If anyone should be slut shamed in this lifetime it should be tv. I mean it’s the laziest form of entertainment. You turn her on and she’s there anytime you want it. And you’re not the only one she’s giving it too.
I love to read books and tv is my kryptonite. Sometimes I just nt want to work that hard. So I watch tv.
Except neil gaimen. That dude keeps it easy. He appeals to me in a way I can’t comprehend.
I understand why my father drank.
I understand why my step father is a pain pill abuser
I understand with my father killed himself.
I understand why my step father lies
I understand that dieing is cowardly.
I understand why my brother is barely ever home.
I understand all this and yet I can’t change. I can’t take the higher road. We can’t stop trying to escape.
Have I ever mentioned the admiration respect and envy I have for professional dancers? To have so much passion in movement. An expression so universally accepted, like numbers, music and science. Dance is emotional and it almost makes me feel vulnerable for the dancers themselves. They put it out there so fearlessly and confidently. Even when something unexpected happens they can recover with such grace.
I want to live my life like a dance, but sometimes I fear I may twist an ankle and never recover.
Some of my favorite dancers “Les Twins” a pair of dancers from France who are as you’ve probably deduced are in fact twins. They play off each other’s movements in an almost telepathic way. Mixing a variety of dances like skanking, pop&lock, crumping and little dashes of classic tap and some gene kelly. It’s mesmerizing to see them move. Sometimes it’s chaotic movements specific to the beat and then they’re suddenly fluid as if the only way they could move as such was to break the laws of physics.
Then there’s all of the magnificent dancing done in musicals. Like “Singing In The Rain” or “Taming Of The Shrew”. Gene Kelly, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers. Oh how their feet flew.
She thought she had seen him again at the pharmacy
His well worn curdoroy coat with the patches she had sewn on with care.
The slight curl of blond hair behind his ear.
Those thick rimmed glasses she helped to take off at night.
She got lost in the memory of how he saw her with them off. Like a soft ethereal angel, slightly out of focus.
It was then she lost him again. Scanning the aisles, she quickly tried to decide which way to go when suddenly Ly she bumped into someone. Spilling the contents of her basket it was then she saw his figure slip out the sliding door.
Was it him? Was he real or just a phantom of delight? A spector of loniless and regrets.
My hand on your knee
Biting my lip as you talk
Seeing thru your clothes
Imaginations running wild
And then the gentle tug on your shirt
As I pull you in closer
I hope I don’t send out any mixed signals.
She laid in bed unable to sleep. Picturing that last smile. Trying to block the sounds of the street to remember his laugh. Closing her eyes and feeling the warmth of his lips aginst hers. All of these things he gave to her and then they were taken away.
She tried to adjust herself to the idea that she might have them again. All the while hoping she wouldn’t be disappointed.
Everyone’s so nice, but my skin is crawling. Secretly I just want to drive out to the desert and scream into some mountains.
I think I’ll just go back to bed instead.