dark | side | thursday | thirtythree

Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge?  Are you open to sharing your dark side?   Then read on.

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Do you have a dark side?

Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so,  join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.

Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday

Share your dark side?

I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.

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dark | side | thursday | thirtythree

His teeth hurt.

And he could see nothing. Not a damned thing.

Nothing.

Some good things. The lights had (finally) stopped flashing. The siren was (at least) silenced.

For now.

His stomach churned, he felt the ground slither and shift beneath him. Snakes twisting, hissing, embracing. Rehearsing.

He ached. Wanted. Needed.

Lusted.

Fragmented memories, teenaged walks. Darkened banks, distended rivers. Fumbled encounters with unknown territories. Soft, warm, cotton, elastic, plastic. Ridges, curves. Swollen, stolen. Stubble and trouble. Warm, wet and pressed. Repressed, depressed. No, yes. Please, and no. Crevices, false moist premises. Fingers entwined. Breathless promises, untouched premises. Unknown provinces. Breathless. Hard pressed fences, no defences.

Dark wet endings.

Fear and guilt. Tumbling, spinning. Mind unfurling. Twisting, turning.

Darkness gathering.

Nothing.

Water rushing. Trunks extending. Leaves unfurling. Shadows passing. Fingers, lips and tongues. Melting, melding. Branches poking, spreading.

Snow piling up in front of him. Snowflakes, she gave, he takes, she fakes.

Nothing.

Dials descending. Counting and measuring. Time approaching, receding, rushing, crashing. Time compressing, extending, unwinding, dilating, disappearing. Unfurling.

Nausea rising.

Spinning, twisting, retching, heaving.

Nothing.

Faces swirling in the mist. Approaching and receding.

Voices, echoing, booming, fading. Fractured. Silenced.

Twisting, a sharp pain pulled at his arm. Needle embedded. Fluid flowing. Pain pushed back. Clarity crystallising, crumbling. Push the button.

Nothing.

Tight white cotton. Curve and crevice. Hidden, bidden, unforgiven. Warm wet lips. Tight embraces. Hidden faces. Dark desires. Dark flowing rivers. Twisted branches. Elastic, plastic, closure.

Nothing.

Nausea rising.

His teeth hurt.

A lot.

Nausea rising.

Lights flashing, sirens screaming. Sirens taunting. Taut warm bodies. Beckoning. And then, the reckoning.

Cotton. White. Tight. Curves and swellings. Hidden promises, forbidden premises. White. Swollen. White and smooth. Stubbled trouble. Shaven, brazen.

Nausea rising.

Nothing.

His teeth hurt.

A lot.

Push the button.

Nausea rising.

Blink.

His eyes, open. Rivers frozen. Love left frozen. Give me a dozen. Why so cold, not so old. Bold, sold. Shoes un-soled. Left untold.

Nausea rising.

pushthebuttonpushthebuttonpushthebutton.

Nothing.

Eyes blinked open. Morphine seeping, through plastic tubing. Bloating his arm, warming, pain receding. Floating, fear receding. All receding. No preceding.

Dry mouthed, he reached out. Cold glass. Rolling over. Crisp white cotton. Sheets not shrieks. Shaking hands, cold wet (water) gasping, fetching. Life giving.

Nothing.

His teeth hurt.

Less. Than before.

Nothing.

Eyes open. Blink. Think.

His teeth hurt. His face hurt. He hurt. Everywhere. Faded memories. Washed up. Tied up.

Nothing.

His teeth no longer hurt.

Now he lay still. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. An eternity in the sweep, of a second hand.

Second hand dreams. Long lost dreams. Fading fast. Taught white cotton. Curved promise, false premise.

Push the button.

Eyes wide open.

Hurting less.

Gathering memory. Firm if fanciful. Must not lust. Grasping memory.

Push the button.

Warming. Memory storming. Flashing lights, screeching sounds and sirens calling. Falling. Breaking. Warm, wet, bodies joining.

Push the button.

Nothing.

Push the button.

Falling.

Eyes wide open.

He saw her then. Saw her,

reality.


The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.

thirtythree | fiftytwo

dark | side | thursday | thirtytwo

Do you need, desire or crave a new challenge?  Are you open to sharing your dark side?   Then read on.

2015_09_26_04163-Edit


Do you have a dark side?

Or, think you may have one. Or indeed worry that you might have one. Or, for that matter, worry that you don’t and would like one? If so,  join me here each week for dark | side | thursday.

Over a period of 52 weeks, I am writing a story. A dark story that will unfold as the weeks pass. Each Thursday, at 13:00 UTC, I will post a new chapter. Each chapter will be exactly 500 words long, and will be accompanied by a photograph. You can catch up on the story so far by clicking here on dark | side | thursday

Share your dark side?

I invite you to join me either by writing your own dark story, week by week, or, if that is too much, by dropping by, now and then, perhaps when the mood suits you or, perhaps, when it doesn’t, and by sharing a photograph, poem or a suitably dark piece of prose. To cross over to dark | side | thursday create your post, tag it dark side thursday and link to it by clicking on the dark | side | thursday badge below, where you can also find all the contributions so far. Or you can simply share your link in the comments section of my weekly post. And, should the mood take you, you can add the badge to your post.

AJT_6650-Edit


dark | side | thursday | thirtytwo

She smiled, and laughed.

A twisted girlish grin, lopsided, her dark eyes widening, her lips, moist, pinched and puckered, as if to kiss. But kiss she did not. She leaned over him, lips brushing his with a quick upward flick, leaving him wanting more, his mouth open, ready to taste her, even bound as he was. Needing. Aching for more. Of her. All of her.

The sirens did not abate. The lights flashed. The road ahead endless. He strained against the ties that bound him.

He felt her body hover over his, his arms pinned and absent. He felt her hot breath on his face, felt her sliding up and over his prone and strapped down body, belly rubbing over his, soft thighs spreading, squeezing, her breast soft, teasing, taunting him. Slim, delicate, fingers stroking and caressing the cracked contours of his face, her body pinning him, enfolding him, devouring him.

Memories of a cold white hospital cell. That time, long ago. Their bodies shared for brief moments. Given and taken. Wanted and feared. The pain they shared. And all that followed.

The dust. The blood. The fear.

Her lips grazed his, flickered and fluttered, never quite connecting, never lingering, her tongue licking and teasing. Again, and again. He ached. Her body rocking against his, a perverse parody of passion.

Unable to move, his body straining, hardening yet withdrawing, she took him and made him hers. Pain flashed along his arm. Light fading, vision blurring and darkening as the dwindling tunnel of his vision squeezed and contracted around him in time with the practised, clinical, movements of her body. His breath fading as he felt snow begin to pile up and cover his prone body. Cold, wet, snow. Fanciful crystalline flakes, tumbling and floating in front of his eyes, iridescent and flickering. He struggled to breathe. Her cold, dark, empty eyes looking into, and through, his, as he felt her tighten around him. And, all the time, sirens screaming, lights flashing, snow flakes falling, gathering, smothering, stifling him. Her eyes grew darker and receded, he heard her cry out, with the voice that had haunted him for so long.

He felt the pressure of her body recede. His wanting to rise up off the boards to which he was strapped,to follow her, to feel her lithe body pressed firm against him, to feel her hot breath on his face, her wet mouth pressed against his.

The impact was intense.

Sudden.

Brutal.

The sirens stopped. Dead.

His body, and the boards to which he was strapped, slammed into the tarmac with a fierce wet smack. He couldn’t help connecting this with the sound her body made against his as she had rhythmically soared and swooped above him.

He tumbled, over and over, feeling, far away, his face tearing as his body slammed into and across the empty wet road. The ambulance, a mangled blazing wreck, smashed against the razor-wired concrete.

Lights flashing blue and red.

Not again. He thought.


The portal to dark | side | thursday opened on the twenty first day of may in the year twenty hundred and fifteen and will remain open for fifty two weeks.

thirtytwo | fiftytwo

poetry | 101 | rehab | odyssey

 Why cover the same ground again? … It goes against my grain to repeat a tale told once, and told so clearly.

― Homer, The Odyssey

 

Welcome to this week’s Poetry 1o1 Rehab Prompt, which is also the last for 2015, but fear not, the Rehab will return next year – in fact next week 😉

My prompt this week is ODYSSEY.  The Odyssey is one of two major ancient Greek epic poems attributed to Homer. It is, in part, a sequel to the Iliad, the other work ascribed to Homer. An odyssey is also described variously as a long wandering or voyage usually marked by many changes of fortune and often as an intellectual or spiritual wandering or quest. So, this week, put aside the seasonal eating and drinking for a moment, and write a poem to describe your own personal odyssey.


Winding roads, long, hard, lonely.
Fragments of, his story.

Relentless snow.
Hopeless, no.

So it was,
and is
on, and on, and on, and
cold, hope’s flickering light, beckoning.
At the end of the road, a reckoning.

Snows passed.
Times passed.

The light flickered, and faded,
out.

And still,
the road, winding ahead, a siren,
calls.

poetry| 101 | rehab | odyssey


You can link to your post in response to this week’s prompt by leaving a comment on my post and / or by clicking on the poetry | 101 | badge below and leaving a link.

And you can also tag your post with Poetry 101 Rehab so that it shows up in the WordPress Reader.

Please feel free to copy and paste the badge across to your own post and your own site 🙂

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More information can be found on my poetry | 101 | rehab page.

 

project 365 mobile | mono | square | week 28

On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.

You can see all the images as they are posted, each day, to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.

You can also browse all of my weekly updates ,which are posted each Sunday, here .

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poetry | 101 | rehab | wrapping

snow floated down every once in a while, but it was frail snow, like a memory fading into the distance
― haruki murakami

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This is my first prompt for poetry | 101 | rehab since the WordPress Writing 101: Poetry course came to a close and I look forward to welcoming some new contributors!

My prompt this week is an attempt at a seasonal haiku. So, this week, express your feelings about the season, in haiku if it moves you, in some other way if not. What does this time of the year mean to you? Do you rejoice and hark the herald angels, do you eschew the commercial queue? Whatever your religion, your politics, your sensibilities, write a poem to describe what this time means to you.


Wrapped, packets with love

So late, the world turned

Paper cut

poetry| 101 | rehab | wrapping


You can link to your post in response to today’s prompt by leaving a comment on my post and / or by clicking on the poetry | 101 | badge below and leaving a link.

And you can also tag your post with Poetry 101 Rehab so that it shows up in the WordPress Reader.

Please feel free to copy and paste the badge across to your own post and your own site 🙂

2015_06_19_09504

More information can be found on my poetry | 101 | rehab page.

 

project 365 mobile | mono | square | week 27

On Sunday, 14 June 2015, I launched my Project 365.

You can see all the images as they are posted, each day, to the mobile | mono | square album on my flickr account.

You can also browse all of my weekly updates ,which are posted each Sunday, here .

Desktopmms-Edit

gathering

just an empty impression
in the bed where you used to be
empty sky, springsteen

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this post is for those with an empty place at their table

those with an empty sky

and yet, this bloody world turns, the sun will rise

tomorrow

and today

well, I guess

today, we will bloody well just do

what we have

to

do,

again


for wordpress weekly photo challenge – gathering

 

farewell

Farewell has a sweet sound of reluctance. Good-by is short and final, a word with teeth sharp to bite through the string that ties past to the future.
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent

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This is my final post in the WordPress Writing 101: Poetry course hosted by WordPress editor Ben Huberman.  You can see each of the poems I penned for the course here and, if you have the stomach for more, you can also read my poems from Writing 201: Poetry. I recommend these courses to you without reservation. Ben and his colleagues, and those who participate, create a stimulating environment in which to learn and share. Find out more at the WordPress Blogging U page.

Thank you to all those on the course who dropped by to read my attempts at poetry, and do feel free to join Poetry 101 Rehab each Monday.

Finally, today’s prompt comes from my friend, Lucile de Godoy who is Brazilian/Dutch and lives in Amsterdam, from where she shares her views through words and photos. You can find Lucile on her blog, Bridging Lacunas, and in the Photo Rehab blogging community, as well as on Twitter @luciledegodoyInstagram, and Flickr.

Have a great weekend!


How can I say it better then Steinbeck?

Especially when living in Molenbeek?

When I say farewell.

I mean well.

So, Goodbye.

Not,

‘bye.


wordpress writing 101 | poetry | farewell | prompt by lucile de godoy