Guru of Suburbia
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Posted:Jan 10, 2014 2:44 pm
Last Updated:Jan 16, 2014 9:50 am
2009 Views
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This morning as I was driving to work I got a great push into the realm of my imagination… by something simple, confusing and much to my own surprise, pleasing.
I was about to turn right onto Mitty, right at Archbishop Mitty High School… I was looking left to see if any cars were coming. As I panned back I noticed a very old Indian man sitting on the grass in front of the school. Not right in front of the school, but the grass median between the school parkway and the road. He had a long white majestic beard and was smoking what appeared to be an ivory pipe. He was dressed in an all white hemp Nehru shirt and matching jammie pants with no shoes on. I saw him calmly sitting there watching each car go by, making eye contact with each… I can only assume each because he made eye contact with me.
As I turned on to Lawrence Expressway and headed to 280 I imagined that he had carved the pipe himself back in India and had a special place that he would walk to each morning to smoke the pipe. Taking a walk through the local outdoor market, talking with the vendors… bartering some new tobacco for his pipe. Never in a hurry, the place will still be there when he arrives, that solemn place where he can ponder his life, his … his peace.
As I merged onto 280 the thought of the old man was quickly extinguished as a car came sailing from two lanes over nearly hitting me to get in the Saratoga exit lane and flipping me off in the process…
All I could think was…dude could use a pipe and some jammie pants.
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the clock
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Posted:Jul 17, 2013 9:30 pm
Last Updated:Aug 17, 2013 9:40 am
2163 Views
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i look at the remnants of the shattered clock at my feet. i replay that moment over and over in my head as I spot one more stray piece that has been thrown clear of the wreckage. the intense explosion of the spring...the tap of each gear bouncing off the floor...one by one...each sound different until the only sound left was the crystal coming to a rest ...like a spinning top that has lost all its momentum. realizing the importance of time did not come to late for me...a person who saw it only as a measure of age and failures ...with each second of every minute... each hour of every day...lost...never to be regained or relived. the glory of our youth is far behind us now ...and we can no longer look to what is ahead of us...unless we look upon ourselves at this moment in time...and realize that no-one is exempt from time...or its effect. Would we never have noticed that the years have blended had it not been pointed out to us by our own ignorance? some of us will realize that the ...cosmetic effect that time afforded us in our youth...was exactly that...cosmetic...and its importance becomes less significant when...time ...is less wasted trying to achieve acceptance through appearance. too much time has been wasted on hate...for no reason other than lack of physical beauty ...it’s a hate that is bred through our culture... our color ...our sex ...our intelligence... and our social standings. white is not better than black...black is not better than white ...man is not better than woman...and woman is not better than man...we’re just different...and our only common ground is the sharing of time...and knowing that time endures ...with or without us. everyday the living die and the dying are born...and time continues...if only for that purpose...with or without the clock.
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Lust of Terror
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Posted:Jul 15, 2013 4:54 pm
Last Updated:Oct 24, 2014 2:32 pm
2446 Views
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lust of terror
the sound of footsteps grow nearer...heart pounding...lust pumping. a distant shadow of the woman who haunts my nightmares...and nourishes my fantasies. the eyes of a saint...the body of a sinner. my fear of her is exceeded only by need for her...my lust for her...my hate for her. i continue to seek my escape...but turn back into the arms of my certain demise...my ultimate pleasure.
moon bright...dark clouds move slowly to obstruct the light that would reveal my mortality. silence...cut sharply by the cry of the wolf...the call to pleasure...a beckoning i cannot ignore...
...pleasure
...pain
...fantasy
...fear
she pulls me in...footsteps silent...i stop...unable to look away from the evil that was conceived by my emotions...the woman who lived only through my fantasy now exists through my fears. a fear that was fed by my reluctance to give love...for that i stand ready to give my life. hair flowing...eyes piercing...the teeth that will feed off the blood of my desires...to ravish my soul...to drain my will...and devour my sin. black lace...garter...my tongue moistens...i can almost taste her sin on my tongue. she slowly lowers her cape...i fix on her thighs...knowing soon they will be thrust against mine...thrusting harder...
...harder
...harder.
i drop to my knees...she pulls me to the ground. i feel her tongue penetrate my mouth...deep...hard. her hand reaches to release my lust...hands soft...grip tight. my body burns with every touch as she makes her way down...caressing my thighs...then swallowing my pride. my heart pounds harder with every thrust...knowing this would be my final moment. she takes everything i have to give...
...the power
...the relief.
i look into her eyes...she reveals to me once more...the teeth that will liberate my soul...
...no fear
...i smile
the thighs...inviting me to taste the elixir i had only dreamed about...flow sweet morphia into my mouth. i feel her body tremble with every movement of my tongue...
...eyes closed
...screams loud
...the cry of the wolf...the moan of desire...the flow of the nectar... sweet nectar. i kiss my way up her body...following an amorous trail that would lead to the torturous ecstasy that has obsessed my dreams and executed my fantasies...
...my reverie
...my trepidation.
in one eager and contentious motion i was expelled from any vantage of power I once held with her below me... i feel the rush as consciousness slowly drains from my head... all control of my body has been relinquished. i awaken...a stream of scarlet warmth flows slowly down my neck...i am revitalized by the bestial grinding...the savage consumption of my rigid manhood...every movement leaving me on the edge of absolute ecstasy ...i look up into the hypnotic eyes of this bloodthirsty ...
...i smile
i watch the tears roll quietly down her face as she lays a black rose across my chest. this too would be her final moment...life gained through fantasy...life lost through reality.
she endured only in my fantasy...but was animated through my fears...to consummate my final reverie.
...I gave her substance
...she gave me love
...like romeo and juliet...together in death
...eternally one.
she slowly bends forward to buss my dying lips...a kiss that would be our ultimate good-bye...my withering eyes glance up to capture my final vision of her...she reveals to me the face of an angel...sweet angel...i feel my love explode in her as she plunges a knife into my chest...the cry of the wolf...the fleeting moan of pleasure...
...the silence.
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