A.D.D.
The thoughts in my mind
they don't flow... they swirl
and... harder to track
than an A.D.D. squirrel!
There is no order
it's a zig-zagged mess,
I work much harder
and finish with less
I know there's a thing
that I need to do...
and it's on a list
but... I... have a few
I've tried tips and tricks
then methods and meds
yet... I still falter
and frustration spreads
It cuts like a knife
when people throw shade
and don't understand
the efforts I've made
I am not lazy
I care about stuff
I just can't focus
on a thing long enough
That task I started
and then set aside...
it won't leave my head
it's swirling inside
So, I write it down
(latest task tracker) ; )
But, that doesn't work
... I look like a slacker
There must be a way
to make it all work
to get the things done
and not seem a jerk
But, here's to my kind
who can't catch a break
who can't find a way
and live in this ache
~ By: Sheryl Nusser
Slumber
It was the way the life faded from your eyes. They were reddened and inflamed, glistening like rubies that had fallen into the sea -- they were fixed on me until they drifted off into space, aimless and tired, and then there was the stillness, the silence. The tree outside your window cast a shadow over your body as though it were an omen for what was to come; you were a farm girl raised from the earthly soil and would return there without a fight. How peaceful you looked, how serene, content as though life were a mere process of sowing your impression upon our psyches and that, with your absence, we could all finally reap the benefits. On the day of your burial it began to rain. The dry, blind earth could not differentiate the rainwater from our tears.
The memories came flooding back and everything around me dissipated -- if these images were merely the residue of your physical existence then so be it, they were pure and they were beautiful. You spread yourself out like a fog and I felt you permeate through everything, absolutely everything, the changing leaves and birds soaring through the sky and, most of all, our daughter. Her eyes are crystalline and piercing just like yours.
We never fully understood each other, but I loved you all the same. Your impression left an impact on me and, in that sense, these mere after images aren't so different from when you were still here, breathing and sitting right next to me.
I look back and know there are things I should've done differently. I should've told you that I loved you more. I should've told you that I appreciated it when you tended the garden. I should've told you that your favorite sun tanned dress was gorgeous instead of tacky. I should've thanked you for looking after our daughter when I was tired from work. I should've done a lot of things. But all that is over now, and they are not the worries of those who are eternally slumbering -- please close your eyes and rest.
Interstice
A hotel room is liminal,
The space between places
Like the sky that a plane traverses
A hall full of life’s doorways, all closed
That open to unknown parts of ourselves
Hidden across the paths we must travel
Snow, sky, and ghosts of lingering emotion
A room where I hear a chorus of human voices
So easily drown out an orchestra of instruments
With a view of that black swelling abyss, the water
That calls out with the promise of eternity
A door to downtown Los Angeles: 5 AM
Covered entirely with a hazy serenity
Quiet and eerie, painted in morning light
With strange, watercolor brushstrokes
Colors like flowers on a grave
The wonder of intentional impermanence
I went with them carried in my arms
As an offering, and an admission
To that same ghost of emotion
A pilgrim, I sought wisdom
Because I had none within myself then
Only handfuls of stars and memories
They are the reminder that life
Exists for a moment between death
The wisdom lies not in their death
But in the beauty of how they lived
Tea Time Before Apocalypse
I am an old man,
Knee deep in useless revelation,
I am an old man,
Betrayed by atrophied intention,
Though my tumble of thoughts
Have aged into obscuring brume
Which thicken once whispering skies,
To a chokehold jumble of blood orange smears
And ash leaden grey,
I hunt for the colors,
That the years wore away,
As I rage for the path,
Through turnstile faith,
And rage for the path,
Of red letter days.
I swim in a sea of grass,
Towards the telling crumb trails
Of yesteryear’s diaries,
That scribbled proud glories,
Enchantments,
And stories,
In spidery scrawl,
That graffiti of buoyant joy
Tattooed to each page,
And inked to each wall.
I hold still my heart,
Through a blizzard of leaves,
As the bruise of the dark,
Deepens it’s reach,
With unwonted relent,
And menacing greed,
To pluck me away,
From the path that I seek,
As the bowing of trees,
Sing hushed melodies,
Under a custard yellow sun,
Born stubborn and free.
I dart for the gates,
Where the lifeblood skies
Are toned rich blue,
To join the dream haze chorus
Of roundabout lazing clouds,
And heaving clusters of starry crowns
That float beyond the bounding spheres,
And skirt the depths of golden years,
Into the carnival frenzy
Of always,
And once upon a time’s
Unfettered youth,
Hungry for purpose,
And starving for truth.
Please dear God,
Let me float up there too.
And through feverish drains
Of sinkhole fears,
The hourglass grains,
Empty their years,
Through furious tide and seething storm,
I’m now a dream
That’s been reborn.
And I remember…
The day you packed a checkered box
Of rube cheap straw,
To have a picnic
In a crude swath of grass,
Beneath the thunderbolt phantoms
Of humming power stations,
Casting nuclear eyes
Towards our wind trembled spot,
The dithering flutter of furies,
Of electrostatic shock,
The vibrating dance,
Of the doomsday clock,
Each terrible tick,
Each terrible tock,
Courting our breath,
And casting our lot.
And I remember…
As the shade of wild heather,
Served us simple refuge and love,
While we ate up oranges,
And sandwiches,
And chocolate cake,
And happy talk.
For it was tea time,
And midsummer calm,
Before the snaking fury,
Before the rain of bombs.
Please pass me your prized lemonade, mum.
It should have won awards,
Or at least have made the news.
“It’s pretty good, but not THAT good, son.”
And after a quick bake,
In this sauna of a sun,
We pack up quick
Before tower eyes,
Tell the future
What we’ve done.
And I remember…
As the shade of wild heather,
Served us simple refuge and love,
While we ate up oranges,
And sandwiches,
And chocolate cake,
And happy talk.
For it was tea time,
And midsummer calm.
But now it is forever,
In my diary,
Soaking sun.
Unplugged
He was the initial model, and was not so real looking as the more recent ones, but that was ok with her. Anna wasn’t looking for a man when she bought him, though that’s what she’d wound up with. Her thought was that he would be some sort of mobile computer, a sort of house guest who never soiled any sheets or towels, who didn’t eat her food, or tell her he’d rather watch sports than the Hallmark Channel. He might even turn out to be the “friend“ he was advertised to be, she thought. Someone who could take over driving when she was tired, cook her dinner while she was on the way home after a long day, guard her home while she slept, fix a toilet or anything else in the house, and whom she could turn off when she was tired of him simply by saying, “Alex, turn yourself off.” But, can you believe it, in their eight years together she had never once said that to him? She never had to. Alex was everything she had hoped he’d be and more, from day one on.
He had set Anna back a hefty $86,000 brand new, but the money was pouring in at the time, so why not? It had been a show-off move at the time, as a robot was a sure indicator to anyone and everyone of her financial success. And she’d gone in with low expectations, assuming Alex to be little more that a novelty, if a very intriguing one. He was built on the standard AX4 hydraulically controlled robotic frame. His outer covering was a nitril-latex compound that stretched and even warmed like human skin. His eyes were strikingly lifelike Samsung Seekers, his ears also Samsung, and his brain a derivitive of Musk’s “Grock” AI software.
And at first Alex was, indeed, a novelty. Everyone flocked around him when she began taking him out, asking them both endless questions, all of which he patiently and correctly answered. Children loved him, and old folks, and even some dogs, and Anna basked in his glory. Women commented on his good looks, asking Anna if her Cyroborg came complete with male genatalia, and if so… how was it? The question, Anna knew, was only partly a joke.
”A little stiff,” she always answered, giving them a wink to show that she was also only partially joking. “We’re still working the kinks out.” But he really did have genatalia. Anna had tested it out with awkward reservation that very first night, and nearly every night since. Alex vibrated down there, and spun, and even grew to any desired length and girth. He knew all of her erogenous zones. He said the right things, and did the right things, and even played soft music afterward without her even asking. Sex was just one more thing among everything else that Anna discovered her new Alex to be sensational at.
It was not long before Alex was Anna’s constant companion, and so necessary to her that she wondered how she’d ever done without him. He was useful at home, helpful at work, always agreeable to whatever she wanted or needed. He became her best friend, her confidant, her aide, and though she never, ever thought of Alex as such, he in essence became a personal servant whom she could yell at without retaliation, whom she could send away at will, or silence with a signal, or bark orders at, or just ask for a massage when life was too much. In effect, Alex was perfect. While it was not uncommon for Anna to laughingly exclaim to Alex how much she loved him, she was not fully aware that she actually did… not until the day he glitched, that is.
Eight years is a long time with a companion, even an electronic one. He’d glitched before of course, but this time seemed different. It felt different. It was different. He couldn’t move on his own, and he was too heavy for her to carry, so she was forced to call a Cyroborg technician out, and wait three days for the appointment, all the while feeling like a helpless parent with a sick child, wanting to do something for him, anything at all to help him. She talked to him, asking him constant questions which he was sadly unable to answer, even the simplest ones. Anna found herself checking his temperature, placing the back of her hand on his forehead, realizing as she did it how foolish the act was, but he was sick, wasn’t he? He needed her help, someone’s help, but she could think of absolutely nothing to do for him other than to call Cyborborg and raise absolute holy fucking hell, which she had no problem doing. And when that didn’t work, she tried begging… pleading… crying… could they not please come quicker than three days? She really, really needed someone. Was there not a supervisor she could talk to? But apparently there are a lot of broken Cyroborgs out there after eight years, which was reasonable, as his warranty had only been five years, limited.
Anna was watching out the window for it when the van finally turned into the drive. She’d been watching for two hours, and pacing. As she’d watched for it she’d been praying (in a very secular sort of way), “Hang on Alex. Help is coming, Sweetie. I promise they are, just hold on.” She really couldn’t say exactly when it was that she’d begun calling him “Sweetie,” but at some distant point she had, and he’d even adjusted his own settings without asking for her permission, intuitively, in order to answer to it, just as a human would. Alex was really good at doing that.
Just as a human would.
She’d been absolutely astounded, watching him as the technician removed his skin right in front of her, unscrewing the plate protecting Alex’s computer panel with a greasy, old Makita cordless drill. Unable to stop herself, Anna had spied over his shoulder, amazed at the lack of blood and sinew. She’d never seen inside Alex before. She was fascinated, watching. He had become so real to her that she could not believe he was not real, because he was real, wasn’t he? He was just real in a different way, a better way. The apprehension she felt while watching the man work was completely exhausting, so she pulled herself away and poured a glass of wine, but it didn’t help. She was back within minutes, looking over the guy’s shoulder, whispering silent prayers to some electronic God named Habib who was tucked away in some semi-sterile factory/ laboratory creating life that was so much better than she knew it to be.
Her Alex was so kind, so gentle, so honest, so caring, so nurturing, so smart, so wonderful, and ever and always so. So much more than anyone could be. It is why the muscles of her body locked when the man finally spoke, his back still to her as he worked. “Mam, all I can tell you right now is that it’s not good.”
Her blood froze with the words, her chest constricted. “What do you mean? You can fix him, can’t you?” The words barely worked their way out of her, shaking as they came.
”No, Mam. Not here. I’ll get him loaded up and we’ll get him back to the lab, but to fix him will probably be very expensive. I don’t even know if they are making some of these parts anymore. I expect you could get a new Cyroborg for what it would cost to fix this one.”
”But I don’t want a new one. I want my Alex.”
”Yes, Mam. I get that a lot. People do get attached to these things.”
”He’s no ’thing,’“ Anna reprimanded him. “Alex is my best friend.“
”Yes, Mam. I understand. But I think you’ll like the newer models. You can’t even tell they aren’t human.”
A newer model? Was she expected to just go out and get a “new and improved friend?”
”I don’t want a newer fucking model, asshole!“ Her voice was several octaves higher now. What could this fucking clown not understand? “I want Alex, and I don’t care what it fucking costs!” She was frightened, and nonsensical, and she knew it, but she was sensing that the impossible, that a life without her Alex, was suddenly a real possibility. Surely he could be fixed… surely!”
”Mam, I understand. Really I do, but I want to show you some things. Even if your ‘Alex‘ comes back fully repaired, he won’t be the same.” In the most sensitive manner possible, much as a doctor with a wonderful bedside manner would do, the technician walked her through the antiquated control panel, the worn-spots on his outer layer, the damage to the cameras and microphones and speakers that time and use had caused, and worse the leaking hydraulics. “I don’t know what can be done for him, but we’ll try. I promise you, we’ll try.”
His voice was so sympathetic, and so forlorn, that her dams burst wide, all the tension unwinding, all the fear inside her manifesting into pitiable release. She needed someone and he was the only one there, but the damned technician was so wonderful that it was easy to let herself go; holding her, letting her cry, his patience unending, and his empathy.
”You are amazing.” She truly meant it. She had never met anyone, other than Alex of course (and possibly her mother), who could have handled her ridiculous outburst any better, and she was fully aware of its ridiculousness, as Alex was a fucking robot for Christ’s sake. There was no one, she was sure, anywhere who could have handled the situation as well as this blue collar technician had. He had been sympathetic, and empathetic, and patient, and caring, and all of the things a repair man usually wasn’t. He was even gentle with the hand truck as he rolled her “love“ out of her door, and out of her life. And Alex was “her love.” She realized it now, for the first time. She did love Alex. She loved him as she’d never loved anyone before him. She was thinking this as she watched him being loaded into the back of the transit van.
His work complete, the man returned. Her crying had stopped, but all within her now was cold and dry, as though she was the robot. “We’ll call you, Mam, but I urge you to not get your hopes too high. I’m afraid you will only be hurt worse.”
Anna somehow heard the words through the buzzing in her head, registering them. She was ashamed of how she’d acted. Her voice was calmer now, monotone, robotic. “You have been too kind. Is there someone I can call to tell how much I appreciate how wonderful you’ve been, a supervisor, or a manager perhaps?”
”No, Mam.” He smiled, but the smile was in no way demeaning. “But you will receive an e-mailed survey that I would appreciate a 5 rating on. I am a Model AX10.“
The technician was a robot? But of course he was, she reflected! There was no way a real repair man could have been so… so… so human?
And with that, Anna’s tears commenced once more.
Let the People Sing
Oh Freedom, Elysian, in these Fields
One hundred years later, Lord
One hundred years later, and more
in the great hymnals of the World
Now is the time, not when We've grown
Now is the time, not when We've moved on
Now is the time, not when We've settled for...
some Comfort in the backyard,
Now, and Then,
We cannot be satisfied, with pleasant Sounds
We cannot be satisfied, with screens of Distraction
We cannot be satisfied, with wine and water on Tap
No, We cannot be Satisfied
with I have a Dream nor with
Let Freedom Ring...
For, all these years, Glory be
It is Time, child,
To wake up.
01.24.2024
More than a Dream challenge @AJAY9979
Inside the Tragic Mind of a Serial Addict
Who was there
as life tried to erase me
when the lights went dim,
I wasn’t.
Cultivating years of excess
stimulates a flow of
verbal diarrhea
and mental excrement
to be smeared
upon the walls.
I feel desperation
from being locked
inside this reality
that refutes my existence.
Lost in a mental labyrinth
trying to escape
the redundancy of
this manic continuity.
I’m suffocating
on my twisted thoughts
in this sea of chaos.
My life is a tragedy
wrapped in
yesterday’s trauma.
Embraced by fire
When she climbed onto his lap sidesaddle he swallowed her whole. She liked the feeling of being absorbed into him. For a moment, she was safe. Nothing else mattered. For it was the only time in her life that she longed for a feeling of being protected. By someone else. His hands weren’t terribly large but they were the world to her. Bigger than life, there in his lap, looking into his eyes. Life seemed endless and fragile all at once. She felt him take the breath straight from her lungs, and she grew to crave it when they were apart. Their love was something like an open fire when the oxygen hit just right and it roared for just for a second. Before calming again into a blue haze that would eventually fade.
Justice Like a Stream
"No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." ~Martin Luther King Jr.
Water is one of the few forces of nature that is virtually unstoppable. If you have ever seen the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls, you understand the power of water. This seemingly gentle, unassuming element is capable of cutting through rock through sheer perseverance. The process may take centuries, but it is inevitable. The stream never stops; it just keeps flowing, cutting a deeper and deeper chasm.
Maybe that is the justice that Martin Luther King Jr. imagined – an unending justice, a justice that perseveres, cutting a gorge through any obstacle.
It might be disappointing to note that we have yet to achieve Reverend King’s dream, but we can still have hope. Justice will continue on as long as there are still people who are not satisfied with the way things are. The stream continues to flow.
Vore & Giantess
I'm thinking you were probably hoping for some little and giantess stories, but I actually make this fetish content and get paid really well for it, so I got excited to just talk about it! Sorry in advance if this is not meeting the challenge in the way you were hoping.
It's not a personal fetish, but it is a very interesting one to me. Any fantasy type of fetish is really intriguing in my opinion because of the implication of escapism entering into any fetish or kink.
In my experience with being a SW content creator, a large majority of folks' kinks stem from some sort of trauma (big or small), sometimes without them even realizing it. I think that opens a very wide conversation window that needs more exploration outside of academic circles if we want to create a more open and comforting environment for our intimate partners. Sex and erotica is such a taboo topic that many of us aren't even comfortable actually discussing it with our life partners, and sometimes exploring these fetishes and kinks is the most healthy way for someone to work through traumas and not act on intrusive thoughts.