It's been a work in progress.

At Litha the women made vows to Athena or Artemis.  I was the lone woman making a vow to Aphrodite.

Aphrodite, goddess of love, lust, pleasure, art, the marketplace.  Mother of Eros, mother-in-law to Psyche.  Married to Hephastus, tarried with Ares (among others).

So.

She's not a silly plaything.  She's not a little fool.  I've made mistakes in equating her to the Holy Matchmaking Mama.

She lives in everything.  She lives in the women I serve, the women who range from hating their bodies to being mildly annoyed with them. 

She lives in us middle-aged farts.  She lives in my daughter.  She lives ini the fiction I'm attempting to write.

The heroes and heroines in my stories have scars on their bodies, and scars in their memories.  But they are made beautiful and sacred by Aphrodite's influence.

THE HORRORS OF IT ALL: Swamp Horror

THE HORRORS OF IT ALL: Swamp Horror: If you keyword search "swamp" in the THOIA Archive you'll find a bunch of stories set in said saturated Soggsville. They&#39...



I laffed.

It's Xmess Eve.  Paul, Louis and Frieda are sick with the same shit I had earlier this week.

I'm listening to "Welcome to Night Vale."  Hope the mysterious hooded figures will overlook my blog.  I hope Cecil and Carlos' beautiful hair will hook up soon.

Longest, darkest night of the year.  Lunar eclipse; it's supposed to be visible here.

How About A (Cork) Screw, Baby?

How About A (Cork) Screw, Baby?

Thanks MTV -_-

I just got rickrolled by MTV.  MY GOD, I LOVE THIS SONG, AND I STILL DO!!

Big Bands, Small Ensembles

Duo:
Paul and I are alone tonight.  Bernie went back to her guardian's, Louis is at work, Sol is in Henderson and Frieda is at a friend's house.

We listen to Music Choice, listening to big bands on "Singers and Swing".  We're on our computers, in our own little worlds.  Sometimes one of us takes a break to get some water or a snack, and we'll ask if the other wants something.  Mostly, it's us, on our computers, listening to something old and beautiful.

Solo: 
I could listen to Benny Goodman or Artie Shaw until I orgasm from the high notes on the clarinet.  I used to make something like theirs, as beautiful.

Women's Quintet (with a panicky soloist):
Mom's coming home on Wednesday.  Something in the back of my head is setting off the alarm bells.  Are they sending her to her apartment to die?  I feel like a panicky kid.  I AM a panicky kid.  Hang on Mom, I want to bring the girls up to visit you.  But if it's no, ok.

Ed is right.  I AM a selfish bitch.

Sextet (less one):
Going to Henderson on Sunday to celebrate Passover with Solomon.  I don't know if Louis is planning on joining us.  Seders are not for the weak of heart, but I have prepared seders for over 20 years and like any other holiday, the cooking, timed right, does itself.

Crushed.like a bug

I dropped the ball on spreading the word on my mom's dead phone.  My brother is angry and snappy about my "incessant Facebooking."

Well, guy, I guess you'll get to bitch about my blogging, but I doubt it's worth your notice.

I feel like I've been swatted across the nose like a dog that crapped in the corner.  I wanted to tell him, "I'm sorry!  I know I've been bad!"  This last post I asked if he knew why Mom's phone crapped out prompted him to respond, "I have no idea.  I don't have a rootkit."

Excuse me.  Just excuse the shit out of me, will you please?  And stay up on your throne, please, I do NOT wish to be judged.