What did you do during the Pandemic?

I have been gone for so long, that there are probably few people left that even remember me.

Most of my former followers have quit. Few blogs last longer than five years, although I recently celebrated my Eighth Anniversary with WordPress, which for me, is like an electronic writers’ colony.

Also, I am not much of a blogger; I am a writer, and much too selfish to participate in the “blah-blah-blahs of blogging” that Suki, my long-suffering spouse was especially good at doing.

Also, she is a great deal more likable and outgoing, so when she gave up the sport, many of the people who followed me by way of her dropped from the ranks of regular readers.

My pursuits involving “research” for my third novel, “Once in a Blue Agave Moon” and a long-standing bout with depression and mental illness resulted in a most protracted hiatus…

BUT recently, a long-lost associate from the EMS community inquired about my first novel, the eponymous “Dancing in Dreamland,” but when I went to the page that I thought had been loaded there, I discovered that it was nearly unreadable for a long list of reasons…

So I edited it extensively and prepared it for e-publication, which I had procrastinated for far too long.

I was on a roll, so I also edited and prepared “The Home for Wayward Souls and the Talking Monkeys” which is possibly a far superior work.

Both will have a new page of their own, possibly before the end of the evening.

Once I e-publish them, they will no longer be free for the reading, but I have almost no idea how to accomplish this without Suki’s assistance…

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

12/08/2020

Favorites #10

When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked

(He is history, she is the source of all creation)

Breathlessly,
In my mind
I imagine you are there beside me
naked too,
and on my right
sitting behind me
whispering each word
into my ear as I read you
silently.
I hear each sibilance
as it passes your teeth
each plosive syllable
as it pops from between
your moistened lips,
every affricative
formed between tooth and lip,
the F’s escaping
like some intoxicating vapor,
the V’s and Z’s buzzing
and waving their stingers.
I feel you breathing in my ear.
I feel your hair
against my neck and shoulders
as your nipples brush
against my arms and back.
You turn a phrase as if each word
is your own tongue
licking and flicking
inside my ear.
A tongue so long it slithers and slides
all the way
inside my brain,
and coils up like a snake,
(if only snakes could wink
and smile)…
A soft metaphor
lays a gentle hand
upon my thigh
as similes
slowly drag
their nails upwards
while you tickle
my fancy
with innuendos
that hint at promises
unspoken
almost too good
to be true
anywhere but here.
This thing we do with words…
And yet I do not even know
the color of your hair,
be it blonde
or brown,
chestnut,
red,
or even black
as raven’s wing.
I try to picture you in my mind.
Full of figure,
slender,
tall
or short,
dark
or pale
or
something in between…
It matters not,
I realize,
just now
because it
is not
the way you look
that seduces me
so boldly
and provocatively
with subtlety
and grace
as you coyly undress my mind
with words
that conjure
feelings,
passion,
and desire
as yet untasted,
so rigid
and yet so flexible
and willing to be led,
or rather
pulled
the way the moon
will raise the tides
time after time.
Forever.
Now.
You draw me
to a bed
of words
both soft and firm
and lay me down
to wallow in your
imagery,
impaled upon
my imagination…
This thing we do with words…
I wonder how your voice will sound
if ever you should speak to me.
Will it be soft?
or
with an edge
as keen
as the arrows
of a huntress
who shoots straight through the heart,
but only takes what she consumes?
Perhaps a husky whiskey voice
deep,
yet darkly feminine,
or maybe
high and clear
like a fairy’s song
as wood nymph
or siren
might use to call
and conjure
spells
like those that you have cast
on me.
These things we do with words,
my friend
and lover
of confidences
together,
implied
as well as
inferred.
A union of souls and spirits
incapable of jealousies
or possessiveness,
giving freely and taking gratefully
in this world we’ve made
of our own
where writer and reader
alike
slake our cravings, lusts
and passions…
to be heard and understood.
To lead each other
to a place beyond mere words alone,
where there is only knowing.
This thing we do with words….
Like a reciprocated Kiss,
…the only kind of Snowball
that has a chance in Hell,
we pass our words
and images
and idea(l)s
back and forth
between us now,
The Union of the Woman and the Man.
The Union of the Writer and the Reader.
The Union of Truth and Wisdom.
The Union of the Word and the Idea.
The Union of the Idea and the Understanding.
The Union of the Understanding and the Enlightenment.
The Union of Giving and Receiving
freely without conditions or reservation.
What is Love?
You already know…
This is Love.
Pass it on
wherever you go.
The more you give
The more you will have.
Wear it like Sunshine
on your face
so I will know you
instantly
if we should ever meet,
even
if it takes a thousand lifetimes.

This Thing We Do with Words

…Paradox…

The words
of my
Eternal Beloved
breathed into my ear
as softly
as
a Butterfly Kiss
yet as
powerful and moving
as a hurricane
ripping through
My Mind
My Heart
My Soul
My Life.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
03/02/2016

How do I Feel? (revisited)

How do I Feel about my World Today?

Who is Asking the Question?

Today’s Mantra.

Before I get in touch with My Gratitude, I feel the need to assess my current condition in terms that better lend themselves to self awareness as a way of exercising the Ever Questioning Mind.

Something to gnaw on while doing T’ai-Chi Ch’uan perhaps.

Once you see the illusion of life as well as its impermanence as we experience the Folly of it all, it is easier to choose which path to take at any given moment, as one might a hat or a pair of shoes.

This is not to rule out emotional considerations. They are a part of the equation, just not all of it.

I just ran across an old quote by Kurt Vonnegut. He was giving advice on how to write and called the semi-colon(s) “Transexual Hermaphrodites”. …as if that was something bad…at least that’s the way most of the critics of the day viewed it; however, only one source I found noted that his next statement was that in case no one knew if he was kidding, “…from now on, I’ll tell you when I am kidding.”

There is excitement in illusion, in intrigue and in the commission of The Act (whatever it is).

Kurt would not like my works, I think. Most of his advice goes completely against the way I write. OK, I get that.

I think I like the semi-colon more than ever, viewing it in the light Vonnegut suggests; and I also disagree that one cannot fragment and creatively use words in the fashion that John Coltrane or Pablo Picasso might with notes or paint. James Joyce already did that in Finnegan’s Wake, after all.

I want the reader to feel like they fell down the rabbit hole. (That’s where all the good [fun] stuff is).

By the time they reach the bottom they will have everything they need to know to figure it out for themselves…of course, they already do… even if they don’t know they know it yet.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

10/14/2015

 

 

 

TTWDWW: When is Too Much Just Right or Just Too Much?

This Thing We Do with Words, a slight return.

Part Nine

When is Too Much Just Right or Just Too Much?

Then again, I consider my own form of “enhanced and fortified non-fiction” to be predominantly narrative story-telling, much like the verbal tradition of the great American Tall Tale.

As much as I like the challenge of the bon mots, if you were listening rather than reading, you wouldn’t have the luxury of going to the dictionary every page.

Although I consider Tom Robbins to be one of the most brilliant authors of our time, his propensity for excess regarding obfuscation was perhaps best personified in “Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates” when the protagonist, “Switters” used the term phrontifugic (A reference to banishing or relieving anxiety by escaping from one’s thoughts).

As fond as I am of those bon mots, he alone has prompted me to go to the dictionary more than any other author. The Urban Dictionary, which was the only source I could find that used it in context, had to resort to quoting his own sentence in order to use phrontifugic as an example. Wikipedia does not recognize it, nor does Wiktionary.

It is currently the most obscure word I have ever encountered, but his prodigious talent as a novelist inspires me to want to be a better author.

In 2005, (Wild ducks Flying Backward) he stated that given the abysmal state of our national consciousness, if we can’t get our heads out of our own asses, the only hope left was to perfect brewing your own beer and making a good thin-crust pizza.

He described his last book, entitled “B is for Beer” (2009) as either a children’s book for adults or an adult book for children.

I got the distinct impression that “B is for Beer” was his way of flipping off his publisher for one last book. He is now 82 years old. If he were to publish another more challenging book, I don’t know if it would receive the wide-spread readership he once enjoyed. Not so much because of any shortcomings on his part, but rather an increasingly short supply of readers willing to make that much of a commitment.

I did not purchase “B is for Beer”. It took less than twenty minutes to read standing up in Barnes and Noble. Of course, maybe I was the moron for not recognizing its inherent brilliance.

In the near-silence of the bookstore, I was surprised no one heard my heart breaking.

Maybe he was right. Literature (by virtue of participation) is one of the hottest mediums of expression or entertainment there is. Two of the most important things you can bring to this picnic are an appetite, and an imagination.

A few decades ago, Marshall Mcluhan described Television and Film as a cool medium. Now it is colder than a gynecologist’s speculum. They only require an appetite or just boredom, like junk-food. There is no longer any need for imagination. Everything else is already provided, courtesy of digital effects. All you have to do is show up and pay your money. Television and Film are easy and seductive, so it is rapidly displacing Literature and reading as entertainment.

In a world of passive entertainment, reading is becoming as arcane and superfluous as conversation, letters, writers or readers.

Reading and thinking are just too much like work to the masses who “live lives of quiet desperation”.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

04/23/2015

 

TTWDWW: Define Your Purpose, Choose Your Audience

This Thing We Do with Words, a slight return.

Part Seven

Define Your Purpose, Choose Your Audience

Let’s face it, most of the great works of our civilization are now almost never read at all, and certainly would never have become famous or commercially successful today, especially given the “idiocracy” of our semi-literate cultural and educational system.

Much like the question “would you rather be right or happy?”, one may well ask “would you rather be famous and rich, or masterful and original?”

I am also reminded that even Literotica in and of itself is not my primary objective.

It is my goal to write creatively, imaginatively and never look away. As a result, I get my strongest support from my fellow travelers in the Kink/Fet community in general and Polyamory in particular.

Although I generally have come to believe that my lack of singularity of purpose as an erotic author has caused some to regard me as too esoteric, while the “serious” aficionados of Post-Modern Literature (or perhaps Post-Post-Modern) may find me too sexually preoccupied.

Sadly, as the practitioners of Post-Modern continue to age, it may all too soon become Post-Mortem. I prefer the label “Post-Neo”.

Most erotica has suffered from its narrow perspective. The fact that its primary intent is to sexually stimulate the reader is not a bad thing, it is just limited.

There is no reason one cannot be intellectually and sexually stimulated at the same time, and in fact for me, it almost has to be that way.

To me, Life is erotic. Mystery is erotic. Challenge and Adventure are erotic. “My advisors” tell me that criminal activity is also erotic, and Danger is most definitely erotic.

While the rest of the entire animal kingdom is dancing to a tune called “Let’s Fuck” Man alone tries to separate brains, hearts and genitalia into convenient categories, (despite whatever Feud may have had to say on the subject) as if they operated independently of each other.

There are few stories worth telling, let alone reading or listening to that do not have an undercurrent of erotica within the actualities of the entire story. As a culture, we are still so conditioned by embarrassment regarding sex that we think that there is no relevance to include it in “serious” works.

The film “Einstein and Eddington” is a perfect example.

Most people would not equate General Relativity, or Quantum Mechanics with the backstory of a man with both a family and a mistress, but then again, I personally find both subjects to be very sexy…but maybe that’s just me.

I was heartened to learn of his polyamorous history. I was already aware of his idiosyncrasies as well as his amazingly off-beat humor, but this just garnered more respect for him in me.

He was fearless in very fearful, judgmental times.

Although the film did not explore the erotic details of Einstein’s life, given the narrative, I believe that there would have been tremendous potential for truly erotic dramatic action.

After all, who knows what a man with enough imagination to come up with the Theory of Relativity might be capable of in the bedroom, or who-knows-where else? If they lived “in my perfect world”, they would have all gotten a house by the sea.

Namasté

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

04/23/2015