Sleep: Dreams & Nightmares 32

Woman Sleeping in a Landscape - Salvador Dali

Midnight Show.

In the midnight hour… what sorts of things happen at the stroke of midnight? Are you doing them? Here’s a little bit of naughty for your midnight hour. Enjoy. kisses. m.

I know what you want

I want to take you a midnight show tonight 

If you can keep a secret I got a blanket in the back seat of my mind

And a little place that sits beneath the sky

Midnight Show - The Killers

In the Backseat.

(12-4-10)

In the Backseat. A place I’ve been before as a young girl watching my father drive the car along the highway for a day trip or a jaunt around the corner. A place I like to be with him when he says there's a show I want to take you to see and I always know what that means. And it's one of those nights where there's a show to be seen. 

In the backseat tonight it's the stroke of midnight and the silence widens between us as the red traffic lights change another time. The world outside is half asleep and dreaming while we've found somewhere unseen. When he's says "three times the charm" I parked us beneath this broken streetlight next to some bushes. Although it’s not entirely dark we’re all alone. And there’s no need to talk in this moment. Words aren't necessary only actions. And his actions are speaking more than loudly.

Like the band warming up, the sound of his breathing deepens as his hands slide across the seat towards me. I want to ask him what he wants but I don’t. Instead I reach out to touch his hand and guide it gently along my thigh. Taking over he moves along the inside of my leg. The warmth of his hand on my bare skin is completely intoxicating as it sends shivers up my spine.  Every touch is like the first time and I can't help but lose my breath with the electricity of the moment. 

And I can see his eyes in the dark. Their reassuring stare matches his touch in the dark. They aren’t telling me what they want. It’s so much more than that as he follows the lead of my hands. My hands that continue to reach out and touch his. I take a hold of the free hand while letting the other continue to wander between my thighs. I lift his fingers to my face and let my lips start to kiss his knuckles. Closing my eyes, I nurse at the tips of his fingers.  Savoring the taste of each finger. Up and down and in between. Tasting the scent of him from his hands when I realize that I can not stop myself.  I want more. I want to tell him give me more. But I don’t. And I keep going.

Going down my hands reach into the depths. It’s more than helping him now that they found their place between his legs. He closes his eyes with every caress of my hand. I lean in and kiss his eyelids as he continues to grow with the rhythm. Pressing in further I run my lips across his forehead. Breathing and tasting him with every movement. My gentle kisses become quick. There’s no words only breathes as he climbs towards the frenzy. Kissing his mouth I want him to taste me when it comes.  

And it comes like the climax of performance. The show continues. 

The force of his love pushes me into a new position. Upward I find myself looking into the eyes of a madman that has me spread wide open. Roughly he pushes me back until I hit hard. I can feel the top of my head hit the door of the car. With him over the edge I can feel his hand working overtime inside me. It hurts a little but not as much as if he were to stop. I kiss the top of his head and run my free hand through his thick dark hair to encourage. 

I want more. More. A second or third act to satisfy my insatiable desire for more. 

I lift my hand to his face and move the other down below to match his efforts. With my head bent forward against him I lean back against the cool glass of the window. I can feel the wetness of the steam on the bare skin of my legs. He looks up into my eyes before putting his face back into work. I lean into his hair and sniff. Taking in his scent, I press my lips against the side of his neck. Hot warm breath hits his neck as he continues to kiss me. My warm tongue slides around his neck, until finding the beat of his heart. Gently I nurse at his pulse as he rocks against me. Pressing further back. My breath whispering in his ear as he continues.

I like this place we’re in. The sound of things moving with the music of anticipation. Everything is in its right place. Him between my legs. Me reaching down between to help him out. Fingers interlaced. His tangled with mine. Twisted together as they work in unison. Hands gripping me. Wrapped tightly around my leg as he dives in deeper. The movement is intoxicating me. Like a divine wine and I'm savoring the taste of passion that sends my mind winding and spinning like the unyielding blade of a razor in for the kill. 

Across from the red traffic signal. 

Next to the bushes. 

Beneath the broken streetlight. 

Losing myself in a midnight show. 

In the backseat.

songs.

Songs are meant to be sung and listened to. Not locked away without a soul to hear. If you had a song to sing wouldn't you want the world to hear it? No matter the risk. Anyway... A little story to go with an older story... enjoy. kisses. m.


There was a girl who liked to sing. Somewhere along the way she stopped singing and started doing so many other things. Things that were of no consequence. So many unconscionable things that required little vision and stole her heart; leaving her empty inside and hindered from what she ultimately could be. Until one day. One day it came when it was least expected. A strange and familiar feeling crept back into her. A new heart grew where nothing had been for so long. And a resolve slowly filled her mind and the only thing left was to let go of that which did not matter. The inconsequential things of a world that would remain static and fixed. A world unlike her. A world unable to move ahead. The girl could and would move forward and away. With a new heart filled with hope she would find her way without performing those things of little consequence.

Song bird
(6-26-09)

"A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages." Tennessee Williams.

In my gilded cage I sit perched upon my swing. The morning sun illuminates my golden hair and warms my cool skin. The day is quite breath taking and I’ve been so inspired with its beauty that it deserves a lovely song. Without hesitation I’m serenading the flowers and birds with my melody. It isn’t long before I forget my place and fall into a trance with this song. The bars of my prison seem to vanish and I can only imagine that I’m free to walk in the grass and feel the day without my shackles. A loud noise resonates from the other room and I’m clearly reminded of my place. Master is up and moving about the house. He approves of my song this morning otherwise my cage would be covered again. I can only hear him hard at work in the far end of the house.

The sunlight dances through the trees, twinkling as it tumbles down the window sill into my cage. The bars are a beautiful golden honey color, as are the chains that bind me here. In my prison, this oversized bird cage, where I spend my days singing at my master’s beck and call, brushing my long hair and dreaming of my escape. The cage door has no key, lock welded shut. No escape? I wasn’t always a prisoner. Someone loved me once, and called me daughter. It isn’t always clear how I ended up here. But I remember another life before this, how freedom felt as a small child dancing in the sunlight and swinging with the wind in my hair. Its days like this when I’m perched on my swing watching the world pass me by, seeing the life outside the open window that I long for more. I secretly envy the outside and hate myself for desiring my independence. "You can be happy here," My master tells me. "My sweet song bird, you can be happy here. Sing for me." And he has always been so generous to me, as I could not ask for more. But I desire more. Outside. A life out of the cage. "SING to me," he yells from an unknown corner I can not see. Perhaps I’ve been quiet too long. Deep within my thoughts I’ve been plotting my escape.

Night creeps in like a rolling cloud of smoke. Silly master, he drank too much again and is sound asleep next to the cage. He absent mindedly left my cage uncovered. I climb down from my perch and nestle into the velvety pillows and blankets of my bed. Quietly I observe his movements as he sleeps. I can see a tool in his pocket, just within my grasp. I maneuver about the cage and climb up closer towards his chair. My hands find their way through the bars and take the tool. The cage - I’ve strategized many times how I’d escaped if presented with an opportunity. The gold bars surrounding the door are quite breath-taking in the light of dusk. Small fingers find the screws surrounding the hinges of the door and began to turn. Each night for what seems like an eternity I’ve spent at work removing these screws. The screws are very small and it’s unforgiving work for fingers. Master can not see that I’m injured, so very slowly and secretly I’ve removed them one by one. Tonight is the last night only a couple left and I’m working recklessly. Loud. My only fear is that he will catch me and punish me mercilessly. This cage is the only home I can truly remember clearly. He’s been so kind, aside from my freedom, that I’m ungrateful. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m imagining that other place; the one in my dreams, those vivid images that I can almost touch and breathe. The screws are out. He’s awake. I’m down. On goes the cover.

Darkness. Drunk and sleepy. He’s gone off to retire for the night leaving the windows and doors open. The breeze gently blows at the cover. My work is still quite unfinished. The door will not budge without force. I will need something to pry it open. My swing. I climb up and go to work removing more tiny metal brackets. My fingers, red and sore from this tedious work are more and more numb. The swing proves to be an excellent lever. I’m edging the door open bit by bit, pulling and pushing as quietly as I can. One last push will be enough, loud I fear, but enough. And it is. I’m free. But not alone. Someone is on the other side breathing. My master? I can not see. I pause and listen. It’s small. Not human. I climb out and pull at the cover until I find myself face to face with a tiny deer. A doe. It’s unusually docile and unalarmed by my movements. How did she get indoors? My feet reach the end of the line as the slack in my chains quickly tightens. This noise stirs the doe, but not enough to run. She chooses her steps and backs away from me and the cage. I bend down and began to work at removing my shackles.

The night is cool and despite the gentle breeze, unusually still. The doe watches me from across the room. I’ve removed the chains from my feet. I’m terrified and shaking. There is no reason to hesitate. Not anymore. Yet I can only think of this place. My cage, my home and my heart holds a small sadness desiring another song. I mustn’t. I do. The small quiet melody edges out of my throat into the still night. This final goodbye fills the melancholy in my heart. The doe spooks and disappears back into the darkness of the night. The noise echoes in the hall. He rouses. The house lights up and the sound of movement descends from the hall. I have to leave. Out the window I go, creeping into the darkness and the unknown that now decides my fate.

Heart beating, pulse racing, I head into the brush of the woods and discover he’s not far behind. I can hear the roar of his yell and fury in his heart as I run. My head feels like it will explode at any moment, my bare feet endure the harshness of the forest floor as my hands claw over branches grasping towards freedom. I see a small opening in the darkness and climb in. I can only hear my heart and shallow breaths. I no longer hear any movement. Only the stillness of the night – the trees. It seems like an eternity here in my nest, my small quiet hole in the darkness surrounded by the comforting night. Breathe. Freedom. Breathe. Darkness. Breathe. Freedom.... I'm free.

HURT...

Whatever happens in life you should try not to get hurt wherever the journey takes you or hurt someone else. It is the most important thing to do no harm. However, hurt or not, there is always a way to take control of a situation. It requires that people take control of themselves and decide what needs to be done. And whether if it’s what is wanted, sometimes it is the only way that it can happen. to move ahead and live, truly live, you have to let go of something. There is a story I once heard from an older man. I believe it is a Native American legend. I'm uncertain of it's origin but I'll share it with you. In the story a man is forced to decide between two pack of wolves to feed. You see which ever type of wolves he feeds will continue to come back around. So there are the ones that will kill his herd eventually turning on him, or the ones that live on without a bother to him. In essence the man chooses to feed the kind of wolf he wants to stay with him. The story reflects the creatures we all have within us.You see there ones that feed on love, kindness and compassion. The others that feed on greed, hate and destruction. You can choose to continue to feed something that will ultimately destroy you, or you can choose to feed a different type of thing and let it grow into something else. This is an excerpt taken from one story in the series of women. I will not be sharing more here. Hint. Hint. enjoy. kisses. m.

Hurt.

High above, spiraling high above with the greatest of ease the girl on the flying trapeze misses her mark. Rian was always prepared with the knowledge of what may happen yet she knew a thousand and one different ways of knowing couldn’t have prevented the mistake. “You never know when you’ll falter only that it can happen.” Her Papa’s words run through her mind in a split second. Because when a “mistake” happens it comes without warn. Yet the eyes and ears below don’t see the flaw in her movements. Only the lines in her face see it happen as her hands react with purpose.

“Ouch that hurts” Papa says when Rian grabs for his arm. It’s a hard grab that she had not intended to make. Yet it had to be. An action that is clearly painful when she watches his face wince. As the wires tangle all around them mid-air try she tries to tell him “I didn’t mean to” as she only wanted to make sure that he was safe from harm. Unnecessary harm which is inexplicably her fault. Rian knew when she got the timing wrong. It happened just before Papa let go of his swing. In that moment she paused instead of acting.

Tangled and spinning they move off kilter and the “mistake” is hard to miss. The crowd below makes sounds that rise from the slow hum of a whisper to the rich echo of a deafening scream. Papa’s free arm swings recklessly resisting the new direction of movement as he slowly attempts to steady himself. Rian can feel the sensation of gravity shift in the pit of her stomach as they move without proper direction.  Slowly as the air whips through her hair, he spins around to pull himself against her small body.

Tugging, his hurt arm releases its hold and he pulls upward on her torso with a firm intention. Above, the swing propels a constant discarded motion. Dizzy and spinning Rian’s eyes water. She swallows hard against the tightness in her throat and remains firm in her grip. Papa’s weight shifts as his arms find their place next to hers on the swing. Once still, his breathing matches hers as they hang face to face.

The swing remains rocking when he says, “Hurt. I’m hurt.” Before whispering “it’s up to you” he tells Rian what needs to happen and promises not to let go. Despite her overwhelming fear of uncertainty Rian takes action. Carefully her feet step against Papa. One by one, her hands and feet move methodically. Pressing herself upward her tired arms shift to take a hold of the wires. Smooth and cold they glide through Rian’s fingers. Her efforts to climb the swing slow the momentum of motion. Once seated next to Papa’s grip, Rian knows exactly what needs to happen and how to make it happen. The skilled actions of her training slowly take over when she comes to this realization.

The movement and sounds provide the same distraction that is completely irrelevant when Rian takes a hold of the wires and the situation that a thousand and one ways couldn’t have prevented.