For K.R, the Dance of disappearance

The Ugly Papers, a series of off the cuff Monroe style choppings of emotions run wild. What a Monster I was and a brute I have become

Well, ladies and gents, there's a firm grip on a small glass with jack daniels and a hard pipe in the ashtray.

 

This is the day that pain built, or at least drew up the plans for.

Today I think I'm going to leave a bit of the the black death in the cup for that one.

 

You know the one.

 

She was a blond when we met, high cheek bones, but still had that little chipmunk thing going on.

 

She'd always say she was nervous...even when she meant excited, or scared, or in love.

 

That happened quickly, you know, one of those things, blue streak of lightning, a crackling that you see and forget, but knew it was close.

 

She made dinner one night. I had no idea it was going to happen. She just had it waiting. Made the best damn cookies. Chocolate chip with a melted bit of peanut butter in the top.

 

Sliding the back door open to let her tiny toy chiuhaha in the house. Xena, the warrior dog.

 

I smoked back then, would head out onto the back porch and take in a massive breathe of fresh oak. I'd lean over the bannister and peek in through the blinds and get glimpses of her in one inch openings. She moved, you know. Moved like a housewife with angel wings. Pots and pans, gotta check the temperature, how's that sauce?

I'd punch smoke rings out into the thin upper NJ air.

I'd swirl little pieces of ice back and forth like playing a minature hockey game.

I'd look back through the blinds and catch her eyes.

We'd share a electric moment.

Deep brown eyes, kids, like pools of swirling souls.

her cheek bones would rise up, I knew she was smiling. She pick her hand up and extend her index fingure.

 

"I can't take my eyes off of you..."

 

She'd playfully push it forward and backward in the ol "c'mere" way, you know. The sultry. The goddess in the kitchen. All I existed for. All that was right with a series of wrongs.

 

Just an inch of her face. Just her eyes.

Just her eyes.

 

A card left under my dinner plate expressing sentiments that if put here would bleed pixelated love from the screen.

 

"And so it is...Just like you said it world be

Life goes easy on me....most..of the time"

 

You showed me that movie with that one chick in it.

Got that song from it. After dinner and before cookies i grabbed your hand and we danced and we fell into The Blower's Daughter like a liquid dream.

 

That day, the world spun for us. You fit right in the crese of my neck, right?

I know, nervous...or just emotional.

 

I leaned in and kissed right under your ear.

 

and slowly...

 

you disappeared.

I held tightly to your shirt.

 

"Wel'll both forget the breeze...most of the time.."

 

I pray that you would stop fading like a bad nightmare, or like a fever.

 

"I can't take my mind off of you"

 

You would pull back remember? And blow raspberries at me when I went in for a kiss.

This time there was no sound, just the way you would smile crookedly in the nook end of your mouth.

 

The plates vanished.

You walked backward, smiling.

 

Now I dance alone. It's different. It's tough. Ungainly. No rythm. you were the breath that kept me balanced.

I stand outside and peek though the blinds, there is an empty space of stone weighted promises, used dreams and a mystery that is somewhere at the bottom of a lake of yesterday.

 

"so it is..the shorter story

no love no glory,

no hero in her sky.."

 

Someone said they saw you yesterday...

and for one second,

 just one second

 

my heart started beating again.

 

 

E. H. Monroe

The Ugly Papers

Entry One

Author's Note

The fucking Blower's daughter...and the tears it produces..

Reviews

[Crowley]

Talk about chick fodder....this one doesn't take the cake, it buys it from that nut cake maker in Jersey. All kidding aside, I liked this side of your thought process. Everyone has that spot, even you...and this was as well laid out as any love story only more real. This was some nice writing and a hell of alot of emotion. A plus...

[InkSlinger]

Contrary to popular belief.. I do remember what tears are.. you just proved it.. Loved the softer side of this tender ballad, the Ballad of Monster Monroe, a soft sad song played hauntingly on the strings of the heart's harp..

[Nothing Personal]

Never have stories been narrated in what has been touted as the "Monroe touch". It simply rocks..The language, the emotions, the pain..Well done, esteemed friend..

[Marie Harrison]

Ah...loved this story. Such sultry moments...blowing you raspberries too!

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

The Blowers's Daughter is one sad song, a beautiful one though. I always liked the thought of someone not being able to take their eyes off me, maybe someone ... but that's my story.. this is yours.

Can there be beauty within sadness? There is beauty within your words...deep and emotional.. streaming and perhaps a little screaming for what once was. Peanut butter, chocolate and raspberry kisses .. notes of love... dancing with the one who fits perfectly only to see them vanish and you are left to dance alone. Life goes easy ... most of the time.
Your last line is a killer.

Chloe

[roarke]

yep. The bridge doesn't resolve back into the melody.

that's why jazz players like the bridges better than the melodies.

the audience, the crowd remembers the melodies. The players, the musicians remember the changes.

All smoothness and savor and resting the hammer on the anvil, pausing to feel the heart pulse in the grip before beginning the next tempering.
That's art. That's living. That's life improvisation. dig it.

[OT]

oh how deep this one is!! a very different write from you, very emotional and evocative indeed, we feel the pain, the reminiscitory (not a word but should be) glances around - the shadows of times gone by, replaying in the mind like a distorted tape!! tender, unabated and brilliant!

[Robin]

Bartender, another round ..

[Poetic Beauty]

This is a magical tale you spin between yesterday and the present. Deep contrast between the two. Emotions pouring in every line. It is hard when yesterday is gone and what is left today doesn't seem to fit right. The world doesn't seem to spin the way it should. That piece oh that piece that is missing. It is only a piece but when it is a piece of your heart it is gigantic in proportion. A truly sentimental tale told in EH style.

[Bette]

wow such an emotional piece, streaming from truth? well done! they pace was great drawing the reader to your happily ever after only to crush it. i think we have all took a ride on the bottom that shoe.