erratum

thanks to my editors' sharp wording eye corrections are in order.

therefore, please read the previous angelic post by making use of the following grammar exercise:

the vowel switch - replacing o with a only where "bold" is concerned.

i yield bold in favor of bald.

when angel wings go bold

the common impression about angels as far as my childhood rememberings go is that they have wings. this is their distinct trait, the first notion that wraps around the mind's eye to grow into the concept: nice big long wings with feathers that must taste like foreverlasting cotton candy.

or so i thought. the girl in me had always imagined: if i ever meet an angel i'll ask them for a feather to suck on till the end of time. as far as the taste went, i was pretty sure it was heaven - if there was/is one and if it was/is not tasteless.

in the mean time i grew up from being a child (saddest story) and came to realize that cotton candy melts instantly in your mouth, heaven is in fact on earth, but it has time limits and it's not that heavenly after all, and i wouldn’t even be surprised to find out that angels wings go bold.

their wings - the acme of their angelic figure - can fall and not grow back.

from time to time there would even be isolated cases of angels spotted around these fancy physical angel flaws mending clinics checking out cotton candy implants. that would be sad. just like growing up. like getting old. like getting tired. like falling out of love. or falling out of bed.

falling feathers. falling angel feathers. fallen angel feathers. featherless wings. bold wings. bold angel wings. That could be one scenario out of six.

another one would be that angels going bold get human and become human angels. the essence of what used to be good, soft and tasty, but humanly packshotted. they spread the light translated into good vibe and warmth translated into good times.

they're far from perfect, still being humans, but not so far from being angelike.

they even smell like cotton candy and maybe, if you try hard enough you can taste some slim reminiscence of that sugar yarning to get caramel only through a soft kiss.

if you can't feel their taste, try feeling their back. if it's arched with sharp shoulder blades, they can pass for bold winged angels. when and if spotted, stick around them. the vibe will follow. the good one. and even if it's bad at times, it's still good. just like their essence.

course of life's curse

fair curly haired mark is hooked up with big tits leslie who dated flat ass tim (but did not fuck) who went to high school with freckled sam who fucked red head tina who used to go out with leslie's brother dean who had a crush on lame jane who will blow mark on the way to a distant island in the bathroom of a boat driven by ultimate jock james who grabbed leslie's ass at a party while she was still with mark who broke up with her to hook up with not so virgin mary who had been married to peeping tom who realized that he might have a crush on fancy andy who was tim's best friend and had a crush on leslie when she still treasured her virginity and dated tim who had lost his to pita gipsy singer in a karaoke bar owned by gay spanish looking italian pedro that came on to tom only to make him turn to andy whose cousin mary angela dated tina's long term pen(msn) pal ricco from rio who had come for the holiday and stayed for one year because he had lost his passport on bus no 10 only to be found by kim this japanese manga character from the best selling asian comic series: 悪態人生航路

selfconfession

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Or should I say bless me?

Forgive me will do. Blessings died with Kurt.

Forgive me than.

What have you done?

I’ve broken my promise to you and to the one I said I loved.

That’s why I count on prayers from the heart. Moving lips are mostly talk back, unless they’re used for kissing or breathing life.

You’re funny.

You reckon? I’m the funniest. Go ahead with your confession. Cut the bullshit. I’ll redeem you without you having to kiss my ass. As long as you man up to your deeds.

I made a promise and broke it. I’m shit. I know.

I made the promise never to interfere, but free will can be a tricky concept. I haven’t interfered; I’ve only multiplied the options.

You know what’s funny? I didn’t even change my mind. It simply hadn’t been made up in the first place. I got caught up in this verve of doing things beacuse they were supposed to be done. And in a rushing manner like I was dying for it to be over before it had even started. I had believed in it for so long, that I was mesmerized by the fact it was finally happening, that I haven’t even stopped myself to wonder if I still needed it or not.

Text book case of error in judgment. And by that I don’t mean the B book.

Surely not. That much I can figure out.

Are you sorry?

For living in a blur? Yes. For believing? No. For causing pain? Yes. For the hard work to make it work? No. For the broken promise? Yes. For its outcome? No.

That’s an even double 3.

Or triple 2. (soft smile) What’s your take on this saying: if you sin and it involves someone else, confess it to God and ask the someone to forgive you for your mistake. If your sin only involves you, confess it to God and ask Him to forgive you - then keep it to yourself and forgive yourself, because God already has.

Perfect example of human bullshit. I’m guessing this is behind this step of yours, ha?

Not entirely. I owed you one. Yet another one to be exact. You almost had me believe it could work. And I did. And it did for a while. Or I thought it did. Or I simply wanted so desperately to think it did that I did. But it didn’t. Even though I did. And I’m not trying to make it sound funny. Cause it’s not.

You just sounded like a five year old. Which, if you had been… We would not be having this discussion. We would debate more important things like the genuine essence of playing or how to laugh from the heart and mean it. Nobody forces the mouse to go for the cheese. But mice rarely make it out of the trap. When they do, and if they do, they should be happy and mean it. It’s always been this soft balance between right and wrong. Tilt it only a little in favor of the right, and you’re riding the plus wave. Early broken heart heals faster than a very old and too-long-time broken one.

You know that childhood sickness of pustules that itch like crazy, that you can hardly keep away from scratching, and once you do scratch, you feel guilty for doing so, but at the same time feel free and gleeful and relieved…I feel like I'm coming down with that.

Again? Back to childhood, eh?

Ironically, yes. We'll have to catch up on the five year old topics. As for the boils, I’ll be permanently scarred. That will be my mark. It will always be a part of me. But oh boy, that scratching...

B's kissable demeanor

I want to be famous! says B. gently swooshing her tongue over her thickish lips.

What's stopping you? I replied - I only now realize that I wished there was something that did.

You're never giving me credit. You know? I mean.. What am I to you? Supposedly you had to describe me as if your life depended on the speech. What would you say? How would you start?

Dearest B. I don't want my life to depend on the accuracy of my description of you. I'd rather it didn't.

I guess this is stopping me then.
Her eyes dimmed in light and sparkle. I almost felt guilty for that, but carried on:

My refuse to play a childish game of extolling you?

Precisely!

Well why don't you tell me? What would you have me say?

I have considered it to be honest.

Why doesn't it surprise me? (It didn't. Not in the slightest bit. She's so much out of the ordinary that it would be against her well set order not to have imagined it at least a gazillion times)

I'm not going to tell you, though. You might take credit for it.

It wasn't her words, nor the moment, not even her presence that squeezed out of me this malefic urge to kiss her. I can't explain it. I didn't, though. I might have frightened her. Or, come to think of it, I was frightened that she might respond. How do you take it from there? Just weigh in: Hey, sorry. I simply felt the need to act upon this small kiss. I've done it, now I don't want to take it further it was more of a tongue and cheek moment.

She's not the kind to do that to. It's not in halves and quarters with B. It's all or nothing at all.

the seriousness behind getting serious

if you want to be brave and be worth it you must perform. it's all about performance nowadays.

take sports for instance: work hard, play ball and make sure you don't drop it. if you've dropped the ball, you'd better pray you have dropped it on yourself cause once the ball starts rolling there won't be anyone to put a stop to it. anyone other that yourself. i mean it. i'm as serious as a heart attack.and that is serious to say the least.

i'm a sucker for notions' duality, but nothing compares to the duality of serious.

i mean, how serious can one get? dead serious, pretty serious with capital P, as serious as a death sentence or maybe as serious as rain, as serious as sex if sex can be serious, bad joke serious or as serious as me when i'm being serious?

serious can be good when expected, but don't get too serious orelse it can be fairly misinterpreted. and you don't want to be taken for a joke when in fact you were serious as well as a joke will suffer its most terrible ordeal if taken seriously and not enjoyed for what it is. just a joke.

so where lays the border between dead and alive serious? it's borderline that's where it is.

the dead serious i guess is linked to the highest amount of serious there could be. to my personal experience and rememberings i've been dead serious on 3 or 4 occasions all together an they were pretty close to death, so i won't go there anymore unless they make me.

but i like serious when it comes to life, i like alive serious. when the reasons are serious enough.

you can't be serious! you, the all mocking, all ridiculing, all constantly fun making cunt wanna be taken seriously?

not quite. but i have tons of serious notes on my chords. i try to play them, but they just refuse to come out the way i intended them to.

all that's left for me is to get down. to business. to boogie and play it unsafely fun. ball dropping & rolling & all.

'cause in the end... why so serious?

love is for movies and books

there's no such thing as love. i don't want to burn any myths or destroy any virgin heart that dreams at night of lovers enchantments and love songs uttered by rosy lips under the not so pale moon light.

but love does not exist. honestly. it's a notion. a word. it's a nonentity. a chimera. a nice dream. a poem. a line. a 30 second frame with nicole kidman and tom cruise.

people have feelings for one another, but they do not love each other. they can't. not in the sense of the word. not in the dictionary sense..

the deep, the tender, the attraction, the recognition, the kinship, the emotion, the affection, they exist. but what sums all of them together, doesn't.

the L to the O to the V to the E is just smoke blown up our heartshaped asses.

pessimistic bitch! i can hear the cantankerous say. what do you know about love?
a thing or 2, i would reply. seen some movies, read some books, dipped my brain into some poetry and had some shivers down my spine. other that that.. nothin.

because love does not exist for real. when you take it out of the beautiful laid illustrated pages of some wordsworth tome, or out of the over-polished-smoothly-filtered-cached-fx-propped-cinema film you're stuck with life. real life. and it's not the same.

so when you see the l-o-v-e revealing its perfectness like the most angelic fairy skinny dipping in the moonlight, you honestly can't expect to match that in real life.

unless... it belongs to a writer

excerpt 1

i'm almost burning inside. it's chemic. she looks at him with her big dark eyes and melting smile.

fuck chemistry. you've gotta get cerebral. switch to brain mode. it's easy.

don't find myself at ease with the process anymore. she sighs.
it got stuck. the mode i mean. it works only when in connection with machines. it's infallible. but when it comes to people and rationalizing myself in relation with them, it's damaged.

overly over reaction. it's so you. listen honey. you've been living in this 3d reality of dreams, drugs and dicks. you're not a chemical substance to react by the book. even though, i have to admit you've oxidate yourself a little lately. he laughs as an accomplice to the discovery.

she finds that cute, but feels obliged to fight back:
that's mean. you're mean.

i'm not. merely stating the obvious. if you can't handle it, get the fuck out and don't come back. i'm not babysitting you. and what the fuck do you want me to say? pet you on the head and agree with your misleading self? i can't and you know i'm not granting favors. you get what i have. i can't go overboard with you. or anyone else for that matter.

you're right. but it hurts, you know?

anything out of your surreal reality will hurt you, babe. get used to living in the real world. among flesh and bruises.

she scowls. not because of his words, but because he's right. not because she's wrong, but because she's been missing the points. she's been missing his points. and they didn't come cheap or easy.

queenish soliloquy

short term lashes close rapidly upon my green eyes. they seem to laugh, they have an expression of their own as if separated from the rest of my face.

they speak the lashes. like arched lips batting together in an almost forsaken embrace. they seem impatient to separate and yet so hungry to reunite only to be devised again. their touch is merely brushy. a seasonal gust.

the cycle goes unnoticed. it's just a reflex.

but then, at one point, i simply catch glimpse of them. separate entities with an own law. sometimes they're noisy. i can hear their whiff. as if tired of the continuous process they are subjected to.

embraced and rejected. two teams of lovers shaking hands and waving goodbye. meeting and separating. making acquaintance and dismissing one another.

if they spoke the human words tales of unfulfilled romances would be squandered.

if they played the human music mesmerizing spine tap riffs would be liberated.

if they danced the human moves unseen sways would be unearthed.