Let's X Each Item Out One by One cc: @natasha @avflox @nicolejordan
Thrown under the police car the night everyone wanted a piece of you
and no one would give you any peace,
that’s where I should have been before the steel bars locked behind you,
before your longest intermission.
Where was I?
Resisting some feral urge to vamp out against all the mating coyotes in the Valley,
and on my knees praying I could lick away the wounds of a young gun who was
feeling less than zero,
while Ziggy’s stardust sprinkled down fighting to fly us to the moon.
The Zombies said “This Will be Our Year.”
How could the penmen of the line “Who’s Your Daddy” be wrong?
Your latest naked embarrassment—reports of it flood my inbox,
and I can’t help but think of when it was you and me against the world,
hiding out in your warm and windowless cave,
thinking we could save each other,
and that maybe we were made for each other.
But I was just a slave to your mind,
or maybe I was just another star fucker,
being tricked by the opposite of love.
I wrote the greatest screenplay in my dreams..
What if we met in a world where there was only music?
No egos
No press
No People Magazine
No pilot season
Only music...
That’s the thing about Hollywood,
there are a million and one reminders.
They asked, “What could you possibly give the man who has everything,
but almost always loses everything?”
At a time when
I was so immature…
I was so insecure…
I could only trust that you’d someday kill me,
along with the buried dreams of a 10-year-old girl,
even though you said,
“today wasn’t such a good day to die.”
And I left…
I left the one city that's felt like home to rid myself of all of you,
only to return to see if I could find something else to replace
your heart and your hands and your voice – that 30-million dollar voice.
The voice I listened for the last time I stomped down Vermont Street,
where Pulp Fiction eyes and ears once witnessed us talk
of the day when we’d become three…
They can say what they want.
They can print what they will.
You’re still the toughest act to follow.
~Melissa Jun Rowley, @MelissaRowley
He was so giddy and gleeful. Latin music, the song "Tequila," and flowing wine followed. You can imagine what happened next.
Thanks to the generous gem that she is, Julie Gallaher, I've been at the 70 year old legendary spa Rancho La Puerta in Tecata, Baja, California, Mexico with 17 powerhouse women for the last three days. We've come together from different parts of the country to share our professional expertise, life passions, and enthusiasm for social media.
ME: I can think of him now, remember how he used to look at me, and not feel any yearn or like I'm dying.
It's all just a weightless memory now.
AV Flox: He's become a real past chapter. Now you can write a new one.
I feel I am trapped in the last paragraph of my own.
ME: Each line of your encounter will get easier to read and digest until the end of the paragraph.
And over time, you'll remember only the most beautiful miraculous parts of the story.
Welcome to my Posterous, where I post pics, poems and prose.
