Vagrant in the House of Women

Prose, including snippets (mini-memoirs).
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goldenmyst
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Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 12th, 2019, 8:28 pm

Vagrant in the House of Women

He sleeps in sodium light shadows. There, whiskey weary souls expire like angels in the fetid night air. Their cardiac cauldrons pump like lovers in a final tryst.

On Christmas Eve the Soup Kitchen runs out of meals. The last cup of milk is served. The bewildered hobo roams the storefronts in search of Yuletide generosity from restaurant owners. When he rounds a corner, an angel holds his hand and opens her van door.

His heavenly companion gives him a derriere boost and he feels the warmth of her hand through his threadbare trouser bottom. Her touch is like a hot ray of sunshine from the tree shadows to warm his back pockets on a cold winter day. She pushes him into the warm seat with heat blowing from the dashboard vents.

She takes him to a homeless hotel where private rooms and three squares await. There, pretty maidens all in a row are garbed in gabardine skirts. These angels of mercy are happy to serve and please the boarders with grownup candy striper smiles.

A lass pours him hot chocolate. At the entrance to the shower room, he is greeted by a magnolia mademoiselle who beams forest love. This worker glows a tupelo honey smile which is sweet as sassafras tea. Her camellia hands pass him a towel and he crosses the threshold into fresh outlook on life. Afterward, he tastes the collectivist dream of mocha freedom donated by a coffee shop.

A bohemian damsel enters the picture and embraces him like an old friend but with his street dementia, he doesn’t register a clue as to her identity. He gazes at her lovely face like an Alzheimer patient. “I never forget anyone. John, we grew up together in Mississippi. I’m your cousin, Jade. You taught me how to ride a bike. Your reward will be for me to nurse you back into your prime” Jade proclaims. His words tangle like brambles in a neglected corner of memory.

A maiden floats like a flute melody to lead him to the fount where hair conditioner will untangle his knotty crown. She lays her soft hands upon his head to bring him comfort in the hour of his deepest need. He feels the flutter of her silken fingers with tropic water pouring onto his pate.

She sifts the fine strands of his angel hair in the flaxen sheen love light of her touch. His wheaten ripples roll under the weave of her undulating strokes. Like a fine web of sweetness, his tender scalp becomes a pleasure garden with his ache joining her compassion. She leads him to the barber chair. There, his locks fall under the finesse of a scissor witch who reclaims the handsome man from what vagrant tears have wrought.

The woman says, “You refugees of the street are like unto Jesus. So shall I wash your feet in the tears of the Dead Sea like the woman bathed Christ’s feet in her own teardrops.”

Uninvited she sprinkles the bottled salt water upon his feet. The hobo smiles like a boy on his first date when the pangs of his youth were soothed. Then she dries his feet with her hair like his wife in an act of love. Her frankincense oiled hands soften his callouses. But her most precious gift comes when she cradles his heel in her hands. Her kisses upon his bare sole feel like a walk in a bed of rose petals.

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stilltrucking
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by stilltrucking » January 13th, 2019, 1:08 pm

A pleasure to read, thanks for posting.

I'm headed for a land that's far away
Besides the crystal fountains
So come with me, we'll go and see
The Big Rock Candy Mountains

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goldenmyst
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 13th, 2019, 1:40 pm

Thank you so much stilltrucking. You are my first commenter on this story anywhere. Glad you enjoyed. :)

John

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sasha
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by sasha » January 14th, 2019, 2:49 pm

Second! You own this style, the sensuous flow of word and image as warm & rich as melted butter. Are you back? It's been quite a while since AC lay down its head for the last time......
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I'm not an outlier. I just haven't found my distribution yet.

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goldenmyst
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 14th, 2019, 4:37 pm

Love that metaphor for my prose, "warm & rich as melted butter." I've been writing all along since then. I've written some erotica which is surreal and humorous, some of my better offerings. But they would be a bit too adulty for this forum. Yet perhaps my most inventive ever. My temporary reprieve from the mind control meds did my writing a world of good.

John

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sasha
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by sasha » January 14th, 2019, 5:57 pm

goldenmyst wrote:
January 14th, 2019, 4:37 pm
...My temporary reprieve from the mind control meds did my writing a world of good.
And therein is a conundrum. I remember a TV documentary many decades ago about a young girl (10? 12?) who suffered some kind of mental disability (autism, maybe?) - but was a brilliant artist who created frighteningly and disturbingly realistic paintings of horses - rippling muscles, flaring nostrils, crazy eyes - she was amazing. Until medical science "cured" her. She (or rather her parents) traded her uncanny artistic ability for social conformity. Her post-treatment drawings were on a par with those of a pre-schooler.

I'm not going to tell you to turn your back on medication, but maybe an occasional walk on the wild side is good for the soul..... Be well, my friend.
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I'm not an outlier. I just haven't found my distribution yet.

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goldenmyst
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 14th, 2019, 7:31 pm

Actually, one out of the five meds seems to be the key that opens the door. Just reducing that by half frees my muse. And aside from some insomnia and hyperness had no appreciable negative effects. They call them drug holidays. Everyone needs a holiday once in a while like Madonna said. lol Unfortunately there was a nationwide, worldwide, shortage of the lower dose hence why I had revert.

John

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stilltrucking
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by stilltrucking » January 15th, 2019, 12:49 am

You are doing good work. I am trying to decide which chapbook I am going to buy.

I got a sliced tendon on my pinky finger right hand, from Effexor™ induced rage. We are just a walking talking sack of chemicals. I always used to tell myself back in my trippier days that there was something in me that would always rise above the acid, an awareness that would always be there, I would always be me. I was naive I think. Maybe I should have not read The Birth of Tragedy and The Genealogy of Morals while I was tripping. That goddam book cost me blood. I still remember standing looking down at the blood seeping through my white underwear.

Nowadays hyperglycemia is a hell of a trip for me.
sorry John, I am a compulsive rambler :oops:
I used to tell Dino when I rambled over his work, "don't mind me I am just a fan of yours from Texas"

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goldenmyst
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 15th, 2019, 1:15 am

Love your rambles, my friend. We are a walking taking sack of chemicals. And read Nietzche at a young age. Back then I was young and insane so his words resonated with my free mind. I thank you heartily for bringing in your experiences with Effexor as well as psychedelics. There is more in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in pharmaceuticals. :)

John

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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by stilltrucking » January 15th, 2019, 1:54 pm

hate to be trite, write in cliches but :arrow:

one man's meat is another's poison

Some people do well on Effexor™. It is just a subtle twist of fate that my biochemical cocktail is what it is.

Like the lady anthropologist said:
"Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else."

Thanks John.

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goldenmyst
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Re: Vagrant in the House of Women

Post by goldenmyst » January 15th, 2019, 7:27 pm

Your aphorisms are quite to point. People are like snowflakes everyone different. Love the lady anthropologist quote. Sadly it seems some commonalties make for better inclusion in the Borg. But then who wants to be assimilated into the machine of society? Ah cruel fate.

John

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