Saturday, March 27, 2010

Evidence of Greatness

Leaping up and around, she settles into the room by taking her a-symmetrical jacket off. She is smooth like a glass of J Lohr. She doesn’t seem to get twisted in anybody else’s moments, only her own. The moments may be divine if she chooses them to feel that way. Clicking of the clock the arms strike 9:43pm. A step is taken backwards into the real future of her dreams.

Her gloves are red leather; they show that sex, sexuality and intelligence is worn confident. So her tits weren’t as perky as the white girl with the great gleuts at the gym. Fuck that. She rowed just as hard to get ahead. For sometimes it felt like there were a million bright ideas dancing in her head and highlighters were meant to scribble them out. She rode harder than a horse.

The tap of a finger on glass echoes alongside the sound of others laughter. A smile appears on her face. Her laughter fills inside her breasts, her eyes as well. If she were a star she knows it would be a bright one. She came from the past.

Thursday, March 25, 2010


If one journey is about to end, is it only natural that another begins? Each day we spend so much of our time dedicating ourselves to our employers. Yes, the place that most of us spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and others even more. I have never stayed in one place for too long, that is the way that my jobs have unraveled before me. Some would say that I am a woman of many hats that is driven by my passion to support the arts and artists.

I have never been someone who won't accept a new challenge, or go somewhere that is outside of my acquired skill sets. I think it is good to push yourself to be the best that you can be professionally, to learn by watching those who are experts in their fields--while also spending time becoming better at what it is that you have been given the responsibility of doing.

There is a fine line that needs to be drawn when is comes to your self-respect and your workplace. You see, I know that I am not just a menial worker who pushes button and delivers good without never knowing what is in the package. As I have grown older I have come to see that I no longer want to just work for an organization that utilizes me but that also values me.

I really appreciate the independence that has emerged for me as a part-time freelance worker, I am the master of my own will. This is a very empowering and testing position to be in; essentially the time and effort you put in as a freelancer drives only your personal results, not that of another's organization. I encourage all creative minds, those with a passion that they have buried because they became a part of the Borg collective to remember who they are. Make time to fulfill your dreams the way you had thought of seeing them being realized when you were a youth and saw yourself in the future. Now is the future, you hold the power. Make that change.

Friday, March 12, 2010

14 Minutes

This wasn’t the time to dick around. “I want you to fuck me go good,” she said. I planned on it. I had sat there all day in my own wetness, with thoughts of her hot yoga body pressed all against my breathing skin. I had fantasized of her on top of me, her stomach erect towards the ceiling and her beautiful pink breast bouncing from side to side. I would glimpse to the side to see her tattooed leg and that would make me even more in the zone. She says to me “feel how wet I am,” and I let her slide my hand down her thighs and I know when I have hit the wetland of her call. She is soaking, she is dripping. She moans to me, “this is what you do to me.” I reply, “oh god.” I growl and I feel such an cannibalistic urge to want to pound her pussy and have her cream all over my hand, swallow her whole. I slip one finger into her, spreading her voluptuous vagina lips and the warmness quickly causes me to want more. More feel, more motion, I wanna taste her all over my face. “You do me so good, ya baby,” she mumbles as I watch her beautiful stomach pace in and out. I breathe in her scent, it smells like raw sex. “I wanna eat you,” she says, but I refuse. I wanna please her, she is pleasing me by just laying there with her beautiful body unveiled to my pressing desires. I can feel the moisture tipping my clit as I slide in and out of her glorious insides. I can’t take it anymore, I flip her on to her back, if I am gonna fuck her, I am gonna do it deeply and softly, just like she wants it. I hear her say my name and I tense my back into an arch, I know she likes seeing my big tits dance across her chest. I work her up a little more before it is time to go down, down to the place where all life begins, down to the place where I drink the substance that retains life in all my functions. I giggle, she looks up. “Now,” I tell her, “I am going to make you cum like a bitch.” 14 minutes later my promise is realized with her beautiful release and the words “baby I love you so much.”

Thursday, March 11, 2010

An Imperfect Heritage

Augmented, fragmented, forever protection.
Yelling, stirring, frustration, irritation.
Falling flowers, mimicking features.
Flaring noses, feeding 6 mouths.
Wooden table, a box of wine.
Crooked suspenders, feet tapping to a beat.
She needs more tender love.
Memorizing, forgetting, forgiving.
Brothers, Sisters, Mother, Father.

The Hike

Miles and miles are traveled over a lifetime. Miles and miles are never seen. The powdered snow leads a path into the forest, astray from the noise of the city, open to natures arms. The silence holds still and all that is heard is the sound of rustling leaves and footsteps that tread forward with curiosity. I manage to walk with more freedom in my conviction, the air is as fresh as the spring rain caressing the tips of an orange gerber flower opening her smile to reach towards the sun. Here I have come to escape, here I have come to escape the movements of shadows that hustle down common, dirty streets, streetcars passing by with no regard for who they carry. A moment of meditation catches me when I feel exhilarated by the climbs that steps ahead of me. I am tired, my feet are sore but she keeps pushing me to go forward without looking back. I slide over my sunglasses and I am instantly blinded by the sharpness of the suns rays that bounce off the untouched snow. This is not the moment to feel anything, instead it is an opportunity to marvel at all the living nature that feels alive itself. Sometimes I forget to cherish all the beauty that exists without needing to be stroked or raised. The resiliency of this iron solitude shows the wisdom that is held in the branches of each tree, the truth that is open to the sky by each blade of grass. Red, purple, green, white and blue. We may describe our sentiments in colour and in creationism colours really do exist as true. I look up and watch the trees as they sway with mood, the unevenness of the hills that lay ahead and remain uncompromisingly smooth. I find myself drifting in and out of my body, it is not the time to feel tired now. She has welcomed me to walk through her glory and across her chest. She has asked me to remember the eternity of life and its ability to water our minds. I am tired but I feel alive. The sweat that drips down my brow, I feel the shortness of breath that gasps in my throat with me. I take away with me the silence of her call even on the loudest of days.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Mistress of the Kitchen

She feeds me with so much food for thought. Watching her in the kitchen is much like watching a genius painter plan colour palettes for a next masterpiece. Chopping and slicing, stirring and pinching, she manages to somehow make my mouth water at the thought of having her tastes in my filled cheeks. I watch from the couch as she fiddles around and sculpts her creation of the day. Walnuts, mushrooms (because she knows they are my favourite) kale, nutmeg, tomatoes, spinach, olive oil, pumpkin seeds, garlic and glutton-free pasta she reveals in excited banter to me, are just a few of the features that excite the plate that is soon to be marked with the devouring of my spoon. I never thought a white woman would be able to make soul food, but that is what she whips up, it's true! Even after a long day of work she will come through the door, take off her backpack and shoes, not relax for a moment and cook with passion and devotion healthy jewels. I try and tell her how much I enjoy her cooking, however I am not sure how much she really gets how much I really do. Her cooking is my favourite. The palette of flavours are as sophisticated as her in a Banana Republic high-waisted black skirt with white pearl earrings that were once worn by her lovely grandmother. The essence of taste that seeps into your cheeks are as delightful as her laughter when I tickle her at night.

I think her food bares the beauty of her soul in solid form. I smile all way to work when I carry her heartfelt lunch in my bag. Embarrassingly, I get giddy at my desk when I think of what maybe inside. Her recipes have me greedily satisfied. She is more sweet a pepper than I could ever ask for. Only her menu make my tastes bud.

I open the fridge door when she is not there and everything seems stale before being touched by her magical hands. She maybe vegan, yes that means no animal products at all, but the richness of her cooking does not suffer at all.