Punky Fu

tig ↘↖

Tired beyond belief - sleep like some elusive drug that we’ve binged upon, and now gone dry into states of withdrawal. The hallucinations are growing increasingly real. We must get to bed. At least that’s the plan. But in the times we have together, time is precious - and sleep seems like the ultimate waste. We have never run out of topics - deeply penetrating talks that carry us in-between the moments. And then there are those other times when I cannot contain myself. I see her and am consumed. She says she doesn’t mind. I’m glad, because I don’t think I could hold it in. My eyes roam over her form in a close approximation of what my hands and following mouth want to do. “What?” she asks innocently - the way Little Red Riding Hood might ask of the drooling beast wanting to consume her. Up in the misty dark bedroom, the wind howls through the stripped trees. Now only the evergreens provide cover from the orange glow of the city night sky and the incessant traffic on the highway a stone’s throw away. We put on music - now a cue that makes me grow hard with anticipation. I wait as long as I can - trying to touch her gently before the passion explodes. Long into the night we dance - the soundtrack of our lovemaking varies as we re-define desire. And when I think I couldn’t possibly go on, another smile, another nuzzle or taste, and I’m gone again - riveted to her by a jackhammer need to fill and overflow. We’ll talk. But soon we’ll be hungry again and once again feed the need.

Tired beyond belief - sleep like some elusive drug that we’ve binged upon, and now gone dry into states of withdrawal. The hallucinations are growing increasingly real. We must get to bed. At least that’s the plan.

But in the times we have together, time is precious - and sleep seems like the ultimate waste. We have never run out of topics - deeply penetrating talks that carry us in-between the moments.

And then there are those other times when I cannot contain myself. I see her and am consumed. She says she doesn’t mind. I’m glad, because I don’t think I could hold it in. My eyes roam over her form in a close approximation of what my hands and following mouth want to do. “What?” she asks innocently - the way Little Red Riding Hood might ask of the drooling beast wanting to consume her.

Up in the misty dark bedroom, the wind howls through the stripped trees. Now only the evergreens provide cover from the orange glow of the city night sky and the incessant traffic on the highway a stone’s throw away. We put on music - now a cue that makes me grow hard with anticipation. I wait as long as I can - trying to touch her gently before the passion explodes.

Long into the night we dance - the soundtrack of our lovemaking varies as we re-define desire. And when I think I couldn’t possibly go on, another smile, another nuzzle or taste, and I’m gone again - riveted to her by a jackhammer need to fill and overflow.

We’ll talk. But soon we’ll be hungry again and once again feed the need.

24 May 2011 • tig lust wet pet

The pounding on the door would not go away. If anything, it was getting louder, more insistent. In her dwelling, as it was, knocks on the door were never a good thing. Pounding was worse. More often than not, she would weather it through until it ceased. Today, would require more. A glimpse through the window revealed a red-haired mutant Ogre, apparently too thick and loutish to understand being ignored. It tried the front of the dwelling. It moved to the back. It tried to scale the walls and bellowed impotently throughout. He caught the attention of the Witch to the North, who gleefully egged him on. Lathica donned her battle armaments and opened the portal. There, putrid, sweat stained and red faced, the Ogre belched its rancid demands at Lathica, encroaching threateningly. Lathica, gentle by nature, released her Warrior side without hesitation and made it very clear that the Ogre should leave. Perhaps it was its relative youth. Perhaps it was Lathica’s tone. Or perhaps it had some dimly recessed instinct of self-preservation. But whatever the reason, it made the best decision of its pathetic life: to turn around and lumber away. A moment longer, and the Flying Monkeys would’ve had to carry its malodorous carcass away in a wheelbarrow. Adrenaline surged in her veins like vinegar. Breathlessly, she closed the portal door and made her way to the kitchen galley. There, amidst the assorted dishes, Lathica found more home invaders - infantile insects seeking room and food. She quickly trapped the ones she could find and began the routing out of their kindred. When sleep-addled Starken arrived, he would find her waging her miniature war. It was time again to go to the marketplace. Lathica checked and re-checked all the battlements about the dwelling. She gave stern warning to the neighborhood younglings - doing what was necessary to catch and hold their attentions: this was not a day for wandering about. The younglings reacted poorly and Lathica left with regret, her head pounding.

The pounding on the door would not go away. If anything, it was getting louder, more insistent. In her dwelling, as it was, knocks on the door were never a good thing. Pounding was worse. More often than not, she would weather it through until it ceased. Today, would require more.

A glimpse through the window revealed a red-haired mutant Ogre, apparently too thick and loutish to understand being ignored. It tried the front of the dwelling. It moved to the back. It tried to scale the walls and bellowed impotently throughout. He caught the attention of the Witch to the North, who gleefully egged him on.

Lathica donned her battle armaments and opened the portal. There, putrid, sweat stained and red faced, the Ogre belched its rancid demands at Lathica, encroaching threateningly. Lathica, gentle by nature, released her Warrior side without hesitation and made it very clear that the Ogre should leave. Perhaps it was its relative youth. Perhaps it was Lathica’s tone. Or perhaps it had some dimly recessed instinct of self-preservation. But whatever the reason, it made the best decision of its pathetic life: to turn around and lumber away. A moment longer, and the Flying Monkeys would’ve had to carry its malodorous carcass away in a wheelbarrow.

Adrenaline surged in her veins like vinegar. Breathlessly, she closed the portal door and made her way to the kitchen galley. There, amidst the assorted dishes, Lathica found more home invaders - infantile insects seeking room and food. She quickly trapped the ones she could find and began the routing out of their kindred. When sleep-addled Starken arrived, he would find her waging her miniature war.

It was time again to go to the marketplace. Lathica checked and re-checked all the battlements about the dwelling. She gave stern warning to the neighborhood younglings - doing what was necessary to catch and hold their attentions: this was not a day for wandering about. The younglings reacted poorly and Lathica left with regret, her head pounding.

28 April 2011 • hassles tig

Stopping for food and drink, Starken and Lathica discussed and commiserated. The lives of Halflings were never simple - and theirs seemed infinitely complex and withering at times. Throughout the marketplace the two shared their sorrows and strategies with each other. When they returned, the wicked Bitchlings sat like gargoyles vomiting silent curses, but too cowardly to do anything but retreat with reproachful glares. Starken’s day journey would take him away for a time. He would return, but for the nonce, he would depart as was their custom. Really, nothing in their physical reality had changed from day’s break to this time - but they both felt better. For like true warriors they had learned two very important lessons. First - “Fall down eight times, get up nine.” Failure is not falling down, but refusing to get up. The world will give you obstacles - and you will either use the resistance to build muscle, or simply succumb to it. Physical or mental challenges - it always worked the same way. Use your muscle or become a victim. Use your brain or become an idiot. The second lesson was this: A single beam cannot support a house. Life can never give security; it can only offer opportunity. Together, two may best these obstacles - with perseverance, with patience, and most importantly with each other. Defeat for these will never be the bitter brew that it is for others, because they would refuse to drink.

Stopping for food and drink, Starken and Lathica discussed and commiserated. The lives of Halflings were never simple - and theirs seemed infinitely complex and withering at times. Throughout the marketplace the two shared their sorrows and strategies with each other. When they returned, the wicked Bitchlings sat like gargoyles vomiting silent curses, but too cowardly to do anything but retreat with reproachful glares.

Starken’s day journey would take him away for a time. He would return, but for the nonce, he would depart as was their custom. Really, nothing in their physical reality had changed from day’s break to this time - but they both felt better.

For like true warriors they had learned two very important lessons. First - “Fall down eight times, get up nine.” Failure is not falling down, but refusing to get up. The world will give you obstacles - and you will either use the resistance to build muscle, or simply succumb to it. Physical or mental challenges - it always worked the same way. Use your muscle or become a victim. Use your brain or become an idiot.

The second lesson was this: A single beam cannot support a house. Life can never give security; it can only offer opportunity. Together, two may best these obstacles - with perseverance, with patience, and most importantly with each other. Defeat for these will never be the bitter brew that it is for others, because they would refuse to drink.

28 April 2011 • tig fuckin a

False face must hide what the false heart doth know. Macbeth, 1. 7 We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed. The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned. We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
Macbeth, 1. 7

We watched Catfish unfolding, huddled together for comfort, bracing against what we knew would be the inevitable outcome of an Idealized dream ne’er-cum-true. Suspense hitching our weight, ratcheting tension, like the slow cranking of a roller coaster to its initial and highest peak, knowing that soon, with the protagonist, we would be spiraling downward at a breakneck speed.

The masks behind the masks - always prepared with another story to support the last fabrication - were all too familiar. How could we not relate, when this experience so paralleled our own? Although our empathy quickly evaporated, turning away when the protagonists didn’t realize their own rationalizations - their own pride was the mask for their faults. For our own sakes, however, this lesson would not go unlearned.

We returned to where we had began our evening - our place of quiet, of sanctuary, and feeling quite agitated, I knew that sleep would elude me lest I shift my focus. I gazed longingly at my love, her small hands gently stroking the scrabble on my cheek she so adores, and I knew that this was the place of fullness, completion and circularity: in her arms. And so as I allowed sleep to take me, we ended the evening as we began - a lover’s embrace and this time, my arms filled her body, my lungs filled with her scent, and my heart filled with an unearthly gratitude knowing I had more to be thankful for than I could ever truly express.

9 April 2011 • tig internet asshats base manipulation cyber-stalking every kind of creep pathetic

We started the evening obsessively trying to break down the musical compound into its chemical ingredients. A dash of Sexy Sadie - a pinch of Watching the Wheels - add You never give me your money and stir. I brought provisions for two and a half - needing to replenish from long bouts of immune boosting. As we ate, she periodically moving the coal about the shisha. I had ordered Take Out and we sat in dumb relief that we weren’t biking in his seat. Up for intermission - sweet plunging relief - a dance undanced for days, now consummated and consumed. The boundaries of ecstasy were bridged and pushed beyond. So much so that my PCBE (Post-Coital Bed-exit) was extraordinarily graceless and I left a sweaty stain on the wooden floor. Back down again - a TOS moment when she lamented the world and I summarized. Spock said: “Captain, you exist as a concept in other people’s minds, and get angry only when they try to force you into their stereotypes.” We would talk, watch, talk again. Her face itched where an amazing lack of scar tissue itched with repair, although she felt inclined to ice it again. Despite our best intentions the night evaporated into a single moment of bliss and the morning came all too soon. Despite our times together - every second is precious and amazing… of course, she’s completely the reason - my beautiful, sweet Dreamer of Dreams.

We started the evening obsessively trying to break down the musical compound into its chemical ingredients. A dash of Sexy Sadie - a pinch of Watching the Wheels - add You never give me your money and stir. I brought provisions for two and a half - needing to replenish from long bouts of immune boosting. As we ate, she periodically moving the coal about the shisha. I had ordered Take Out and we sat in dumb relief that we weren’t biking in his seat.

Up for intermission - sweet plunging relief - a dance undanced for days, now consummated and consumed. The boundaries of ecstasy were bridged and pushed beyond. So much so that my PCBE (Post-Coital Bed-exit) was extraordinarily graceless and I left a sweaty stain on the wooden floor.

Back down again - a TOS moment when she lamented the world and I summarized. Spock said: “Captain, you exist as a concept in other people’s minds, and get angry only when they try to force you into their stereotypes.” We would talk, watch, talk again. Her face itched where an amazing lack of scar tissue itched with repair, although she felt inclined to ice it again.

Despite our best intentions the night evaporated into a single moment of bliss and the morning came all too soon. Despite our times together - every second is precious and amazing… of course, she’s completely the reason - my beautiful, sweet Dreamer of Dreams.

7 April 2011 • tig adventures altered states

Upon entering the new domain, she was at first surprised. Here in this new “community,” there were people of all sorts with welcoming invitations for friendship. It was almost flattering. Almost. But the new people weren’t that different from the others - it was all just instrumental behavior, repackaged, remixed, and subtle enough to fool most others. But not her. Not for long. Ever the eternal iconoclast - she had taken the necessary steps - withstood the rejection of the world. Being ostracized was more of a comfortable blanket. So despite what the new “friends” might think, she would not engage in the joining. When the Tiger came, he growled mightily. The scent of the prey and predator prickled his nostrils and with bared fang, he quickly set about dismantling the machinations and manipulations of the world. Together they traded war stories. She sorted through the detritus of the world - and saw with clarity the same songs and dances. Together they compared machinations and manipulations. She found paths through the labyrinth and fathomed the unfathomable. She, the eternal non-conformist, with the strength borne of years of forging, reinforced her status as the new Keeper at the human zoo. She realized that they were all impostors, that the interactions were illusory. She knew that like fairies, they needed you to believe in them to exist and now, there would be no more room for pretenders. Scales from the eyes- with elegance and grace, full from the prowl of night, she returned her focus to the real. And with the Tiger, strode off into the dawn of happily ever after.

Upon entering the new domain, she was at first surprised. Here in this new “community,” there were people of all sorts with welcoming invitations for friendship. It was almost flattering. Almost.

But the new people weren’t that different from the others - it was all just instrumental behavior, repackaged, remixed, and subtle enough to fool most others. But not her. Not for long.

Ever the eternal iconoclast - she had taken the necessary steps - withstood the rejection of the world. Being ostracized was more of a comfortable blanket. So despite what the new “friends” might think, she would not engage in the joining.

When the Tiger came, he growled mightily. The scent of the prey and predator prickled his nostrils and with bared fang, he quickly set about dismantling the machinations and manipulations of the world.

Together they traded war stories. She sorted through the detritus of the world - and saw with clarity the same songs and dances. Together they compared machinations and manipulations. She found paths through the labyrinth and fathomed the unfathomable.

She, the eternal non-conformist, with the strength borne of years of forging, reinforced her status as the new Keeper at the human zoo. She realized that they were all impostors, that the interactions were illusory. She knew that like fairies, they needed you to believe in them to exist and now, there would be no more room for pretenders.

Scales from the eyes- with elegance and grace, full from the prowl of night, she returned her focus to the real. And with the Tiger, strode off into the dawn of happily ever after.

22 March 2011 • lia tig internet and everything base manipulation needy-greedies pathetic

how the tigre got his stripes

   IN the days before the Cat took his class, O Best Beloved, the Tigre wore a Golden Coat and lived in a place called the Ivory Tower of Academe. ‘Member it wasn’t the Ebony Tower of Academe, or the Salt Pillars of Cherubim, or the Mediocre Wall of China, but the ‘sclusively boring, predictable, unoriginal Ivory Tower of Academe, where uniformity and conformity were not only encouraged, but praised. 

The Giraffe and the Zebra and the Adjunct Faculty and the Administrator and many Students lived there; and they were ‘sclusively sandy-yellow-brownish all over.  They were about as interesting as a re-heated TV dinner (called a “re-run”) and never failed to not excite you. 

But the Tigre Tigre, burning bright (in the forests of the night), dared to be different and was asked, “What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?”  To which the Tigre would simply say, “That doesn’t rhyme at all.”

Tigre had grown jaded and uninterested with the world – as there was no person or prey to interest him. So he remained the Golden Coated wild one.  


Said Tigre to his friend Dave (and it was a very hot day), ‘Where has all the game gone?’ And Dave had no good answer.

Then, as fate would have it, one day a Cat entered the Tigre ’s habitat of the aboriginal Fauna. She was no ordinary Cat. In fact, she was like no other in all the land – at once both the most knowing and provocative of all creatures, Cat would toy with the hearts of other animals like they were mice.  And despite that, all the creatures of the land wanted Cat to hunt them. Tigre was immediately intrigued. 

Said Tigre to Dave, “What ever shall I do with this one?” And Dave had no good answer. Then said Tigre more to himself than anyone else, ‘The game belongs to the Cat; and my advice to you, Tigre, is to go into the Cat as soon as you can.’ And had he known, Dave would have said, ‘That is all very fine, but I wish to know whither the aboriginal Fauna has migrated.’  (Dave was like that when he didn’t take his medication; he was a very muddle headed old bear.)

Then said the Cat, ‘If you want to join the game, Tigre, the first move is up to you. Let us not waste time; and my advice to you, Tigre, is to hunt me as soon as you can.’ That puzzled the Tigre, but he set off on an adventure to hunt the Cat. 

The day was inhospitable for Tigre. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ said the Tigre at tea-time, ‘let us wait till it gets dark. This daylight hunting is a perfect scandal.’ So they waited till dark, and the Tigre met the Cat secretly in the starlight that fell all stripy through the branches. When Tigre pounced, surprised he was that Cat pounced back. 


The hunter had become the hunted, as it became apparent that this was Cat’s game all along. They stalked and pounced upon each other. Tigre gnashed his teeth and roared, but Cat, the more agile of the two, sunk her claws deeply into his back with abandon till morning. Such became the way of things as they hunted together, both predators and prey to each other. 

When Tigre heard a moan and a crash and a scramble, Cat would sink her long claws into his back. Tigre would suffer the scratches, too involved in the hunt to change course. So it became that the Cat scratches, so deep and so long, changed the face of Tigre. Now Tigre and Cat were best beloved of each other.  Tigre knew that the scratches went past the surface, so he changed his skin then and there, and the Tigre was more excited than ever. He had found stripes – that now distinguished him from all the other animals.

‘Now you are a beauty!’ said the Cat. ‘You can lie out on the bare ground and look like a heap of Professor, but to anyone who can see, you belong to me.  Think of that and purr, O Best Beloved!’  

7 August 2010 • adventures lia tig

We laugh - as if we have never laughed before. Talking through the night - and time bends, evaporating into the ether. We feast our appetites - From the sea to the sand to the dance floor spicy and naughty - we’re always hungry for more. When we are together, nothing matters. We add the soundtrack to our lives- the music and laughter of our souls bubble up to the surface and erupt in a cascade over and around us.

We laugh - as if we have never laughed before.
Talking through the night - and time bends, evaporating into the ether.

We feast our appetites -

From the sea

to the sand

to the dance floor

spicy and naughty -

we’re always hungry for more.

When we are together, nothing matters.

We add the soundtrack to our lives-
the music and laughter of our souls
bubble up to the surface and erupt
in a cascade over and around us.

15 July 2010 • love flow tig

Obstacles The road stretched before us: well-traversed, darkened and lonely, cooling now from the summer heat, while we wound our way toward home and the awaiting bed. Eye-lids heavy by the lateness of the hour, bellies working on our dinner, ears attuned to Secrets by the saucerful come to life - we were focused elsewhere. The lone girl sat in the middle of the roadway holding the universally recognized pose of introverted depression. Had she been closer to center of the road, she would’ve ended a red smear underneath our car. As it was, I didn’t see her until I had passed by her by at least twenty feet. I thought it was surely a post-3am Track 5 induced hallucination. But looking back, I got confirmation: there was a girl in the street. Questions of her motivation and state of mind, our responsibility, and which options to take, came to mind in a jumbled mess. We sat agog and debated, caution and care coming to a head. How do you know when you’re being paranoid? Eventually we thought it best for the authorities to intervene. I called reluctantly imagining some interrogation. Instead, the dispatcher simply took my information and signed off. We waited and watched, trying not to be obvious in our spying to either the girl or the neighbors, praying that oncoming traffic headed in her direction would see her in time. When the cop came quickly afterward, we pointed him in the right direction. The girl had apparently moved, and we could no longer see her. There was a dawning sense of horror for a moment when I thought the cop would accuse me of making it up, followed by another moment of suspense when a car headed in her direction came barreling down the road. It was mercifully brief and the girl was found. To be honest, we don’t know what became of her. We tried to surreptitiously circle around. When we drove by again, she appeared to be arguing with now three cops circled around her and bathed in strobe-lit red and blue. Perhaps there was a favorable outcome for her. Perhaps we saved her life. Or perhaps another lost soul looking to vent found an object for her anger. Philosophically, it had occurred to me that sometimes life places obstacles in your path. In reality, the idea that someone could become their own obstacle had never been so plainly made flesh. Whether you are putting yourself in the path of others for attention, to be martyred, or just because you have poor judgment makes no difference; you are a burden to someone. Life can be difficult enough dealing with other people and without creating your own drama. When you become the obstacle for others, you have only yourself to blame for your being ultimately alone on the path to road kill. We shuddered in thought, and renewed our own vows to make better of the time we have as we curled into each other and closed out the world for another day.

Obstacles

The road stretched before us: well-traversed, darkened and lonely, cooling now from the summer heat, while we wound our way toward home and the awaiting bed. Eye-lids heavy by the lateness of the hour, bellies working on our dinner, ears attuned to Secrets by the saucerful come to life - we were focused elsewhere.

The lone girl sat in the middle of the roadway holding the universally recognized pose of introverted depression. Had she been closer to center of the road, she would’ve ended a red smear underneath our car. As it was, I didn’t see her until I had passed by her by at least twenty feet. I thought it was surely a post-3am Track 5 induced hallucination. But looking back, I got confirmation: there was a girl in the street.

Questions of her motivation and state of mind, our responsibility, and which options to take, came to mind in a jumbled mess. We sat agog and debated, caution and care coming to a head. How do you know when you’re being paranoid? Eventually we thought it best for the authorities to intervene. I called reluctantly imagining some interrogation. Instead, the dispatcher simply took my information and signed off.

We waited and watched, trying not to be obvious in our spying to either the girl or the neighbors, praying that oncoming traffic headed in her direction would see her in time. When the cop came quickly afterward, we pointed him in the right direction. The girl had apparently moved, and we could no longer see her. There was a dawning sense of horror for a moment when I thought the cop would accuse me of making it up, followed by another moment of suspense when a car headed in her direction came barreling down the road. It was mercifully brief and the girl was found.

To be honest, we don’t know what became of her. We tried to surreptitiously circle around. When we drove by again, she appeared to be arguing with now three cops circled around her and bathed in strobe-lit red and blue. Perhaps there was a favorable outcome for her. Perhaps we saved her life. Or perhaps another lost soul looking to vent found an object for her anger.

Philosophically, it had occurred to me that sometimes life places obstacles in your path. In reality, the idea that someone could become their own obstacle had never been so plainly made flesh. Whether you are putting yourself in the path of others for attention, to be martyred, or just because you have poor judgment makes no difference; you are a burden to someone.

Life can be difficult enough dealing with other people and without creating your own drama. When you become the obstacle for others, you have only yourself to blame for your being ultimately alone on the path to road kill.

We shuddered in thought, and renewed our own vows to make better of the time we have as we curled into each other and closed out the world for another day.

5 July 2010 • lia tig adventures

Raise the brooms, the salt, the water, the mirrors, the blades if you must. But know that all wards, guards and talismans will only hold out the bad. And if the energies manifest inside breach to the exterior world it’s only a tremor of her rebirth.

Raise the brooms, the salt, the water, the mirrors, the blades if you must.
But know that all wards, guards and talismans will only hold out the bad.

And if the energies manifest inside
breach to the exterior world
it’s only a tremor
of her rebirth.

15 June 2010 • tig lia fuckin a life truth

So celebrate, if you have the strength and stand on the side of the Phoenix. Celebrate her beauty, and power, and wisdom and courage, and creativity and love. Live with the nature of her- or die by it. For it is all within you.

So celebrate, if you have the strength
and stand on the side of the Phoenix.

Celebrate her beauty, and power,
and wisdom and courage,
and creativity and love.

Live with the nature of her-
or die by it.

For it is all within you.

15 June 2010 • flow martial arts fuckin a tig

The Warrior in the Dark (to my Wolfy) She floats above the wetness below- And beneath the storm clouds above- Also drenched, but from her own efforts. Shooting arrows of fire through me With each supple movement- Liberating her body, Responding like an echo of a time long past. Awareness of her has no horizon, Suchness and Thusness- I can simply take her in- And surrender myself To her grace and beauty. And after her storm has over- and her seas have settled- and skin has just begun to dry- must I now penetrate in return.

The Warrior in the Dark
(to my Wolfy)

She floats above the wetness below-
And beneath the storm clouds above-
Also drenched, but from her own efforts.

Shooting arrows of fire through me
With each supple movement-
Liberating her body,
Responding like an echo
of a time long past.

Awareness of her has no horizon,
Suchness and Thusness-
I can simply take her in-
And surrender myself
To her grace and beauty.

And after her storm has over-
and her seas have settled-
and skin has just begun to dry-
must I now penetrate
in return.

18 May 2010 • tig love lia Magic flow

We were exhausted. Physically and mentally drained from the world, our bodies ached from being physically and spiritually empty. Up late from the night before, we were ready for sleep some time during the early afternoon. The plans were simple: eat, watch a movie and get to sleep early. You know, catch up on some badly needed rest. Oddly enough - a few minutes together and all the aches and pains of the world seemed to disappear - like so much mist evaporating in the morning sun. Strangely, I forgot to be irritated with the world and that ache in my back went to find someone more receptive. Two of our favorite dinners, and we were ready to finish a movie - this time, vowing to not start our endlessly fascination conversations before we had even finished the credits. New shisha and bowl made us excited. Then something happened. Something smooth and insidious; something soft and slippery; something very much about the meeting between two souls. We were transformed - the metamorphosis took us completely and suddenly we could no longer understand the meaning of “tired” - it evaporated like the rest of the evening as we transitioned from one celebration of us to another, seamlessly. Each moment together left us more and more energized. The humid living room, the sultry bedroom, the steamy shower… we were like two divine beings - rejoicing our lives. And in the early morning hours - as realization and the sun both dawned on us - we remembered to be mortal once again. Sleep overcame us both like a heavy curtain and obliterated the day. Of course, the night time beckons once again…

We were exhausted. Physically and mentally drained from the world, our bodies ached from being physically and spiritually empty.

Up late from the night before, we were ready for sleep some time during the early afternoon. The plans were simple: eat, watch a movie and get to sleep early. You know, catch up on some badly needed rest.

Oddly enough - a few minutes together and all the aches and pains of the world seemed to disappear - like so much mist evaporating in the morning sun.

Strangely, I forgot to be irritated with the world and that ache in my back went to find someone more receptive. Two of our favorite dinners, and we were ready to finish a movie - this time, vowing to not start our endlessly fascination conversations before we had even finished the credits. New shisha and bowl made us excited.

Then something happened. Something smooth and insidious; something soft and slippery; something very much about the meeting between two souls. We were transformed - the metamorphosis took us completely and suddenly we could no longer understand the meaning of “tired” - it evaporated like the rest of the evening as we transitioned from one celebration of us to another, seamlessly.

Each moment together left us more and more energized. The humid living room, the sultry bedroom, the steamy shower… we were like two divine beings - rejoicing our lives.

And in the early morning hours - as realization and the sun both dawned on us - we remembered to be mortal once again. Sleep overcame us both like a heavy curtain and obliterated the day.

Of course, the night time beckons once again…

13 May 2010 • lia tig adventures

He: “I seem to remember picturing you in this very position…”

He: “I seem to remember picturing you in this very position…”

12 May 2010 • tig lust wet pet the yearn

Octoberescence We ended dinner with something seasonal - her cinnamon, maple pumpkin pie. And for entertainment, a scary Halloween movie. As she sat in my lap, her body tensed, hands holding on to mine tightly whenever the campy music started. I knew that when the movie was over, we’d have to talk about plot holes (in a way that only a Vulcan could elucidate), ways to defeat the bad guys, and strategies (just in case). We discussed these long enough to put her mind at ease, lest she spend the night in sleepless contemplation of eerie monstrosities. The talking was helpful - a reassuring, “they didn’t do their homework” sense that made her feel much less vulnerable. But the real magic came afterward. We found a portal to a bygone time - opened with a multicolor peacock, now extinct. Inside the portal, an alter ego - the pig-tailed orphan, the one with spunk, the one who pulled you by the heartstrings and invited you along for the ride. We had no intention of getting lost in time, and yet we had to make sure that she found her home. The theme song endlessly repeating in our heads, she turned to me and smiled brightly, fully, childishly. “Thank you,” she said. Connected with something long forgotten but strangely remembered, we knew that we had to continue our forays across the years. This time to her youth, as she had gleefully done with mine. The next night we hoped we would find a gustatory companion to make the transformation complete. And when we finally went to sleep that night - and she was safely tucked in my arms - the seasons of innocence returned filled her head and heart with a spark of excitement, and soon blossomed the warmth that comes only from knowing you are being truly protected and loved.

Octoberescence

We ended dinner with something seasonal - her cinnamon, maple pumpkin pie. And for entertainment, a scary Halloween movie.

As she sat in my lap, her body tensed, hands holding on to mine tightly whenever the campy music started. I knew that when the movie was over, we’d have to talk about plot holes (in a way that only a Vulcan could elucidate), ways to defeat the bad guys, and strategies (just in case). We discussed these long enough to put her mind at ease, lest she spend the night in sleepless contemplation of eerie monstrosities. The talking was helpful - a reassuring, “they didn’t do their homework” sense that made her feel much less vulnerable. But the real magic came afterward.

We found a portal to a bygone time - opened with a multicolor peacock, now extinct. Inside the portal, an alter ego - the pig-tailed orphan, the one with spunk, the one who pulled you by the heartstrings and invited you along for the ride. We had no intention of getting lost in time, and yet we had to make sure that she found her home. The theme song endlessly repeating in our heads, she turned to me and smiled brightly, fully, childishly. “Thank you,” she said.

Connected with something long forgotten but strangely remembered, we knew that we had to continue our forays across the years. This time to her youth, as she had gleefully done with mine. The next night we hoped we would find a gustatory companion to make the transformation complete.

And when we finally went to sleep that night - and she was safely tucked in my arms - the seasons of innocence returned filled her head and heart with a spark of excitement, and soon blossomed the warmth that comes only from knowing you are being truly protected and loved.

9 May 2010 • lia tig adventures love memories Magic