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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/14/2013 :  19:07:27  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Santa Ana blush in the room. Apricot flush in the mirror. The mountains igniting behind them. Their deckle edge rising in flames. Dazzle of sky before the blinds close. Sun-stung cheeks and let-down hair in a tangle. Fire weather.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 10/15/2013 :  00:24:49  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
After 42 e-mails and the support of friends
and record labels, Youtube has reinstated my channel.
I'm relieved, tired, happy.

Roisin
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=73EOqthFopQ
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San Diego
Swinger

509 Posts

Posted - 10/15/2013 :  18:18:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wonderful news! Persistence pays.
Doug, thank you for your kindness...and all you do for the Porch. Love, Ro
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Jonmark
Windchimer

USA
1791 Posts

Posted - 10/15/2013 :  21:13:10  Show Profile  Visit Jonmark's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wonderful news...
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Joe Z
Windchimer

USA
1819 Posts

Posted - 10/16/2013 :  11:10:20  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Great news, Doug. The Force is with you.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/19/2013 :  18:18:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
A convergence of freeways beside the Blue Shade Motel. "...cloverleaf opportunity..." he said, his mind already out there racing that fast car. Spangled windshield on a glass-edged road. Mica-bright air and sun-bent flowers. The tumbleweed still rooted and green. The wind farms day-long shadows. Mornings they'd wake up plucky and luck-bound. It was love. It was not safe.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2013 :  21:05:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
He picks up the brush and paints the gravity necessary to hold them in place. She has no plot but to keep him alive.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/29/2013 :  18:45:15  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
There was a marble I worked with called Raspberry Lights. A stone so beautiful clients would press the platter-size sample to their chests the way girls used to carry their school books. A vanilla field with a mist of raspberry shot through. The vanilla was creamy and the raspberry transparent with some blur at the edge. I carried a sample with me for luck. A domestic quarry so no "on the water" story. No "...lost coming around the Cape..." or, "...you know that hurricane off Point so-and-so, well..." An invincible stone until the last time I called to order and they told me...the vein had run out.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/29/2013 :  19:57:32  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...an' the odd one up on twenty-four who picks up her mail around midnight.."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 10/29/2013 :  20:00:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Wind in the chimes and the moon's slanted silver. Starry tears and ruby-stung ears. Her bell-tied shoes waterlogged. Crazy rain here. Come home.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 11/01/2013 :  19:14:38  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Wake up in the middle of the night..." He believes in the revelation in dreams. In sleep's informative power. He expects a certain finish by now. Something to show for all those put-away pages. Shovel work. Sore shoulders.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/03/2013 :  13:40:42  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

This old country is not healthy
The orchards have grown bare
And the woman at the well, she
Can't find water anywhere
She is old and suffers blindness
And she does not hear us sing
All she answers to is kindness
That's the water you must bring

DL

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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/10/2013 :  02:55:31  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply

She's say it's her lucky day. Kisses me. Smiles.
I don't get it. Her lucky day? I must be in heaven.
Must be. All that way around the world she's come.
Trailing tears, but looking ahead with dreams that
won't die. I didn't think I'd ever feel this way,
ever again. It's her lucky day? Sure, I tell her,
kiss her back, laugh until I'm jiggling.
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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/11/2013 :  01:20:06  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
HAUNT

We walk rain-shined street up the hill together
to our night haunt, BREKA, the place that never
closes. We can vouch for that.

Students with lap-tops spread their papers,
an older Indian couple shares red velvet cake,
a kid reads a book called DEAR LIFE.

We order two coffees, one decaffeinated. She
stirs honey into hers. We sit reading a book
about ROSE CHERAMIE, sharing a butterfly cookie.

A woman from Mashhad and a man from Moose Jaw
hold hands under the table, discuss the meaning
of the word NEFARIOUS.

DL


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buckman
Firefly

USA
2825 Posts

Posted - 11/12/2013 :  17:10:56  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Shades of 63:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lD-WNWVEtgE


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Doug L
Firefly

Canada
5446 Posts

Posted - 11/26/2013 :  06:51:11  Show Profile  Visit Doug L's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
That last part of Cormac McCarthy's 'No Country For Old Men',
the book and the movie both, where the aging sheriff, Ed Tom,
chooses life (to cup and protect what little fire is left)
rather than to risk it all to continue after Chigurh.

Momma, take this badge off of me / I can't use it anymore /
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see / I feel I'm knockin' on
heaven's door..."

I figure that's as good an image as any for what has happened
to a lot of us who were young in the sixties, who chased
something through the decades since, a dream later transformed
through the dark truth of time into an assassin...

And as the day bends down into night, we turn and look around
at our loved ones and realize they're about all there is of
home anymore...
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Craig
Firefly

Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts

Posted - 11/28/2013 :  01:54:33  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
quote:
Originally posted by Doug L



I figure that's as good an image as any for what has happened
to a lot of us who were young in the sixties, who chased
something through the decades since, a dream later transformed
through the dark truth of time into an assassin...

And as the day bends down into night, we turn and look around
at our loved ones and realize they're about all there is of
home anymore...




Reflections.

I was born in a shotgun shack
That leaned against a railroad track
I could hear the whistle blow
All the way to Del Rio

I was turning seventeen
When I packed up my hopes and dreams
Loaded my old beat up car
Turned the key and burned the tar

I burned that highway down in '59
Yes I burned that two-laned highway down in 1959
I never did look back I did not see that railroad track
But I burned that highway down in '59

Winter came in sixty-five
I fought the cold to stay alive
And when I tried to light a fire
I was burned by my desire

Winter came in sixty-five
I fought the cold to stay alive
And when I tried to light a fire
I was burned by my desire

There I was at twenty-four
Faded dreams and nothin' more
So I hit the road again
Oh that road its back my friends

The seventies were kind to me
I was young and I was free
Had it all and then some more
I could walk through any door

Then a star at eighty-three
Caught me too far out to sea
I hit a reef and I ran aground
On the streets of Guitar Town

I burned that highway down in '89
Yes I burned that four-lane highway down in 1989
And I never did look back
I could not see those railroad tracks
Burned that highway down in '89

I can hear my momma pray
Prayin' for a better day
I can hear my Daddy say
Honey I will find a way

He worked his fingers to the bone
To make that shotgun shack a home
He kept his sadness deep inside
He had that dream the day he died

I burned that highway down in '59
Burned that dirt road highway down in 1959
I never will look back when I don't see that railroad track
I burned that highway down in '59

So now keep my soul to the Hotel California
I get lost to the Mason Dixon Line
I have run there with a lady East of Eden
And I burned that highyway down in '89
Yes I burned that highway down in '89

I have run there with a lady East of Eden
I burned that highyway down in '89
Yes I burned that highway down in '89

Edited by - Craig on 11/28/2013 01:56:37
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 11/30/2013 :  16:08:06  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Promissory notes. Stories I tell the Sheriff.

I lived on a green street under a canopy of trees. Across the Sound city lights shone in November through chill air where there used to be Summer leaves. A skyline beyond the strict branches that beckoned with childhood memories. "Laugh before breakfast, cry before bedtime," Brigid McCleary's admonishment along with toast and a three-minute egg. Brigid was brought over from Clonakilty Cork to be my nanny. A kind-hearted woman who wore dense cotton stockings and sensible shoes. She'd dab at her eyes with embroidered handkerchiefs describing my "disgraceful deportment" to my patient father who'd nod and say, "...there, there, now, Brigid..." in his killer brogue. I was too curious to be a good child. I grew up in hotels hiding under the linen-draped banquet tables observing the grown-up world knee-high. When I finally got out on the street I found life in the library stacks and Village coffeehouses. In the cluttered markets and open cellar doors, the fire escapes wrapped in militant ivy...

Outside the light is leaking out of the sky and late commuters are rushing to catch the Coaster. He leans forward on the table and pushes the cups aside, "...go on," he says, "...keep talkin'..." Unreliable twilight making it impossible to read his expression.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 12/05/2013 :  19:09:22  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She's used to his directness and intense blue gaze. They're in a club in crowded midtown where music is playing in a downstairs room all smoke and tiny tables. Neon sheen on rain-slick street at eye level through the grated window. Dark cars and taxi's idling at the curb. "...nothing sinister or impossible to sleep with...just vagabond memories. A restlessness that defies explanation. Safe in the tunnels where it was always night. Bright light anonymity. Rush and hustle. Violets and pretzels and Mont Blanc pens. Everything you needed in the subways..."
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Ailinn
Windchimer

2196 Posts

Posted - 12/08/2013 :  01:29:23  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"...and after?..." he says. She's polishing the gravestones in Eden. "After the accident I was marched into Saint Pat's in my new school uniform Friday afternoons for Confession. I was nine with small opportunity for sin. I watched the other girls to see how long they stayed in the box. "Bless me, Father...." I said. "For your Penance, then, three Hail Mary's. Now make an Act of Contrition." Always the same three. Like a recipe or a prescription. I liked the Cathedral smell. The blue shadows. The banked votives and high-wheel chandeliers. The reassuring round-the-clock traffic. But I was sent to an archaic upstate town where I caught pneumonia and spent Christmas leaning over a croup kettle coughing. The voice in my head said 'run'. I became a diligent runaway until transferred to an orphanage near public transportation and a train across the Park. The same three Hail Mary's wiped the slate clean every weekend. Like fog or breath from a mirror. Winter-dark days when I felt grace raining down on me." He's quiet for several moments, then, "Were you lonely?" "I was wary," she says. He says, "...your hands are cold..."
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