Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Onomato Poeia met Swank Zog one night in midsummer under a half moon and it was love 4 ever & the debauchery was on.
They ran off together to the United States of Being where osculation was transfinite & phantasmagorical. They drank bourbon for breakfast at the Ha-Ha Hut & fished out back for lunch in Juxtaposition Creek every day except when the thunderstorms brought on the rain.

Swank Zog made Onomato Poeia a jacket from rabbit fur with a collar of white ermine that he gathered in winter. He strung a necklace of acorns & the red head feathers of woodpeckers & placed it around her neck. Onomato Poeia grew sleek & content & never spoke of the past & Swank Zog never lacked for the things from her hand or her heart.

After some time had passed in this way Swank Zog said to Onomato Poeia "my Sweet O, I think we should break camp and head for Kizinti. I hear the Heebee Jeebees may be on the move & headed this way on a rampage & I would spare you that." "Yes," Onomato responded, two days ago the news came that the H-J's came upon a village of Cast Shadows twenty miles downriver & burned them out to the last one."

The next morning they gathered their things & had a last breakfast of bourbon & Quick Time Video over easy and moved out with a group of Freewares who were armed to the nines with Search Engines & Radio Buttons and there wasn't a newbie in the lot.

But they never showed in Kizinti. None of them or any of their things were seen or heard from ever again.

There are many many unknown & mysterious places & things in the United States of Being. Many who go there prosper & live well & far into old age. Others arrive on fire and blaze across the nights like comets. Some come fleeing hard times or bad decisions or looking for a dream. Others come only to pass through. They disturb little & they covet not nor lust for anything beyond themselves & sometimes are seen dancing in the rain.

Only one thing is known with certainty of Onomato Poeia & Swank Zog.
Onomato Poeia with all her heart & soul & spirit loved Swank Zog and Swank Zog felt the same.

You caught me up with this one.
Surrendering.

i love them, this is a great story!!! more- ana-ho ! encore...

Natheniel Hawthorne's are not what they used to be, the shadows grow longer, he took a couple of aspirin and read your story and felt much better.

nathaniel hawthorne jack kerouac judy garland norah ephron, where did all these dead writers get from here to there, always a newbie, no body know's my name, the kindness of strangers, tennesse, williams jack daniels, panama red and obamacare, we're still living so everything's okay.

enjoyed the story mingo, I be a squinty eyed reader, just got off work after staring at this this screen at night. But now still sitting here because I want to be sitting here, even with a distant pain like a nail stabbing into my left eye, Onomato Poeia & Swank Zog wonderful analgesic, thank you very much

for a good time reading
made me want to write a little myself

a sad tale but a good tale
thanks, mingo

thx, everybody - glad ya enjoyed

I must have missed the sad part unless maybe it was the bit about...wiping out the shadows?

I got to reread it, I need to read it with a woman's eyes. I thought it was a love story, maybe all love stories are sad, ultimately. But I got no regretts about my love stories. Maybe one, The Abortion Brautigan.

Reading, writng, music and willow bark
and I will make through the got damn day alright.
thank you
for writing
over & . . .

you're welcome Jack