No sense crying over spilled milk, but I truly hate giving a little piece here and a little there. Take another little piece of my heart now, baby! Break it! Break another little bit of my heart now, honey.
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- En route vers le désert: Recueil d’anecdotes d’un archéologue dans le Sonora d’aujourd’hui (French Edition);
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I see a doctor every three months to keep a handle on it. Now if I can do something about my feet. Horror movies? Not really. It is about sex and other stuff too. Dateline early We snuggled in the old Galaxie , popcorn, Pepsis, and Milk Duds at the ready. We were destined to be married in the Summer of but were still tiptoeing around each other in early It might have been better if we had stubbed our toes.
Our breakup was much more painful than a broken little toe.
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The date was red-headed…as was Sharon Tate, the now-dead heroine of the movie. She had a nice form as well put together…so had Sharon Tate. As you can tell, at the time I was quite infatuated with both my date and Sharon Tate.
It was a shame Sharon had died in a horror much worse than any movie. Shame the infatuation with my date died after the marriage. The movie we watched was a horror-comedy…plenty of laughs from two inept vampire slayers, plenty of scares and blood-sucking from Count von Krolock and his vampire minions populating the snow and ice-covered Transylvanian castle. The gothic music made our skin crawl. Much of my reading and viewing habits have revolved around horror, sci-fi along with murder and mayhem.
A perfect world is combining them all. Fade to black. As I remember, there was a very attractive female who suffered from lycanthropy and an aversion to clothes it would seem. She was quite fetching despite the body fur, but vampires are sexy. Save her by driving a stake through the heart of his rival before the count could exit his musty old coffin at sundown and plunge his glistening, long fangs into the soft neck of his victim.
The violence became too graphic and the sexual innuendo and double entendres quite transparent…if there was any sexual insinuation at all. It seems graphic violence and gore became the point. Still, I loved John Carpenter even though just a few of his movies dealt with vampires or sexual overtones…well, there were plenty of scenes with young people trying to get busy only to be interrupted by a knife-wielding maniac. To the ships at sea who can hear my voice, look across the water, into the darkness.
I am not sure Bram Stroker even knew about the sexual innuendo he had created within his horror…whether he did or not, the sex was there…along with the horror. Still, they got me started and sent me on to King, Koontz, Rice, and Straub. As I think back to the scariest movie or book I ever read or saw, it was not horror per se and involved no vampires, werewolves or zombies…there was sexual innuendo in the movie, even some fade to black.
The plot is a simple one, nuclear war breaks out and we annihilate ourselves.
No one knows who started the war only that it, and the world is finished. Unfortunately, the last remaining pockets of humanity will slowly die of radiation poisoning as a death cloud creeps southward. The United States is gone except for one lone submarine and her crew, now docked in Melbourne. The end is near. The book and movie cover the last few months left for humanity, only the cockroaches will remain.
For someone growing up during the Cold War, it was scary. I doubt we will go whimpering, instead, we will continue to point our fingers blaming everyone else or our own demise.
If it had cleared I would have noted that the sun was still below the horizon as I began my morning exercise, a three or four-mile walk through my little piece of heaven. There have been deer and turkeys a plenty. Usually, they are hunters this time of year or maybe a carload of college kids who had an impromptu party at the lone pull off and decided to stay and sleep it off. Much safer than defying fate by driving drunk and sneaking back onto the campus of the nearby Christian university.
Not quite wide enough to be a double track, the gravel road was recently paved and is not wide enough for people to really pull off onto a shoulder that does not exist.
Not quite enough road for the big Ram with big ole tires and a big ole covered trailer. The behemoth sat quietly right in the middle of the road like a sedated prehistoric mammoth. I approached it from behind unable to see anything in the truck. I was careful, unsure of what I might run into.
Glancing inside of the cab I found they wuz nekid as jaybirds and enjoying the fine morning in a way I only faintly remember. I applaud their passion…especially at the crack of dawn on a lonely country road. How romantic…or moronic. If I were rating them like an Olympic event it would have been near-perfect score…not that they cared. They were as oblivious as I was embarrassed. Thankfully they never saw me. Talk about a broad expanse of white. There is something to be said for spontaneity…or stupidity in the name of lust.
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Oh well, maybe a scene for a future book. To be young and foolish again…in love or at least, in a reasonable facsimile. I tip my hat to you and am glad you had exited my little piece of heaven by the time I returned. As I read the book, The Redeemers by Ace Atkins, a quote caught my eye and stung like an accidental splash of toothpaste to the same eye. Am I the only idiot figuring out a way to get toothpaste in his eye and actually doing it more than once? Is comparing a quote to a stinging eyeball a horrible analogy?
The quote was thoroughly accurate as far as my own moral failings are concerned and honestly it is more about my own self-examination. That is on you and you may find your foot, along with your shoe, stuck in your mouth and my foot stuck somewhere else…metaphorically of course.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
If the shoe fits…well that is between you and your lord and I just want you to ponder as I do. All one has to do is look at the histories of our state governments to find great examples. Some paradoxes are quaint or cute, others not so much. As you might imagine, my essay will eventually turn from the cute or quaint. It will turn toward paradoxes that revolve around religion and politics. Oh, there is a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning. They were actually singing to the same clientele.
He was singing to the drunks and hell raisers on Saturday night and she was singing to the same drunks and hell raisers, now recovering and praying for redemption, on Sunday morning.
Not a direct quote but the crux of one paradox. Saturday night might be relative. Sometimes we even make jokes about it. The Methodist will say hello to you in the liquor store. They bring a casserole.