just in time for Halloween
I’m honored to be included in Chicago Literati, with my flash piece, The Dipping Bread
I hope you enjoy reading, as much as I enjoy writing about vampires and their victims 😘
I have conspired with a literary den-of-thieves to make you desire Them
To entwine your soul in Their stronghold of rampant lust and brute strength
Inescapable wide-eyed innocence will burn away the layers of mistrust
One decadent love bite to draw out your pulsing demons–
those that made your flesh crawl and quiver, long before They arrived
By high mindedness of the amber moon chained by gravity–
I call to sisters across ocean and earth
Fly beyond otherworldly barriers–
keep your diaphanous forms from heaving bound werewolves
I summon, for both your sake and mine
You see, they were born of necessity and likened to mankind’s crucible–
monsters, beasts, leviathans, introverts, extroverts, banshees
Welcome Their rounded limbs to engorge your body with Godlike fear
Wretch you will, over and again until there is nothing to the insides
but your blood
As Her beautiful teeth impale your flesh, you float among the stars
You collapse, the agony of life fades into a dull memory
The tide eventually finds you and we float into the universe
Aren’t they worth dying for…
This is the question. I won’t beat it under the fridge, the place you’ve been meaning to clean but never do. Why should you? It is disgusting, but who the hell sees it. My question to you, WHY? Why do you build a wall into a home, brick by brick, then let underneath the fridge go lousy. Why do I sit in this damn basement and pretend I know what I’m doing. Someday, I say it will matter. My name, is it something now, to me. It’s the birth name I was given. I play it like Cher and tweak it like Madonna, but I keep Vito and Carmella in my thoughts. Single names do not slow the world down. It is nice pretending for awhile, until the day arrives when you pound your head on the kitchen table trying to scare up the next big creative idea. Your throbbing skull is parallel with the floor–you see disgusting, grey fluffy shit under the fridge.
This is the question. You decide you’re going to clean beneath the fridge. WHO? Who will move the icebox from the spot where its metal weight has rooted down the corners. How much crap is actually under there. Is any of it alive. Does it matter. You will get a burly friend to help you. Or a thin-armed neighbor with a hand truck. Perhaps, emboldened by the decision to clean, you decide to pull its immensity away from the wall all by yourself. Crap. The wall behind the fridge will also have to be cleaned. That’s right. There is always something you didn’t plan for. But while the frigid monstrosity is vulnerable, it makes the utmost sense to scrape the wall scum off too. The fridge won’t miss its 5 o’clock shadow.
This is the question. You’ve gone and done it. Beneath the fridge is as fresh as a baby’s bathed bottom and you have accomplished a grand feat. There is power in your muscle and clean pride in your dirty soul. You can take on the world or any number of small creative endeavors. These little bursts of artful energy might just have walls of scum behind them. Imagine how you might feel, reaching those walls. WHY? Why didn’t you just clean beneath the damn fridge all those years ago when you first noticed the shit beneath it.
And this person (who has admittedly not cleaned beneath her fridge) has created vamp/alien no 4 – dark as a fridge’s underbelly, where no sun can shine
Another school year is coming to a close. Another year of substitute teaching done and over. Before the year completely ends, I’d like to share an old post written last year when some fifth grade boys were concerned that their substitute teacher was a vampire…
Interview With Miss A (Vampire)
Having blood-sucking on the brain (and not because of the Twilight saga–though I’ll admit I enjoyed), I searched my studio folders for Him. I scoured my old Prentice Hall, graphic files. When I was a newbie Mac user learning Adobe Illustrator, I drew everything using old-fashioned, hand/eye coordination with a mouse and a prayer.
That year I’d also read, Interview With The Vampire by the immortal’s mortal, Anne Rice. Her words were composed of cold flesh. Blood flowed between the rivers of white on her pages. I hated Ms. Rice. I was in awe of Ms. Rice. This ‘Interview’ creeped me out like no other book… Everywhere I traveled, Lestat stalked me with his mesmerizing lost eyes, black sinewy veins and pale moon skin.
He was one of my first ventures into computer portraiture. I had no choice but to create Him. He wouldn’t leave my mind. He was a tormenting fellow. He’d bite me nightly and I suffer daily for it. He was the awesome Vampire Lestat. Once I created Him, He no longer haunted my dreams.
I was recently subbing in a fifth grade class. At lunchtime, I noticed a handful of lads with perplexed expressions staring at me. I approached the group to make sure everything was okay. One boy–the ring leader–studied me a moment before asking, “Miss A, are you a vampire?”
Before I could respond he continued, “Why do you have such sharp black eyebrows, long black hair and pointy teeth?” (for the record, my incisors are a tad sharp-looking).
I jokingly responded, “YES!” But, then quickly clarified, “Just kidding, boys,” when they started wrapping napkins around their jugulars. The last thing I needed was for a child to go home and say, “my sub was a vampire,” even if it was kinda funny.
Later, I contemplated what the fifth grader had asked me. I thought about the boys’ nervous little expressions–and I honestly wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or insulted.
uncle vam – prisma blood-sucked to life a few months back, previously published