I am tripping more than you are. Battling razzberries

[SadLuckDame]

Again, gone to me.

[the mingo]

postcard 15

[SadLuckDame]

Sometimes he doesn't like me at all.
I'm mad, but I likes this post card, mingo.
Much treats.

[the mingo]

&

[SadLuckDame]

I'm trapped in the ease of this thing,
we fight like two Jacked Rabbits.

[SadLuckDame]

First thoughts, morning thoughts.
I get my Tarot message of the day, ...
"Holy crap, he's writing these things."

[the mingo]

the fundamental nature of these things is totally unbound which inflames our desire to enslave. It's what the rabbits really want and, of course, it's what they totally deserve.

think of the phone scene - no, wait, belay that! don't think of the phone scene!

besides, it's not the way you look, it's the way you sing.

rabbits beware !

[the mingo]

O my stars! She's writing these things!

Just home from work. It's so quiet out there tonight. It was like this last night too. Spooky, that's what. No dogs, no coyotes, no wind. What travelers there are I can hear coming from a long long way off. 'Nite, Doll.

[SadLuckDame]

In our spooky silence.
I thought someone yelled for me last night, then whistled a few times out on the street. Not too silent here. I should share some of yours.
But, it's been warm, very nice and cozy in the sunshine.

If I could get this world to ...
no, I mean if I could get that world to reflect the light on this.
I'm not sure which world anymore holds the mostest light.
Make them two combine.
Tough task.

All I knows is he's held his tongue around me lately.
Really quiet there and here I am ready to tremble.

Going along the river.
Have a good day, dear mingo.

[the mingo]

drove home tonight with the window down. first time for that this year since last year. not much doing i'm inclined to speak of. tired ol' musings. sometimes ain't got much stretch. my poems are out wandering somewhere and left me here listening to crickets & frogs. if it weren't for my stomach i think i would have stopped getting up in the morning a couple of years ago.

'Nite, Doll.

[SadLuckDame]

Your poems have been treating me to wanting to paint pictures in my head.
I went to bed on a few of them and had dreams that embraced your poetries.
One was about looking at a new house and I wanted to be sure the kitchen was big enough, had enough shelves, because we two like to enjoy food.

At one point though I made it my importance to look over all the walls and put them under scrutiny, they had to hold your artwork, and I wanted walls that inspired me to want to put great big floor to ceiling flower florals on them. Those walls to be big enough for the two of us to make beauty. We were sure to keep it up.

Also after reading yours it tangled with a dream I had about ripples on the water. People wanted to know more about thunder storms and a natural economy, us two saw the water go away and turn into a road under our feet.

I prolly dreamt ten dreams in a vivid collection the past two days.

I know I'm somewhat detached in nature, it's what some people find most obnoxious about me and they'll make clearly the mistake that I'm self-centered because of it, but that's not what I am, it's not self-centered when it's done in order to embrace, to be able to relate. I want them, and to get to them I must go to myself.

Thanks my friend, for being you.

[SadLuckDame]

It's the case of the missing monk.

Sally knew of the disappearance before reading the headline on Saturday's front page in bold block-headed typo. That night she was visited four times by spiritual traffic signals blaring yellow then red. All to do with a missing hat pin to tack into her Sunday dress.

She planned it as she slept, on waking at five o'clock A.M, the phone rang and it was her Mother Teresa's distressed voice and tearful confession, "I wasn't trying to be greedy with him, but I fear it broke his peaceful sojourn."

I requested her attendance to breakfast with me and we'd discuss the details of the night prior to the monk's disappearing act over our tea. I knew the difficulties the two have encountered in their relations of the past, but there was more to this then just their flirtations.

First thing to do was to get her hand in mine and have a quick look-see at her palm.

~I think this monk is a wanted man, hmm an outlaw.
He's prolly corrupted and has dull ideas of women to begin with
for he's not suffered one especially worth suffering. ha ha.

[the mingo]

here's to pictures painted
in the head

here's to new houses
with big walls
lots of shelves
and plenty of food

to tangled dreams
rippled water
and thunder roads

to making mistakes
to making beauty

to listening to
and understanding
what each
needs to do first
towards embracing

we want what we want
because we are
alive
___________________________________________________________________

HEY U ... it's a love/hate relationship I have with words. Been fooling with them since I don't remember. I love it when ya got the power but when ya don't it's just miserable and there you stand outside their door whining. I never officially gave it up but I have gotten away from it for years. But the miserable little bastards will come out of the woodwork at me sometimes and just gang me. It's just downright glorious sometimes, I can say to this word "Go!" and it goes and I can say to another word "Come!" and it comes. Now I have fun when it's like that but words can be real worst kind of bitches, ya know. I turned to painting because it freed me from the tyranny of words. But it's one of those two-edged swords, ya know, there's always that catch. It's like this, words anger me but I'm not afraid of them. Painting, on the other hand, is like the worst kind of slut ever to walk the pike and right into your arms like it knows it belongs there 'cause it will do whatever you want in spades, grant all your deepest darkest wishes and give you back more and more and more. I mean it will just suck you in, swallow you and keep you there in it's loving mouth by no other force than your own desire. So painting makes me afraid ya see. Because I love it. Words piss me off 'cause I can't get them so much to be like painting. Ain't that just like a man? Well, this man, anyways.
And anyways I've been having one of those word spells lately. I've had some fun and I'm glad ya got up with some of them. And O! what you wrote at the end of your second post! I mean if I could be real honest to laid back classy about this but I can't and O! she's writing these things!!

~I think this monk is a wanted man, hmm an outlaw.
He's prolly corrupted and has dull ideas of women to begin with
for he's not suffered one especially worth suffering. ha ha.

Aw shit! WowFuckWow!!!! i mean what? Holy to all that is Holy Wow you nailed it you just up and NAILED it big time SOLID to the wall every swing of that hammer pure as the words of the Son of Man with the woman at the well the sweat broke out across my brow and if I hadn't been sitting down I would have fallen over and SHIT! W-H-E-W !

Throw my keyboard out the window 'cause it's OVER! YYYYYAAAAAAHHHHHOOOOO !

Reading stuff like this I could go right on overboard with a smile on my face.
You the Doll, Annie B, you the Doll.

And thx for explaining embracing to me. That was unabashed & fearless and -
I heard you.

[SadLuckDame]

I just watched It's a Mad Mad Mad World.
I'm cracking up laughing. That was a steak and portabella mushroom with a baked potato and side salad.

"Round up the usual subjects." Casablanca

Bogie and Bacall To Have and Have Not

"What'd you do that for?" he said after she stole a kiss.
"Been wondering if I'd like it." said her.
"What's the decision?" says he.
"I don't know yet." and she kissed him harder.
"It's even better when ya help." says her while she's smothering,
or smoothing. Sat in his lap too. Bogie and Bacall.

Been window shopping, feeling playful after all of that. It took awhile to find it, to find the it but there it is, always there it is, waiting to be snatched up and for me, for me to be happy.

I just wanna get messy.
If I could put my hands into clay, plaster or mud and feel good feeling good after the storms. Those thunderstorms means weather, I know you know.

[the mingo]

I think we're apt to be doin' this pretty up and walkin' good.

I know that scene from To Have and Have Not. Her givin' whistlin' instructions to such a stinker. Her knowing most of the time exactly what he was going to say and the rest of the time he was just a...yeah, that.

Best part for me was after she closed the door and he's just sitting there with that bemused look on his face...and then whistlin' that wolf whistle in full heart to himself ... ah, the truth of it all.

They both looked at the mess straight in the eye and they both smiled.