The woman with two husbands and the man with two

Creative Forums Creative Writing
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Now he puts me on the platform after the beauty queen was chosen and p
I help present her certification as prize winner. Next morning he says to me’ noe the whole town will recognize and respect your presence.

The borders have been pretty well locked in so hoping the feeling of being between the moon and new York city will wear off.

She asks me what I could do here in retirement if I had that resource and told her the only thing I could think of off hand is to write .

She is half way submerged herself coming from near destitution , so as is my need for drink, and I know as a dragon lady must hide emergency funds to sneak one in now and then.

Well, as it turned out , the owner of this 200 year old ancestral home has seen better times as well, and he acted out the role of ba-ba black sheep with more ease, but still he was torn between home and back in the ussa, as well but much better tuned in, and to his upturn in fortune , do to my wife’s ingenuity, for which she was unable to harvest much to her own home, resigned it to buy a new family, without which here she would be more of a non-entity. Whereas at back home her children are nearly at par.

The same goes for our kind host, who feels like redoing his 200 year old inheritance, can’t help noticiing for the impressive beginnings of considerable reconstruction.
A kind of twisting reversal of gone with the wind.

It appears he is keeping up with the owners’ of the Internationale chicken franchise as well, a very down to earth people, but multiple billionaires here. How much humility can one exercise before being tested for broke.

If there is a consequence , then it is not at all appearent, except by bits and pieces, hiding the various border lined familial relationships of various permutations.

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It reminds of political and private collusion , where repression and political will are submerged , the border line between them narrowing bringing forth exaggerated refetences by way of necessity, providing privilege for it.

Solution option: mission impossible exit/ Dali paranoid method without portfolio.

To add fuel to the fire: Our host is aiming to become mayor of.this large town, and that is a credible move on his part.

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Kafkaesque journey:

Lines of roaches climbing to the entrance of the castle.

What he fears consists of a very fine delicate balance between over and under exposure toward the interior of the place, no apologies are.needed at this point. If the protagonist gets lost there , at this point there should be no fear of sign , no exit. (Except at front where ‘beware who enter here’)is prominently displayed.

’ The Subterraneans’

As for the rest, I think Jack Kerouac said it best.

‘O love, fled me - or do telepathies cross sympathetically in the night’

Tennyson:

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breathe were life. (ll. 19-24)

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Supertyphoon ompomg is approaching the Phillippines tomorrow

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…a case of battening down the hatches?

Stay safe Meno. [-o<

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Thanks, MagsJ, its is supposed to hit tonight.

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perd ses plumes perd ses larmes

Comme un coeur se vide de larmes
L’arrosoir a perdu ses plumes

Éventail au soleil fané

Loterie des mois des années
Dans l’allée le sable s’enroue
Où mon chagrin fera la roue

Jardin faut-il que tu t’en ailles
Et l’été de cet éventail
Secondé par mon petit doigt
Qui chatouille un bouton de rose
Effronté sans pourtant qu’il ose
Trop presser son éclosion

Après s’être bien amusée
La rose rentre en son cocon
La rose revêt sa chemise
Et tout est à recommencer

Et les outils dans la remise
Ensemble-jardin se lamentent
L’arrosoir voudrait sur l’amante
Verser des larmes mais la bêche
N’a pas retrouvé cette espiègle
Qui se cache sous l’herbe sèche

by Raymond Radiguet

Will translate

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Garden must leave
Summer of this fan
Second by my little finger
Who tickles a rosebud
Cheeky without daring
Too much pressure
After having fun
The rose returns to its cocoon
Rose puts on her shirt
And everything is to start again
And the tools in the shed
Lament garden set
Watering can be on the lover
Pouring tears but spades
I did not find this malice
Who is hiding under the dry grass
by Raymond Radiguet

I found this nice poem while waiting for a flight. Avoided typhoon it will hit elsewhere.

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youtu.be/V5leCi87AEQ

youtu.be/0o94dJr2SrI

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The third man:

What I like about this woman
Her gambles always
Loose, loose loose
That to absolute near
Levels.

Like she bet a lot on her trio to Britain
And practically handed over all gained

Expecting they be thiefs2

And she says, well

Well well well, at least its good karma

And then a feeling to put
all of the measly few
Left after the ’ The Loss’

A feeling the gamble will pay big
( and it would have )
REAFFIRMS my case for the benifits of loss.

But that is not all not by a long shot, oh no indeed,

The gambled paid off big time
It won an everlasting soul, the devils bet ,
Confiscated, contained, and captired time, in a bottle .

The tree in the secret garden still

Time and heart stoppingn sacrificial nullifying tree, the echoes of everlasting whispering

There then at a time of lostness
that only the truly mystified can conjure up.

That preceded by a whole summer there nothing but read
Magic Mountain.

Oh, Hans, how futile and beautiful languid the super natural be, can anyone stop it ,
so as to fix it,
for ever?

She can and did

Instill it, and the second man has gone to Alaska, fish for Salmon, is he still alive , the third man his father
either, doesen’t seem to know.

Postscript: " I accept lostness for ever"
Jack Kerouac