Member since February, 2012
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The song that encapsulates the soundtrack of my life is?
The tune is ever-changing.
If I could have one person read my writing on SMITH it would be?
There's a concept called "separate rooms" that someone introduced to me many years ago. The places in our hearts or minds where we keep thoughts and feelings that we cannot bare to the world as a whole, but where we are free to open up the boxes we keep them in and see what happens. Smith is that place...and in that vein, I clarify my original answer to the question: if a particular someone needed to know what I had to say, they had already been told.
What six words would I tell my teen self if I could go back in time?
No prince, no horse, and buy your own damn shoes.
Besides SMITH, I read stories at:
Wherever words flow, I follow. The trick is in reading between the lines.
In bed I like to read:
I never read in bed.....EVER.
My favorite story of all time is:
...the one I tell myself when I can't sleep.
Right now, I'm reading:
An odd little book called "Milk." Aside from the bizarre quirks of the tale itself, I feel like there might be an ESL issue at play, which has made me more than once go "huh?"
If you were to throw up your hands in exasperation and yell "it's the story of my life," what would you be talking about?
The magic and the mystery of attraction....the ever-changing mood of the dance. It's not a tale for the faint of heart.
Latest Memoir (of 1604):
Hugging a charmful armful, hardly harmful.
- Hugging a charmful armful, hardly harmful.
- Steamy heat, choosing clothing optional day.
- If love could keep them safe.
- Deposition with lacy overlay: poetic license.
- Tidbits and crumpets, tea-time's tasty titillations.
- Switchboard malfunction. More unplugged than disconnected.
- Candles, cocktails, and kindness. Genial host.
- Red satin shoes. Wear with everything.
- Hands on hips, making me dance.
- About-face. Saucy pivot leaves carpet divot.
- Withdrawing limbs, pulling shell in after.
- I confide: more discerning than prudish.
- "It's a boy... boy... girl... girl.".
- It's a gesture. Call it conciliatory.
- Filled carafe from little brown jug.