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. slow dance .
She'd been introduced as "My Sister" and then had corrected it herself "Mira." "Mira?" "Aamira, Aamira Mendotza" and she'd held out her hand standing awkward and shifting weight from one foot to another. I'd put my glass down and taken her hand in my cold wet one and she'd shivered and grimaced and we'd shaken quickly and released; 'dead fish me' I thought and smiled brightly at her. She was dark all right, that pleasing taffy color that would always look warm and would always color even better in sun. "Pleased ta' meet ya'; I'm Mandy" I'd offered and she'd nodded and looked around the bar in the manner of a stunned mare not quite panicked enough to roll her eyes and start kicking or rearing.
It's a subtle place, nice music, friendly staff, pretty people, good cheap stiff drinks, and some good snacks to gnaw on, girls only and there were quite a few hard girls here to hook up tonight. I'm watching her eyes and head travel around the room never resting, never pausing, jumping from lights to bar to face to dance floor to table to booth to me and stopping now that she knows I'm taking all of it in. I smile again "Take a seat with me for a minute, you'll be less obvious if you use the mirror"; and my eyes gesture left of me to the long high wood cased mirror behind the bar. She relaxes with a small laugh and climbs up beside me with her purse still across her shoulder and clenched in her lap. "Drink?" "Yes please a red wine?" I motion to Jill who's tending this end of the long walnut surfaced bar tonight. Jill's a rocker and has art up her arms and across her chest that proclaim a love for roses, violets, cherubs, leafy vines, and down from her shoulder to her wrist a wrapped score of seven bars from a song I do not know; never asked, never will. "Red for the lady Jill" she nods and stretches up to pull a long stemmed glass from the rack above the bar. Her full white apron, already slightly stained where she wipes her hands, hides the art on her belly, an angel in photorealistic black and sepia that leads down to her Mons. I didn't have to ask her about that one. "You're Silver's sister yeah?" Silver is what I call Rosalina because of the chromed Harley she rides in good weather. Mira nods and stares at me in the mirror; we're avoiding eye-contact and playing detective together tonight. I'm amused, this is what I do in almost every bar where I perch; eye the flow of faces, the movements of bodies, the clothes, arguments, kisses, wandering hands. All reversed and a blur behind me. I'm happy with it.
Jill carries the glass over and places it on a logo'd napkin in front of Mira. I pull a ten out and place it in Jill's open palm as Mira twists and tries to get her fastened Coach bag open. "Thank you" she manages to hushed voice shy at me. "My pleasure Mira." She picks the glass tender between her thumb and first two fingers and spins it slowly as she raises it to her mouth. Silver's lips are thinner and she rarely wears lipstick. A small print is left in evidence as Mira puts the glass back on the napkin. "I don't know what Rosa told you about me …" "Nothing really, said that you might come along since you were in town visiting." She looks uneasy and then lets air out "I'm not gay." I grin and take her uneasiness in 'poor thing, she thinks I'm a hitter and not a baby sitter.' "That's fine Mira, I'm looking for nothing from anyone right now. No expectations, no needs, no disappointments." She turns her head and I'm looking in almost golden eyes, a light brown to match that taffy skin; even webs of light and dark splashed in to the slowly contracting black holes in centers. I see a curved white wide shape reflected; me. She's checking my expression to make sure; she relaxes. "I don't have problems with …" and I interrupt "Mira it's fine, I just don't care; I'm here to sit and watch and maybe dance a little; Friday right?"
She laughs and unstraps the bag from her shoulder, settling in. Silver is madness on the floor; she's got a buff body with long sharp muscle definition, a short mop of black hair cut with blunt edged ends, black leather skin tight slacks and a ripped and cut bare belly T that she's shaking her small tits under at a series of other girls. Silver lights up any place and I'm glad she's a friend; her angers are awesome and loud and always involve damage. Mira takes another swallow of the red, it's a good red a Portuguese one that brings memories of hot summers and cold ocean waters on stony shores. The light glints through the curved glass and moving fluid red and puts rubies across the soft white of my hand on the burled flow of wood beneath where it lays palm up on the bar. I close my fingers to catch a jewel and watch the light play on my knuckles and nails. Looking in the mirror I see Mira looking down at my hand. "What do you do Mira?" "What? Oh, I work for an online production group. We do media stuff." I think of Blue Ant from Gibson's works. "Media? Advertising? Flash stuff?" "Lately I've been on a project with that sort of work yes; I work with artists in music, literature, visuals; package it and set up distribution sites to attract attention." 'Yep Blue Ant.' "What do you do Mandy?" "Oh mostly I'm a woman of leisure, you know, sit around eating chocolate and reading. Watch films." Her interest wanes. That's okay because I'm not ready for the lit push with this girl. I'm her nanny tonight not someone who wants to woo her with verse. 'Hell she's read and heard and seen enough of it by now anyway.' I have no urgency left about my work; it comes without control, be like stopping a storm; I do not worry about the blocks; they are moments to clean and launder and always short and interrupted by phrases that appear at the ends of my tongue and finger tips. "Do you travel a lot for your work Mira?" "Yes though I do get to stay for a while with clients, usually for a week or two at the most." "Where to?" "I just finished a project out in LA and now I'm heading to London. I'll leave the day after tomorrow." "Ahh, yeah."
Silver appears, over heated and with a college girl in tow. "We're gonna go down to the Burbon and have some food; you wanna join or stay here Mira?" Mira looks at me closer, turning slowly to face her sister. "I think I'll stay here for a while, Mandy can walk me down later okay?" I nod in expectation. A different song comes up on the jukebox and I want to stretch. "Dance?" She looks uncomfortable, I take her purse and put it on the bar and Jill makes it disappear. I look in her eyes and I touch her hand and slide it into mine and draw her forward. She's only a tiny bit taller, so the pace is good and the fit is perfect. Close I can smell the clean skin beneath the Juicy La La she is wearing. My hands are on her shoulders and hers on my waist. Fluids, we move together. Dim light, dreams of befores and nows. She smiles.
© Amanda 2013 2.11.2013
Image: "first light" by
for Megan Sophie
.April ending.
.April ending.
Twitter™ is also like this, her search through detritus layers of life; linear in procedure. Time as lines, the TL: a wanted sequence for us to cling to even knowing the quantum cosmology of particle and wave mechanics. Twitter does not randomly present us. Neglecting even the theme sequence groupings which is a more likely portrayal of our natures.
It is left to us to paint our own contrails.
Across her words lay themes, not necessarily unique or original, but hers. An underlying hum of message machinery, not to be heard but sensed, felt.
The longing for the extraneous 'power' to which we cling, adhere, our desire fo
. backgrounds .
. backgrounds .
eat me play me
.
"And it feels as though God has abandoned you … in a stark place."
-A. Christie-
.
.
An arrangement of pieces, choreography of accidental encounters each of which denied them a presence or indicated any possible progress.
.
I do not command, I obtain.
.
She'd belittled the Plath of me, that small measure which i yet adored; that then, became a tipping point in our conjectured inevitability.
.
in crush
you lick
the soil soul of
my backgrounds
.
I'll make you quiet.
.
slicing through the young
smiling
alcohol ghost
.
I'll make you run.
.
driv
.upon surrender.
.upon surrender.
.
... only she knows ...
.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
E.Bishop
.
i sang
.
touch stones without remark tumbled
one after another
pathway footsteps
unnoted
one
after
another
no clack of disapprovals shed
one after another
creek bed’s
surrender
ocean’s
slickened
staid
.
as though i were an insult though they never spat me out
as though i were a crime they'd committed in dead of night
as though i were several different outfits now out
.last love.
.last love.
.
Why?
because i want to see beautiful things
think beautiful things
dream beautiful things
.
.
Oh they're running t'old steam engine tour train through t'valley today. God i wish i was having coal smoke and burning cinders blowin in my face. *picturing the screaming flaming tourists beating each other*
Fuck me with a jackhammer humans ARE the funniest damn creatures. Mom to six year old child "Hurry honey get that pretty summer frock on, we've got to catch the open air tour train!" Two hours later the scorched-hair tour family clambers offa the Old Timey tour train ... "Now wasn't THAT fun!"
And you know what REALLY ma
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© 2013 - 2024 Amanda-Graham
Comments11
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Wow! Your descriptions are exquisite....seriously...that word just slid right into the blank...love: her angers are awesome and loud and always involve damage...and...I do not worry about the blocks; they are moments to clean and launder and always short and interrupted by phrases that appear at the ends of my tongue and finger tips....and...fuck it...all of it.