SeleneA Story by CLittle B-day worship for Selene. :-)It was my intention this morning to grab a large cup o' joe, sit down, and write a little commemorative poetry, but creativity refuses to be scheduled and has kicked back in bed to sleep until noon and enjoy her champagne brunch. Difficult b***h.
Back in the tail end of the Golden Age of That-Place-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, there reigned a Goddess of the woven words, a spinner of webs, who strolled by rivers of red and twirled in her own tornado of wolves, pearls, swords, cheetah print, redheads, goats in tutus, broken glass dreams, and crushed flowers. You expected her to appear in a glowing cloud of white, or cape of crimson, unattainable, untouchable, inhuman. But she was just as likely to appear in a husband-beater and a*s-kicking shoes. Naturally, one little old shrinking violet for whom poetry was an exercise in futility was both charmed and intimidated. But by offering to be her personal b***h in the required friend-request essay, I was in.
And what a place to be in. Every day was a head trip, a roller coaster ride of words, flowing, slipping, rushing, spinning, swimming, flying. There were cautionary stories and fractured-beyond-repair fairy tales. History and pain and love and death, all together. She bled herself onto the pages, and dipped her finger in to paint herself anew. She opened chinks of herself to her audience in a way that awed repressed Yankee spinster me, but she never did and never will let you have it all.
Since then I have become one of a legion of adorers and follow her around on the 'net and add her books to my Amazon list and revel in the world she creates with every written word. I always come out of it a different person then when I went in.
Happy Birthday Miss Kitty. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo © 2010 CReviews
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15 Reviews Added on December 10, 2010 Last Updated on December 10, 2010 AuthorCSmall Town, State of DenialAboutAge cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies; for vilest things Become themselves in he.. more..Writing
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