menace out the words

Night was a primordial soup. The air thick and gooey. He’d read that before–primordial soup. Those two excellent words were not his and he was quite saddened they were lifted from a cartoon strip. Maybe the attractive wife, shiny kids, house with extra garage for the little black topless number he’d been eyeing were animation too. Scrawl the word, “Poof!” in a bubble and it all disappears. They said Xander’s life was pretty fucking great. As pricey home accessories go, primo thermal panes deflected more than fictitious words. Why was the bedroom so hot? Should have sprung for the extra ac ports instead of the additional garage back then, but dreams had been bigger. Dreams–another funny, funny word–not his either. 3:45 AM red clock lines are lasering his black eyes.

The pile of sweating printer paper to the far corner (he read manuscripts best touching them) reminds him of Sheeba’s crap. The load pile he left on Gallagher’s lawn yesterday. Xander pulls on his elbow flesh attempting to loosen the joints. Scratches his stubble. Earlier that day, he’d given his “newest” main character a granite jaw. This writer required all swarthy protagonists possess granite jaws and steel intentions. Formulaic. Their banter, intentions, desires followed the pyramid scheme, the Venn diagram, the bulleted list. Xander might have died with the last square-jawed warrior he didn’t have the balls to kill off. He wasn’t sure. Book line can’t end there. He’d bowed low to the laminated dollar signs with matte finish.

Out of bed, quietly. Don’t want to initiate any launch sequence. He’s not feeling real manly right now. Brazilian rainforest frames embracing the writer’s bestsellers follow him along the stair decent. Sheeba the damn dog is sleeping soundly on the cool kitchen floor. Xander grunts at the irony and wonders what Might Dog tastes like. Doesn’t smell bad. He yanks open the french doors. Despite his steaming bedroom, the night air is less thick down on the deck. The moonlight is heavier than usual. Coyotes from the distant treeline start screaming like babies tearing each other apart. Their wails of whatever it is coyotes do at 4 AM are unsettling. Distractions. New lines, Xander–got any in you? Virgin phases for a granite jaw to utter before dancing the penis limbo atop the next gorgeous babe he will conquer with his humble, yet mesmerizing gaze. Oh Xander, do you really still write this crap?

Xander sinks into a recently purchased Alizarin Agio patio chair. His eyes close. The bright moonlight makes him see floaters behind his lids. The squirming strings look like disoriented sperm with flailing kite tails.  Lines, Xander. Okay let’s try this–protagonist has the lime eyes of a panther and wavy hair, blacker than the Pacific’s bottom. Italian silk suits are unable to conceal the perfect muscles chiseled from marble. Powerful, square hands–leftovers from a woebegone era when men wore fedoras like kings–grasp a government revolver. He prowls up to the back of the ignorant perp and prepares to pounce. Then, like a great jungle cat grabbing its prey’s jugular, Zeeke Crystal’s angular mouth menaces out the words, “If I decide to leave your body parts intact, they love sweet new asses where you’re goin’…”

My name is Xander Miles. And yes, I still write this crap.

Lioness after Lunch/Prisma

early 2000’s while still chasing my kiddies around outside, I drew batches of wildlife images with Prisma on black construction paper–unlike writing, drawing allowed me to start and stop and start and stop with no loss of thought process- Happy Monday, thank you

words are never empty

empty words
no such things
words have never been
and can never be empty
heavy, yes
thick, cumbersome
devoid of life
platitude dense
all these things words can be
but never empty
they are full
sometimes so much
their very weight
drags inspired arms
to the floor
gentle hands
lose hopeful grip
souls, hearts
cannot defend themselves
against cutting letters
so don’t ever tell me of empty words
there are only hollow thoughts
where your heavy words
have collapsed

Harem Eyes

Harem Eyes

art previously published

I’m Getting a Blogtox Injection

Dear Friends,
I don’t know exactly when it’s going to happen – perhaps by week’s end – but my site will be down temporarily. If all goes according to plan, I should return in a day or two. If my blogtox injection goes south, things may take a bit longer. I’m having a lovely, straightforward and user-friendly redesign done. The most important aspect of the revision is the pulldown menu for my artwork and writing. You fabulous people can simply go to the pulldown menu to view art that’s been in my posts and other misc. pieces. The writing portion will take a bit longer to set up. I’d like to place portions of manuscripts there.

I’m hoping and dreaming (mostly because I can’t sing like Maria ‘Meneghini’ Callas or play my new banjo) to have some artwork published, before I hit an age where my children fight over whose turn it is to visit me in the ‘home’… Right now I have one concept for a children’s book and another concept for an adult ‘whimsical’ art book. I’d like to send ‘publishers’ and other interested nice folks to my site where artwork and writing can be viewed..
Desire, diligence, dreaming and duck luck will decide my fun future fate…

Blogtox

Blogtox

Until then, I’ll continue posting and dreaming that you continue visiting. You know how I adore your wonderful companionship. I’ll do my best to visit you as well (assuming I haven’t thrown my MacBook out the window) 🙂
Thank you…

 

Seeing through the Flog

It is Valentine’s Day 2014. Outside is covered in snow too deep to even call it a blanket – it’s more like one of those comforters you start to shop for when you’re nearing 50 ’cause you’re always cold except on the nights you rip all the covers off ’cause your beyond human sweat.

Truth be told this is my second attempt at blogging. I began a blog 2 years ago (if I remember correctly) but stopped, fearing I didn’t quite grasp the medium. Here I am two years later hoping I’m a wee bit smarter because I read a blog book and watched WP tutorials. My fifteen-year old daughter can’t believe my tech ignorance at times, but in those moments I gently remind her how I helped her with some HS art projects  ’cause that’s what comes naturally to me. My thirteen-year old son will simply sigh and return to playing Xbox (during his alotted time of course!).

I’ve written over nine manuscripts (submitted to the big houses and have built an extensive rejection file thick enough to be used as booster seat – I did get a few second reads – those positive rejections have kept me writing), I draw and paint, sometimes attempt poetry, I now write a little monthly column for my local paper, I enjoy coming up with catchy slogans or images on tees, – in short, I’m all over the place and my places aren’t always connected. This new blog, anntogether is my best hope for getting all the things I love in one place while reading and seeing and enjoying what others do in this ginormous, creative community.

So here’s to a day of love, snow-shoveling and thinking good thoughts.

ps Please bear with me on my blog’s nakedness. I hope to add picts and color…as I go…