Mrs. Dalloway's Coffee Break

  The week has moved on its course with the world holding its breath waiting for news on the Christa Pike execution.   Trump’s bagboy Kavanaugh that insufferable bitch overruled the lower court’s ruling to hold off with the killing, and the number of   screw-ups   regarding it have been nothing short of spectacular.   Should Ms. Pike awake ever again is her time not done now in full?   How much more can the nation want? A once pedestal nation now run by a band of rapists and homicidal maniacs carrying out personal vendettas and creating more misery and sorrow and Pike’s victim’s mother’s 31-year hatred, needing to see the wrath of god in motion how sick how vengeful and godless in and of itself  is that?   A sick country of old men producing hatred and war and destroying the globe while at it a disgusting group of self-serving lynchmen and bigots and murderous, blood...

  I mean what respectable man doesn’t have a few skeletons in the closet? These – females, these –  women , they are all just dumb sumbitches, aren’t they? I mean I will be here till the end of time, and am right to be here, just like there are righteous, good men in the Klan, and these righteous, God-fearing good white men are right to fight for their power! I mean our  job  is to oversee the goings-on of the land of our fathers, and make sure it doesn’t accidentally fall prey to a bunch of ninnies and cry-babies and lesbians. Emphasis on the job, Lizzie. I mean it isn’t proper, it just is  not proper  for some insufferable cunt to appear out of nowhere to start laying these accusations so thick a man can’t breathe. She reduced ole Biffy-boy here to tears.  To tears ! And now, let’s examine the situation with a cool head, since I am the best and most level-headed man I know to examine the situation, and no Federal investigation should really be needed...

  The speck of light through eye lids, not even a speck of light, but a shadow of light; the morning! of having slept through the night, that precious speck of a shadow of light through the eye lids, and the pleasant feeling of sleep slowly escaping through the throat and chest, through the tips of one’s breasts and through armpits. One stretches and lets out a little moan of pleasure, turns on one’s back, the residual sleep escaping through the belly button and vagina, through one’s biceps and elbows and forearms and fingers, and one lifts up her arms in the air, the speck of a shadow of light grows a bit more lucid, a bit more solid, a bit more demanding and a bit more urgent, daring one to open her eyes, daring one to see the morning, but no, not quite yet, not just quite yet, because remnants of sleep and dream are still slowly escaping through her. Now they move through her hips and her buttocks and her cheeks and her mouth, and one sighs an audible sigh for the room to hear...

  1. Hello, are you The Acrobat? I am Alexandra, The Comic Book Tattoo. Where would you bite me if I gave you permission to do that, once? Where would you kiss me? How would you want to hold me? And did you hold me once, many years ago, in a dream? The fragilest, smallest touch of our fingers then, index fingers  touching index fingers, middle fingers touching middle fingers,  almost not but I feel it, and as I look at our hands  almost intertwined I feel such a rush of excitement I lose my  breath, my knees give, I feel my body electrify as a current of  immense, overpowering want floods me. I don’t remember what color the sky was, only that it was bright, the moon was there, and inside the hedge a dove cooed. I wake up and realize I am aroused and lie very still  trying to let the feeling pass in its own time, and it takes a long while  before my body calms down again. An ancient reminder of how one is helpless before emotion  s...

  Are we needing to cater and cow down, endlessly, in front of the imagined other, who will tear us apart anyway? The carelessness comes after taking care of business, but the brightness is so fast to hide from me. Now, I can see it. Now, I cannot. Listen, can you hear the birdsong now and now and now, as the dragonflies gather and the light is the brightness, so much so that in communicating with myself I am communicating with the universe, my closest person who looks after me, my friends and family, and the holiest of holy, the interpreter of my emotions, the conveyor, the immaterial lover who is touching me to make sure I am still here, relentless, proud, myself, frail. I become lust in the evening sun and feel warmth on my face and toes and hear the ice clinking in the glass as invitation to better things. The liquid is orange and pink and I feel how my body relaxes, it is hot to sit in the sun. Physicality means more in the summer, the heat brings me closer to my core self...