawberries and cherries as game pieces. Imagine that, and the rest of this.

Almost a week later, while stumbling about the countryside, I was led to a house –clearly out in the boonies- by the smell of something delicious. That is one thing about the country; almost every home has something hot and delicious cooking inside. Nothing like that down-home-feeling –makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Beer never hurts.

Wasn’t sure if anyone was home, so, I kept following the smell around to one end of this house, and heard someone singing along to pop songs from the radio. It was kind of cute really. But lo and behold –little did I know- there was this girl standing there, baking in her kitchen.

Meekly, I knocked and said, “Hello?”

She spoke with a smile, “Hey, are you a hunter? Lot’s of people in the woods this time of year.”

“Nah, I just like to go for walks,” Scratching my head at the odd greeting.

“So, would you rather have pie, or, would you like cake instead?” Eye-balling me as if this was a trick question of a sorts.

In a quick breath, “Um, whatever’s easy, or whatever you’d like to give me.” I couldn’t help but think the situation entirely strange, but, she was so natural, and, finer’ than a ticket on the dash. Rusty, rough, dusted with enough sugar and flower stuff; she was a sexy pale ghost enhanced by all things wonderfully dusted in sugar and spice – wrapped up in a country kitchen.

Slipping gloves over her pow-dury hands, “You know, when you stick this in the oven, it’s not so much the pre-heating of the oven, but the build-up in the anticipation. Not to mention just watching it get hot and rise literally makes your mouth water with joy.”

Flabbergasted, I was. It sounded more perfect than any day-time cooking show. All I could think to utter, “You don’t say(?)”

“Oh yes!” She exclaimed excitedly. “One piece of this sweet-goodness in your mouth and you will never be the same again. Do you want to know what heaven tastes like?”

I honestly did not know what to say. All of her words and actions gently cooked into my mind like hot sugar running down soft golden fluffy muffins. At one point, she turned around with her back towards me, and boy did I ever get a surprise.

Alright, she was wearing a long, but light winter dress. Of course, she was wearing this nice little fall apron –but, it seems she tied up a portion of her dress into the bow in the back. Basically, that translates into her bending over her working table to expose: 1 pink slinky lace undergarment, 2 pink stockings, with snaps from garment to hose, and 2 little white bows gentle cradling 2 firm white moons.

Almost coughing, I looked away to be respectable, and certainly didn’t want to say anything about it. She turned around when she heard me cough. “It is hot up in here, isn’t it? The kitchen is always so warm, so inviting, and so nice. You would think I was runnin’ a pastry shop with all the sweet things I like to cook up. I’ll help you wet your whistle in just a minute.”

“Oh, yes mam, absolutely. Nothing like the sights….I mean, tastes and smells…or no,….um yea, it’s great.” Kind of turned beat flushed red.

Damn. Not only was she a cook, but under all the flower and sugary kitchen crust, was a country damsel, hotly working and becoming more beautiful by the minute.

She kept working around the kitchen, and at some point started kneading the hell out of some dough. I don’t ever recall seeing a lady as dexterous as she was. Looking up, she caught me watching, “Well, when I get ready to make something good, I like to do a whole-lotta good at once. Not sure why, but, I just get something fierce up in me, and I just can’t stop until I feel like I have really done something. Great exercise.”

Once again, I find myself recalling the entire conversation, recalling everything, still not entirely sure if what happened was real –or did I stumble on some bad mushrooms, or ditch-weed while out and about in the woods? More often than not, I find myself asking all kinds of question about this strange reality I live in.

“DING!” The oven had a ring-side-sounding-attraction. “Are you ready!?! Because, this is really going to blow your mind!” Wow, if cooking gets her this excited there’s no telling what else does.

“Uh yeah, I guess uh, I’m ready –is it hot up in here or what?”

“Cooking always makes me hot. But, I’m glad you’re her to share this new experience with me. It’ll be alright. We can just be all hot and bothered together.”

“You don’t say?”You know, there is just no way to answer back to things that people say, that you just can’t believe they said. And, it’s all the more surreal because I really experienced all of this.

“Well, um, what do you call this new experience?” A clip of Jimmy Hendrixs ‘Are you Experienced’ passed through my mind.

“It a combination of strawberries and cherries. Strawberries and cherries go together you know. I call it Strawberries and Cherries Go Together Forever. And no, I didn’t steal anything from the Beatles at all.”

It hit me, like so many times before –the images of strawberries and cherries I had been seeing all week –leading to…unexpected cheesecake and a hot country gurl in the backwoods of Arkansucksalot. I kind of felt like a Knight who forgot to wear his amor, but managed to bring his sword along. Damn, did I just write that?

Putting her gloves back on, “It’s amazing, just pop it up in the oven, and 15 minutes later you have something better than glazed honey-butter-buns -I usually make those in the spring. I swear, if you ever taste one of my buns just once, you will never want another bun in the world.”

Not only did she bend over to withdraw the hot cheesecake and strawberry/cherry cream covered deliciousness from the oven, but did so right in front of me, setting the pan down on the table.

My eyes felt torn between the two worlds of deserts set right before me.

“Are you ready for a mouthful of this delicious, gewy, sweetstuff?!?”

Thinking to myself, “I’m a goodguy, I’m a goodguy,….sh*t, use the force, control yourself Daniel-son…,” Then broken into a hard swallow, “God, I am so ready.”

She gave a little twirl, not making the hiked up part in back of her dress any less revealing, “Nothin’ like a lil’ lovn thanks to a lil’ handwork and a hot-oven.”

“You don’t say.” She picked up a pie-knife, and made a perfect wedge. Then, she spooned a full ladle of homemade cream right on top, with generous motions. “Here, let me get you a nice cold glass of milk to wash it all down with. Hmm, you must be hungry and thirsty. You are hungry and thirsty, aren’t you?”

By this point in time, I didn’t know whether to laugh, to cry, to….to…to get down on all four’s and beg, but, I meekly uttered, “God yes, I am so dry, something to wet my whistle would be fantastic!” Jesus, I couldn’t believe what I just said, but boy, you should’ve seen the smile on her face.

Looking at the soft, warm-sweetness laid out on the table before me, I simply let my mouth lead me without any reservation as to what I was about to do: “A full-mouthed, melting sweetness…OMG, lip-quivering taste of what it means for strawberries and cherries to go together forever.”

The sugar shiver went up my spine, sparks went off in my mind, and I swore if she turned around once more with her dress hiked up like that – I would have to scream SWEET CHEESE-CAKE-CREAM-OF-GOD-BE-JESUS, PUT ME IN THE OVEN, PUT  ME IN THE OVEN!!!

But, I kept my cool, melted into a puddle in my seat, taking a huge swallow of icy cold dairy to cool my fires brought on by this country-cooking-vixen-kitchen-fairy (Damn that was a mouthful).

Placing her hand with a slight grip on my shoulder, “Well, how did you like that?”
I thought I was going to explode when she asked me. All I could say was, “M m m maaamm, you sure know how to cook. You hit my spot…I mean I mean, that hit the spot.”

“Oh, I really love the sound of that. Are you all right? You seem to be sweatin’ might hard.”

“I just remembered I have something to do, and I really have to go, but thank you so much for showing me everything…damn, I mean…your oven, I mean your cake, *pft* I mean this kitchen here.”

Before she had a chance to give me a napkin or say goodbye, I ran, and I ran, and I ran all the way home. I couldn’t sleep for two damn days thinking about all of this, and making sure to write everything down. Every time I see or hear about strawberries and cherries, I get hot, and I definitely can’t handle cheesecake anymore –at least not in public.