The Only Constant is Change

June 7th, 2012

Lots of stuff on my mind today. I’ll break it up into two short posts and one long post.

First things first. I now have all my ebooks up on the Erotica Collections Page. And they are all available in print over at HP Magcloud. I’ll be doing an anthology of all of them soon, as well.

I sent an email to my best friend this week entitled: The only constant is change. Things are changing in my world again, and not all of it is mine to tell. So, I’ll stick to what is. Schedules have been rearranged and I’m back to my old night with him. I always liked the reasoning for having had that night. Go home with him after playing at practice. And I agree, that some nights, having to go home to an empty bed has been quite hard. So, that will be nice to have again.

It also means a night to myself once a week (and one for himself, too). Which I haven’t had in quite some time. I’m told this is bad(that I haven’t had one). I know I’m not taking care of myself as well as I should be. Sure, I have tons of time alone during the week, when I’m not working on a day. But I generally spend that time on the computer and/or in front of the TV. And while this is fun, and productive, it’s not especially healthy, or care-taking. So, my plan, as of now, is to spend time taking care of myself. To spend time walking around in parks out of doors. To take a few bubble baths. To find somewhere I can go stargazing. To relax, unplug and unwind.

I saw a meme the other day about things not to say to an artist. One of them was about how nice it must be not to have to work. I admit, I’m far more lazy than most artists, and with all the stress and crazy going on in my life, writing has been far harder than it ought to be, and I’m doing far less that I want to be. So, I’m hoping to find my center again, and get the creative juices flowing more easily. As well as, have more energy to put into my relationships, and life in general.

 

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Drumbeats

January 5th, 2012

Just let go. Let it all go. Just be who you want to be, be who you are, deep down inside. Let the beast out. Let the animal play. Don’t think, don’t rationalize or make excuses. Just do it.

She had arrived, there was no going back. The forest loomed black before her, she stepped out of her shoes, slipped off her socks and let her feet sink into the soft grass. Her coat fell from her shoulders as she let her head fall back. The stars above looked down at her, unblinking. She tossed her shirt aside and stepped out of her shorts.

And then she was running. Into the forest, into the night. She could hear the others, ahead, behind, to either side. All of them running with abandon. It was a night for the wildness. It was a night to be with the Earth and the Nature and the Beast.

Ahead there was fire. In the center, far from the world, crackling in the night. They made for it. Drawn to the light, the warmth, each other. Breaking through the trees, they found it.

Clasping hands, wrapping arms around each other. Greeting with hugs and kisses and strokes and bites. They crushed their flesh together, breathed and touched and tasted each other. All around the circle of fire, greeting everyone, touching everyone. Groups formed and broke apart in waves. No one spoke, this was not a night for words, only actions.

The fire-maker picked up his drum and began to play. The greetings began to change. Their bodies moving to the beat. Groups spread into a circle, hands or arms linked. And they began to dance. It was not uniform, there was no ritual, but the beat moved them all together. They turned about the flames, feet kicking, arms swinging, voices raising in wordless song.

The fire-maker, now drummer, picked up the beat, pounded away to the rhythm of their hearts. Spiraling higher and higher, the dancers filling in with the music of their bodies. Clapping, stamping, slapping and singing to the pull of the drum. Faster and faster, until they all crashed together again with a shout of pure ecstasy that filled the entire forest.

The drummer picked out a different beat, slower and heavier. They stepped apart, finding the rhythm alone or in pairs. Moving with purpose and showing the story of their hearts. Pulling out pain and worry, dancing it into the ground and the fire. Throwing stress into the air, to be carried off by the night wind. Tears fell, screams tore the air, the drummer beat on.

Their steps grew lighter. Their movements less strained. The drummer lifted his tone. The beats came softer, faster. They drew together again, joining hands and raising voices. The circle fully joined, they began to move together, hands raised, around the fire. Tears still fell, but the voices were filled with joy. The drum beat waned and the circle came to a gentle stop.

Breaking apart. Touching again. Hugging each other close. Pressing hearts together to share their joy. Kissing deeply to share their passion. Stroking skin to share their energy. The drummer picks up again, pulling on their energy to find a beat. Following instead of leading.

There is no dancing now. They find each other. Pulling to each other. Touching, feeling, sharing. Kissing, hugging, stroking. Letting go and being with each other. They find the ground, dirt and grass, and they are part of it. Bodies lying on the earth, bodies lying with each other. The drum their communal heartbeat.

Hours later, they lie still. All together, all touching. The drum is silent, the drummer has joined them. They stare up at the sky, the trees, the fire. They are part of it all. Part of the earth and the forest and the universe. Part of each other. Here and now, nothing else matters.

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