The Season of Change

Standing atop the dunes of the Indiana lake shore, I stand alone like a beast of the wild, surveying the emptiness before me. The cold bite of winter is long gone, but her fading teeth marks are still felt upon my fiery cheeks. The waves crash with the rhythm of war drums, drowning out the caws of gulls that fight on the lakes edge over a meal of rotted meat. With the keen eye of a hawk, I watch the day wave good bye against the backdrop of the Chicago skyline across the lake. The setting sun brings me no magic, no majestic picture painted just for me by the hand of god, and no lilac and lace mixed with hues of gold and crimson—–no, on this day the sun sinks like a rock onto my heart; matching the block of cement deep within my chest.

The wind rages against me, and sand tears at my flesh, trying to steal a piece of my soul. My eyes swell with tears of pain, or maybe it is just the agony of a lovesick heart trying to break free from its cage—I know not which. In either case, I weep. More

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Vampires Kiss

Have you ever been so hungry that food talked to you, I have, and this is that story.

I’m hungry, but what do I choose—from somewhere in the distance I hear a whisper.

Choose me, while other foods may snap-crackle-pop—I sizzle.  Imagine a late night craving and a midnight rendezvous.  You head for the kitchen where I wait for you—tender, juicy, and plump, longing for your gentle touch to bring me into perfection.

Piercing moonlight dances through the pitch black of night, shimmering its magic upon the shiny utensils that lay before you.  You reach in the cabinet and pull out that old black skillet handed down through the generations.  You place it on the stove with the clank of cold steel upon the burner.  You ignite the flame with a whoosh, and three pats of pure golden delight start to sizzle.

You make your way to where I wait, and with a glimmer of lust in your eyes, you open my cold dark coffin and wake me from my slumber.  I am your cowboy steak; two-pounds of pure American beef waiting for your direction.

As a whiff of creamy delight tickles your nostrils, you know it’s almost time.  A quick rub of olive oil, made in a little province in Tuscany—a dash of sea salt, a splash of red wine vinegar, and a hint of coarse ground pepper—and into the skillet I go.  Ssssssss

A quick flip and you reduce the flames and wait.  I am all you need, but a simple salad will make a nice threesome.  A crisp romaine, some leafy greens, and a blood moon tomato halved and quartered—a dash of salt, a hint of lemon and creamy garlic, and soon—we will be together.

You light a candle, and pour a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon, and it is time.

You plate me, take your seat, and with a gentle slice begin to dine.  As flickers of moonbeams pierce the night, you notice a crimson blood start to trickle down one side of your mouth—warm and soft like a Vampires kiss—you giggle with anticipation of what’s to come, and in the still of the night, you feast.

I know what I’ll be having.

Terry A. Elkins (whyguy)

Out of the Darkness

At times, being an aspiring writer is not always easy, the words don’t always flow forth onto the page as easily as I would like, so I go in search of inspiration where I can find it.  On one particular day when my words eluded me I went in search of a candle, what I found was something buried deep within me, and when my writing was complete I would be transformed.

I know I have one, I’m sure of it.  I ruffle through the drawer—searching for that piece of inspiration that will light the way to my imagination.  Six-tangled-electrical-cords, three tacks, forgotten pictures of birthdays past, and student Picasso’s tattered and worn—there it is—one lone stick of inspiration.

I place the fragile remnant before me, its cold,  fleshy remains dripping with waxy tears, and I wonder how much life remains in this savior of the night.  I peel away flakes of burnt memories as I remember the dark nights when the children were scared and we told stories to pass the time until the light-of-day, or the power company saved us from the fear of night.

One strike, a whiff of sulfur, and it is time to begin.

As I stare at the flame that flickers in the light of day, I am saddened at how the golden flame of hope seems dull, sad, and eerily still.  It cast no foreboding shadow, brings no warmth, and for the moment—no inspiration.

How much has my mind become like this candle, the synapses hardly used these days, withering away into nothings.  How long will it be before the light that once burnt so brightly in me fades away and I too become used up, with nothing left to give the world but a few last flickers from an old man who has been used up by ravages of time?

The flame dances across my soul, burning deeply within the far reaches of the memories of the man I used to be. Drawing up memories of what could have been, if only I had dared to dream.  If only, if only, if only… I had dared to use my talents in the way they were meant to be.

A candle no more belongs in the light of day than I belong in the darkness of a job that has never, will never, and can never appreciate who I am.  As the flame begins to wane, my flame begins to burn brighter. Maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to come out of the shadows and follow the beacon of light to my dreams, and one day call myself a writer.

Today is that day, I am no longer an aspiring write—today I am a writer.

Terry A. Elkins (whyguy)

Warning: Exotic Meditation

I love meditation tapes, especially the ones that take me on a mental walk to exotic places.  I recently got one such tape free from lime wire, but it was not exotic—it was erotic. Kinda More

Suavey Sexy

After starting the Atkins weight loss program, it wasn’t long before I had dropped the pounds, leaving me with few clothes and oversize underwear.  I had started getting  a lot of wedgies from  those underwear, and since I don’t really like  anything up my butt  I decided  to throw them all out.  That left me with a grand total of zero.  So I decided to go to Walmart and buy some new ones, along with a few other items I needed.  This trip would be one that would leave me embarrassed, and teach me  a valuable lesson on checking myself thoroughly before leaving the house. More

All Day

Wayne Dyer, the Dalai Lama, Buddha, Eckhart Tolle, and many others—all wise men, have taught me many things over the years, but the wisdom that I have found in one small child’s words have taught me the most about the power of living in the moment.

When I was a young father and my now twenty-three year old daughter was  four, I was put in charge of watching her.  I was given explicit instructions to keep an eye on Sara by my wife:  Don’t let Sara eat cookies for breakfast, play with Mom’s makeup, or dress up in Sara’s new Easter dress.

Check, check, check…got it.  “Don’t worry,” I said, thinking, how hard could it be to watch a four-year old.  With a bit of trepidation Mom left us alone.  After mom left,  I laid down for a quick nap, knowing Sara would be fine.  After all, she was playing quietly, so how much mischief could she get into.

After some time, I woke up to the sound of giggling coming from Sara’s room.  I was curious to what she was doing so I lumbered to her room, pulled back the lace curtains of the French doors, and peered through the window.  My heart quickened, my eyes bulged, and panic over took me.  Sara was having a tea party with Ken and Dreamtime Barbie, Teddy the one eyed bear, and Curly Q the half-bald Cabbage Patch Kid that Sara decided would look better with a trim.  She was serving cookies and milk to all partygoers and she had on my wife’s lipstick (both on her and Ken).  She was also wearing her frilly pink Easter dress, with full compliment of stockings, gloves, and black pearl dress shoes.

I panicked and thrusts open the doors—it cracked with the sound of thunder against the wall.  Sara gave a quick jump, smiled, and said with the voice of happiness, “ Hi Daddy, want some milk and cookies?”  She was oblivious to the predicament we were in, but I was not.  I had failed completely at my mission and knew when Mom came home I was a dead man.

I grabbed Sara’s startled hand, and dragged her to the bathroom.  I tossed her onto the edge of the sink, and as I began wiping the overused Ruby Red lipstick from my perplexed child’s face, I noticed rips in her stockings.  They were soaked in a dark crimson, and both precious knees were swollen, scraped, and bruised.

My voice cracked, “What happened?”

She shrugged her shoulders—casually pronouncing “I fell down, no big deal.”

My hands trembled as I began working on her wounds.  My eyes darted around the room, and  my breath quickened as I berated my daughter.  “Your Mom is going to kill me!  Why didn’t you wake me?  Where’s the Band-aids?  Doesn’t that hurt?  Why aren’t you crying?”

Sara stared into my soul with her precious blue indigo child eyes, and softly spoke, “Daddy, I got hurt earlier, why cry now?”

I huffed, “But what about Mom, she’s going to be pissed?”  Sara again shrugged nonchalantly.

“I think we’re both going to get grounded,” I said.

Sara laughed, and that’s when she said the wisest words I have ever heard from a child.  “Daddy, I got hurt earlier and Mommy don’t get home until later, now we have all day to be happy.

A wash of calm overtook me, tears welled up in my eyes, and my spirit became still.  I lifted Sara into my arms, and asked, “how about some more milk and cookies Pumpkin?”

She smiled, wrapped her arms around my neck, and squeezed my waist with her legs, as she whispered in my ear, “I love you Daddy.”

The rest of the day, we were happy.

This incident taught me the power of living fully in the moment, and not to worry about the what happened, or what may happen, the only time we have to be happy is now.  As Eckhart Tolle says, “Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now”

These are the words I live by till this day.

Terry A. Elkins (whyguy)

Man Bits

There I stood, a pair of shrink to fit  faded-blue-sexy Levis in hand.  Hoping I could get them on, even if only part of the way.  I remembered how good they felt on my body many pounds ago. In my heart, I knew they wouldn’t fit, but that wasn’t the point.  I wanted to see how far I could get them up.  Since starting my weight loss journey on the Atkins diet plan, I had dropped several pants sizes already.  I started in a forty-two.  Now, with a pair of thirty-six in hand,  I was about to begin such a horrific ordeal that when I think of  it my teeth begin to quiver. More

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