Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Entangled in the Web of Ties That Bind

October 15, 2015
Whoa! It's been a loooooong time since I was here, but this place was never forgotten. Once again I find my muse in a position of being restless; she wants to speak. Who am I to hold her back? So, you know what we do, here comes MistralWind once again blowing through.....


I'm gonna keep this simple. There are so many apprpropriate quotes and sentiments that could go here, but the one that comes to me is that one can't move forward until they sever the ties that bind them to the past. The past is like a big black cloak with a hood. It is cloying, claustraphobic and it holds your body down, your feet enveloped in thick mud, sucking you ever downward. You can't; you won't rise, until you are READY to rise, and ready to cut into the tangled web of ties that bind.

 


It's interesting though because a tie that binds is a tie that binds; whether it is a piece of string, some invisible fishing line, a big rough rope, or one of those little paper covered twisty ties that come on loaves of bread.
Ties that bind, keep things...bound, for good or for bad. Which will it be for you?


As we grow and mature, we learn that life is a series of beginnings and endings. Some good things end prematurely, true. But some bad things linger on in the web of our life's entanglements so much longer than they should, longer than they need to.
Which will it be for you? 
Carrying thick webs of entanglements, ties that injuriously bind and choke, is wearing, draining, and discouraging. Why do we feel we need to hang on to things and people that are obviously bad for us? What is that sense of obligation about? Do we maybe believe we don't deserve better?
What about you? What do you deserve and what are you going to do about it?
2


Staying inexplicably bound in a fruitless situation is a choice mate. Choosing to get bound up in a bountiful situation is a blessing. 

Like I said, until people realize they deserve better, and recognize the erroneous thoughts that keep them bound, they will stay in the black hooded cloak, sinking.
Me? I want all the blessings I deserve, so if something becomes fruitless, I'm going to cut those ties that bind and fly off for more bountiful shores. I wish the same good on you.

Peace & Bountiful Shores -MistralWind blowing through until next time..... 





Friday, January 20, 2012

A New Story for the New Year! Audio or text versions- or both!

Hello to all my Nexus, youtube and net buddies! Happy New Year to the lot of ya. For your perusal and enjoyment, I'm linking my new audio-story. I'm also posting the story underneath, so you can follow along with the text as I read if you so desire. Or you can just sit back, close your eyes and get lost in the story.

I got some audio equipment goodies for Christmas I wanted to try them out, plus I was just in the mood to read. Gotta get my chops flexed in case we actually do get a Skyrim CK and get to mod, lol!

I hope you enjoy the story. You can read/listen to it here or listen/watch over on youtube. There is a small slideshow that goes with.

The story is not what you think, so I hope you like surprises.  But then again, I do pull a rabbit out of my hat now and again, don't I? :o)



Shield
by TD MAC
1-8-2012: 1235
(inspired by dreams dreamt meaningfully in the still of night, but not remembered clearly by the light of day)




The coffee shop was small, intimate.
Too many patrons would have been distracting, intrusive, like some creepy sneak listening to a conversation of whispers from behind the shadows cast by a bedroom door. 
On the other hand, too few patrons would have bred awkwardness, suggesting nakedness with the inability to cover up their vulnerability.  After all, their relationship, though familiar, was delicate. Always hanging precariously in the balance somewhere….between.

Regardless, they walked past the aromatic shop until they found a park bench overlooking the river.  It was a beautiful night for sitting in the dark. As they sat looking at the rows of light winking across the river, he traced his name on the palm of her hand with his index finger.
 She drew her hand away suddenly and blurted out- “I’m not sure if you know what it is you really want…” she looked at him with eyes so honest, so pure, that he almost felt dirty.
“You know I would never hurt you.”  He didn’t know how to convey his desire to protect her any other way. It was simple. It WAS pure, just like her.
“I am a Big responsibility!” she cried, both vocally and with crystalline tears that meandered slowly down her cheeks to meet gracefully under her quivering chin.
“I know that,” he said tenderly. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel frightened or apprehensive.
“I’ve never felt this way about ANYone. I’ve never met someone I feel this comfortable with, even though we’re so….so…”
“Different?” he finished the sentence for her. Her gaze falling into her lap let him know he’d hit the nail on the head.
“Have you thought about all the ways we’re alike?” he asked. “We can almost finish each other’s sentences. I’ve never met anyone like THAT. No one ever listened to me that close, or knew me well enough to be able to.
You seem to know me better than I know myself sometimes.” He smiled.
She rolled her eyes and despite her nerves, managed a smile back. It was hard not to. He affected her that way, even when she didn’t want him to.

“If we do this, you’ll have my body as well as my heart. My heart is very precious to me. I don’t want it broken, ignored, stepped on. Diminished. I’ve worked very hard to protect the pieces of it I have left.”
She had begun to cry again. Not the weak sobby kind of crying fake babes did. He was moved deep inside, where he thought he had died, watching her cry like that; the kind of crying strong heroines in old black and white films did. Their faces straight, only the tears falling from their eyes moving in crooked lines.
“I’m afraid of you too,” he said quietly, “but we’ll never know if we don’t at least try.”
“Will you be my shield?” she asked with a sincerity that dared him to lie. “Even if your feelings for me change, or you meet somebody that catches your eye, will you protect me still? Will you guard from harm all that you have created?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly put two fingers to his lips lightly to shush him.
“Let me finish, this is important.  I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment, I just want to know that you will always respect me, and hold a little place in your heart for me, even after we’re just a memory to each other.”

“I can’t predict the future, sweet one,” he paused to take her hands in his.  He knew she felt as though the eyes were the windows to the soul. That’s why she wore sunglasses, even in the dark sometimes. To protect her spirit, to remain anonymous when she felt danger near.
He released one of her hands only so that he could turn her face toward his; he wanted to make sure she could see into his soul, could see he meant what he was about to say.
“What I can promise, is that you’ll always be special to me. Whether I’m right beside you, or far across the vast expanse of the sea, you dear woman, will always be a part of me…of who I have become, and who I am to be.”

“You are a Queen,” he said looking straight into her eyes, his gaze never breaking with hers.
“You are a Warrior,” she said, gently using her free hand to swirl a lock of his dark hair back into place.
With that, she turned her head as far as it would go to the left, as if she were looking for something very far away, over her shoulder. She’d read somewhere that it was good luck to turn your face that way. Oddly, now that the time had come, she wasn’t calm, but she didn’t feel scared out of her mind either.
“He’ll be my shield…”
He ran his fingers up and down the goose pimpled flesh of her arms. She shivered, even though it was warm.
When his sharp incisors pierced the sensitive flesh of her neck, she felt no pain, only indescribable pleasure. As he drank the nectar from her veins, his body moved to cover hers. He was now, and forever more would be…..her shield.
Fin...

Mistral Wind breezing through until next time....
Story created, owned, read and copyrighted by TDM aka Netwit2008. All rights reserved. Copyright 1-2012

Monday, November 28, 2011

How Do You Know?- Rated "M" for Mature



One evening recently I stumbled upon the last thirty minutes of a silly little romantic comedy called- “How Do You Know.”  As I watched the two main characters wrestling to come to terms with their final heartwarming revelations about each other, this little puff of a story gusted into the caverns of my brain, rolled through the tunnels of my arms and out of the pathways in my fingers to land here…on this page.

The story is odd yet enticing, in my humble opinion of course. The writing style might not suit everyone, but I hope you'll be entertained.

While the movie characters struggled with the question “how do you know who is right for you," it occurred to me that more often than not, we know exactly, deep down, in the core of our guts, when someone has that little “something” that makes them even temporarily, “the one.” 

Whether he or she is the one for now, or for a lifetime, the joy and pleasure, uncertainty and fear, all come to play when deciding whether or not to act upon that information. So the real question, to me, becomes now that you know he or she is worth putting more time and effort into- What are you going to do about it?

Happiness, whether for a single day, or for fifty glorious years is a blessing, a gift.  Aren’t we cheating ourselves and all those who would smile at seeing “the ones” together, when we let fear, or busy schedules, or society, or family, or friends, or  __________________________you fill in the blank, deter us from grabbing that lovely morsel of a person up- if we don’t do SOMEthing to grab that little piece of happiness and hold on to it tightly, for as long as we can?

I’ve decided that for myself, I don’t want to cheat the universe, or me, of knowing the blessing of a trusting, loyal companionship with someone who truly “knows/gets me” and likes me anyway J  If the universe ever chooses to reveal that unique entity to me, I want to be open to explore the possibilities and enjoy the ride for however long that person may be destined to be a part of my life.

Here’s wishing that your life experiences lead you to discover which person and what path is right for you, whether it be for a lifetime, a reason, or a season.
Oh and one more note, this story is as much about seduction, as it is finally realizing a dream, because let’s face it, our dreams are perhaps the most seductive things we possess.

Ok, on to the story- Hit the play button on the video screen for a little mood music to go with the tale.  I love a romantic story, coupled with a kick ass song, don't you?


Enjoy J

_____________________________
Brush

Hunky body bombarding the room. Always the bull in a china shop, him. He arrives invited of course, but as usual, late.  Intuitive grey eyes zigzag across the span of the darkened room , until he sees her.

What he spies
with his little eyes
is the newly realized
object of his desire.

Her back to him, she knows full well of his entrance. Exuding a cool attitude of “no worries,” she none the less, now wrestles to avoid being smothered by her own attempts to maintain steady, controlled in and ex-halation.

Riding on awakening tides, her greeting sails across the room to playfully pounce upon his eardrums-

“Hey you….Come on in.  I thought you’d never get here, ole pokey puppy. You’re late!” 

Her smile is sweet, like cotton candy. Lopsided and a bit cocky, it launches from her lips to greet and validate the plan of action that has been percolating in his head for just how long, he can’t even remember.  His thoughts are like seeds having been planted in Styrofoam picnic cups. Shoots growing tentatively,  gingerly moving toward the soil’s surface, waiting until just the right time to be born, and nurtured.

His plan involves risk, but that’s ok. After all, he’s not there to play games.  Tricks are for kids, which is why he left his Underoos at home. Came dressed in his Calvin Kleins ready to claim his portion of more than Jujubes and iced cold soda pop.

In the past few weeks, he’s come to realize the profundity of the old adage- “sometimes the very thing you adamantly seek is, and always has been, right in front of your face.” 
Something like that anyway.

Snippets of Cosmopolitan magazine articles and romance novel images wading in her eyes trying to disguise…what?
Her breath catches, then accelerates.  Even from across the room, he smells good; like sea spray and muscle.  Like hairy chests and evergreen pine.

“Glad you could make it though,” she finishes with a healthy dose of playful sarcasm.

A force set in motion before it could be contained, the lowering of her twinkling hazel eyes cannot grab the moonbeam jettisoning through the dusky, TV blue haze. Unintentionally, yet pointedly it heat seeks in his direction.

Over a year of sharing secrets and laughs, tall tales and gaffs, beers and pork rinds. Using safety nets woven with the vibes of one another, both slowly worked to abolish the lies of those who were not always so kind. Walking on common ground they’d been traversing across burning sands that fueled,
versus incinerated, “more,”
to end up- “here….”

…in her living room, on a Saturday night, once again. Each preparing, in their own way, to engage in the usual movie night banter.  Just easy, good times shared between two people who enjoy each other’s company. 

This is one of many such evenings conducted over the past six months, unintentionally increasing in frequency, and although neither would admit it, also growing in intensity. It’s by far easier to focus on the parts of this shared puzzle- the things they can see and touch, versus the hidden attractions undeniably building inside.

 DVD movie-check. Blu-ray version- check.  Surround sound turned down, them aligned together among the sofa pillows smelling the potent aroma of promise- sublime.

Unborn, yet fully gestated scripts looping through two separate brains pregnant with opportunities, cautiously entertaining potentialities- spurred on by formerly unrecognized, yet to be conceptualized, aphrodisiacs.

He asserts access to his usual spot on the sofa next to her. The first “brush” spawns static electricity. *Pop!* His thigh brushing her thigh. Then again while passing him the remote, *Pop!* her hand brushing his hand.  Both slight encounters spawn visions of incendiary temptations. Someone, maybe both, think-

“Mmmmm touch me…”


The movie ensues- a silly comedy rife with adolescent rough housing and potty mouthed hilarity. Senses at attention not for the celluloid however, but the humanoid.  It’s hard to maintain and be entertained under feelings yearning so persistently to be free. Each brushing the other innocently, or so it would seem. Two parts of a metronome ticking quietly, repeatedly, incessantly.

A sideways glance- one to the other, 
”…have you ever…”
balancing on the tip of awareness,
 “dreamt about…”
dancing on the tongue’s apogee,
“…me?” 

Instead of broaching the unspoken, out tumbles the obvious, “You want a soda and some popcorn?”  She pops up like a hot oil bathed kernel.  Missile projected towards the kitchen she is gone before he can even reply.

The reality?  Too much physical proximity, creating too much internal turbidity. She darts toward her only visible means of escape-
to catch her breath
to gather her wits
to rein in her thoughts
to clear her head.

Hovering over the microwave, trying to coax Orville Redenbacher’s corn to bloom with the increasing heat inside the little oven, she smiles again, only not so innocently this time.  Delicious fear twirls over her making roller coaster waves tumble in her belly. Visions of a hungry beast bring a tinge of pink to her cheeks.  She sucks the salt off the base of her little finger. 



“Mmmm…..lick me…..”


As if on cue, the “beast” strides into the kitchen moving in close, so very close behind her.

Her pulse thump, thump, thumping out of control. Rapidly beating bird wings pounding against the ivory ribs of its cage. A feeling of forced confinement, even though she stands freely in the spacious expanse of her own kitchen surrounded by the homey aromas of popcorn and chocolate chip cookies.  Turbulence swells louder and louder in her brain building to a crescendo inside her head…

‘Let me out!!!’


Caged beast or sequestered prey? She can’t tell where his desire begins, or hers ends.  Maybe they both exist together,
at this moment,
in this kitchen.

Maybe they’ve always existed, it’s just that the cages are more flimsy now.

She turns and almost drops the soda in her hand. He is right there in front of her, grinning. Near enough to brush her skin with his touch…his breath near enough to graze her face.

“Whoa Dude! You almost made me drop this soda!” 

A look not quite frail, actually somewhat seductive. Her feelings, while not  unwanted, still cause her the slightest bit of duress. Vulnerability always does.  She, so calm and in control, not used to being the hunted or known.  More comfortable being elusive. There is safety in the cloak, under the hood.

But with his hood thrown back and his chest exposed, he inwardly congratulates himself that his brazenness appears to throw her off kilter.  It makes her parted lips more inviting.  The slope of her neck more kissable. In his dreams he’s been standing in this spot a million times, stopping just short of finally kissing her full on, with no hesitation or regrets.

This is truly the last thing she expected to happen tonight- to find herself wedged between him and the kitchen sink.  For the first time since they met, she feels he is somehow inviting her to come closer, not to his physicality, but to his fragile emotionality.

“You avoiding being near me girl?”
“ You’re so silly, why would I do that?”  Discomfort evident, even if cloaked in giggles.

He leans in ever so slightly to inhale her scent. It’s warm and sensual like amber colored sunsets and wildflowers growing along a path illumined by white hot stars.  She closes her eyes for an instant. She leans back, but there is nowhere to go.  He has her compressed between the cabinet and his stocky frame.

“Not an altogether unpleasant place to be,’ she thinks almost absent mindedly.

But why now?  Why tonight? In all the time they’d known each other he had never even pretended to flirt with her, nor she with him.  Now he seemed ready to engulf her like a playful cloud momentarily envelops the light of a sunny day.

She couldn’t lie, plenty of times she’d meditated on moments like this; wondering how she’d react.  What would she say if he suddenly shed his coat of armor, and dared her to remove hers?  A crazy game of truth or dare. Truth was…did she dare?

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly. Her eyes so intensely focused on his, he feels his heart skipping beats behind the confines of his shirt.

“What do you want me to do?” he puts one arm up bringing his hand to rest by her head on the cabinet behind her. His fingers brushing her hair as they move. More compression, definitely more turbulence, his chest barely missing  brushing hers.

“I want you to tell me what kind of pop you want with this popcorn,” saucy yet cute coming from her.

“Ha ha,” he grins rakishly.  “What if I don’t want soda pop?” a smile oozing confidence along with a strong sense of purpose. 

With one deft movement she ducks under his arm and slips from his grasp, heading back to the fridge.

“You’re funny,” she counters. “I have your favorite beer, so hows about that?”

“You gonna have one too?” Amusement tickling the corners of his mouth.

“You trying to get me drunk? You know your brand of beer hits me like a brick, lite weight that I am.”  she says mischievously.

“Naw, never that,” a totally disarming smile. “Come to think of it, no beer for me. I want to try something new tonight. How about you?”

They look at each other simply, honestly. Hazel and grey gazes mixing to create gold.

Thoughts race, then boomerang back to where they started. Isn’t that where all dreams go, out into the universe, eventually floating back again to their rightful owners?

Standing in the middle of her apartment,
on a Saturday night,
with a DVD playing on the TV
they converse silently-

“I am a willing canvas- paint me.”

“I am the restless waves of the ocean- roll with me.”

“I am a wild expanse of forest not accessible to most- explore me.”

“I am the highest mountain peak- climb me.”

“I am a wild lioness waiting for someone brave enough to approach- tame me.”

And with that he approaches. 

leaning in one final time,
for one final brush…
He brushes his lips gently across hers.

Permissions finally granted, they burst into flame.


Mistral Wind blowing thru until next time...

TDM (Copyright © 11-2011)

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Whirling, Swirling Words

I've been a writer all of my life. I wrote my first "story" in the third grade. It was called "Thumper the Boy Frog." I think my Mama still has it packed away somewhere.

Several years back I found out I was a "real" poet of sorts as well.  While I'd written poetry before, you know...teenaged mushy stuff about boyfriends and what not, I always blamed "my muse" for not being able to write all the time.  I'd write here and there when something came to me, but nothing much beyond that. Actually I wrote mostly horror stories. I may post one some day. We'll see...


I became really interested in poetry in the online community I was a part of.  They had what was called "theme poetry."  It was mostly an invitation for all would be, wanna be and actual poets to create pieces of poetry around a common theme and then share them with the community. The theme would change weekly. Sometimes they also added the challenge of writing in a particular style of poetry.  Eventually I became the coordinator of that group resulting in my now having over 180 pages of poems. 


Am I a good poet you might ask?  I dunno. Sometimes I think 'hell yeah!' even though I'm very critical of my writing.  But really what I think doesn't matter, the worth or level of meaning in a poem is definitely in the eyes of the reader I think.  Besides, I fancy myself more of a story teller than a poet.

Being a theme poet did teach me quite a bit though.  I learned about different poetry styles, which was very cool. I learned that writing was NOT dependent upon my muse. I found out, much to my surprise, that I could take a theme and write a poem about it on demand. Sometimes ideas and words would come tumbling out of my head like cornflakes out of a cereal box.  At other times it was like mining for gold, I had to dig a bit to get at the really good nuggets.


When I started this blog I decided to add some of the poems I've written from time to time. They're always up for interpretation, and as always, comments are welcome.

I seem to write a lot about love, relationships and the like.  Many of my poems are completely ripped from my imagination.  Others were written in my blood, images carved out of my own joys and sorrows. Either way, I hope you will be entertained.  And while I'm at it, let me officially thank you for being here reading my little blog.  Out of all the hundreds of thousands of blogs out there, you are here, reading mine. I'm honored, flattered and I truly appreciate your presence. 


Now on to my whirling, swirling words.  I hope you enjoy reading them.

NOTE: In most cases, the title of the poem reflects what the weekly theme was at that time.













 Epitaph Explained
When I’m dead…
What will become of all my poetry?
Will it be used to immortalize me?
Will you remember me when it you read?
Will you see all of the wild and wonderful things I’ve seen?

The reality is that in spite of, or despite me
when I’m dead,
my poetry
will
live
on.

© TDM 06/22/08

Helplessness
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who is the most helpless of them all?
Is it the boy with a grown man’s face,
the little child standing
in a grown man’s place?

Made me the object of your desire
didn’t look before you leaped
into the fire.
Now you’re feeling all confused
the game is played out,
now who is feeling used?

Asked for honesty and
damn you panicked,
had you shuffling and stuttering
like a tweaked out
crack addict.

So I ask you-
helplessness what does it really mean?
to be tossed and manipulated
by nebulous forces unseen?
to be slayed and laid terminally low
dragging a wounded heart
perpetually in tow?

You were the one caught up in wrong doing
I was just listening
hoping
looking-
being tried and tested yet true..
so tell me boy,
what wrong did I do to you?

Now I sit here-
cigarette smoke curling around my face
shaking my head
too late to pick up the pace.

Does helplessness have any other name?
does it hide behind the masks
of grief
or embarrassment
or shame?

I want somebody who is
in it to stay,
not a man-boy changing his mind
every other day
letting his man meat pull him into the fray
born out of cheap, late night talk
and all too irresistible forays.

So if I risked my heart
and gave up some of my ability
to reason,
in light of your transgressions
who is really guilty
of emotional treason?

I’m about to bounce
without a trace
leave you standing
with much deserved egg on your face
but it isn't me
who is the disgrace
or settled for less-
it’s you.

And you can act like you don’t care
but honey pleez, I’m already there.
Yeah you can act like that
if you want to
but as Celie said to Mister-
“everything done to me,
already done to you…”

You’ll have to face Karma...
she’ll want blood
nothing less,
and that my dear, is the essence and form
of true helplessness.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who is the most helpless of them 
all…
© TDM 01/03/06




















Style Challenge-Shape Poetry= Shape Poetry is also called Concrete Poetry
"Shape is one of the main things that separates prose and poetry. Poetry can take on many formats, but one of the most inventive forms is for the poem to take on the shape of its subject. So if the subject of your poem is a tree, then the poem's lines would be written so that the poem appears to take on the shape of a tree."
(http://members.cox.net/berniehpoetry/type/shape.html)
(note-read left to right, and yes it was as hard to write as it looks!)


© TDM 4/4/2006


Time
(for my loving daughter-RM)

I’m not the woman
I thought I’d be,
but I like who I am
most days.

Granted, I’m a little crazy
in the head,
but I’d like to think I have
some good ways.

Time has sometimes
been a friend to me,
sometimes she had me
all mixed up.

The wine she served
was sometimes sweet,
at other times I wanted
to pass the cup.

Like blood oozing through snow
or black cherries ripening
on a grey green vine,
we all savor, yet resist
the passage of our own precious time.

I am no exception
with my dreams and my daughter in tow.
After I’ve walked the way I’m going,
I hope and pray I’ve shown her
the right way to go.

Because isn’t that really what time
and life is all about;
to live, to learn, passing on what we know
without too many regrets, or doubts?

No, I’m not the woman I envisioned I’d be-
I’m a tad crazy, by now a little worn.
Yet even as I mourn the passing of some of my dreams,
I joyfully shout and celebrate hers being born.

So when my time is truly over,
I can go in peace because I know
my sweet daughter will be the grand harvest
of all the faith, hope and love seeds
I’ve sown.

© TDM 5/6/2006









Well that's all for now. Once I get to posting poems, it's hard to know which ones to pick, or where to stop. There are so many I like. So yes, there will be more posted in the future. Stay tuned.

MistralWind whirling and swirling thru till next time...