Turbo Lover, fast and loose, noble sufferings, substance, and light from stars.
Judas Priest inspired today's show, or rather informed the mood of the morning and coffee while a handful of writers waited to be read and heard, by you. One hell of a show today. Sit your asses down, grab a tall, cool beverage of choice, and go into this world of words by these stone statues of stanza and ink.
Here's a link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soR_UH--EbY
And here are the featured pieces.
https://www.theprose.com/post/815271/fast-and-loose https://www.theprose.com/post/815219/substance https://www.theprose.com/post/791497/lamentations-anew-a-poem-by-tf-burke
https://www.theprose.com/post/815261/remember-that-time-i-thought-i-was-dying https://www.theprose.com/post/815249/i-am-insatiable https://www.theprose.com/post/815229/starlight
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose.team
Me chaste
today i visited a distant galaxy
overthere instantaneously i came across similar creatures
they didnt speak
but gestured
one of them handed me a hand written note
it was in latin
it read that theres a human colony on this galaxy
i had to take off my clothes to be taken to this colony -
so nudity was a sign
nudity was a prerequisite to navigation
i wanted company so i went nude
and a beast type one legged creature held my hand
and took me to that colony
there i was welcomed by tara
this was a gated colony
almost a galaxy within a galaxy
tara was prettier than any girl i had seen on earth
i asked her that how did you reach here
she said the only humans on this galaxy were cursed
cursed by a 5G sort of voodoo specific to the zaire basin in congo
she didnt talk much
but i asked others
asked them about their survival on this galaxy
i learnt that the creatures on this galaxy
were sexually compatible with tara and co
thus tara had turned this gated colony into brothel paramount
every evening some creatures would visit with food-
fuck tara and co
give them food and leave
i asked us humans that did you ever try to take food without submission
they replied honour lay in trade
i too being a victim of the zaire basin voodoo was a permanent resident now
i too had to be fed
i tried eating without the trade
i started gesturing for food to the galaxians
they still brought me food
disappointed i asked tara that her notions of trade were bizarre
she said whatever i was fed was because of the room she had created
bing bang i didnt believe her
i preached morality to the people of the colony
taught them about being chaste
taught them about the redundancy of their doctrine of necessity
tara evolved
humans evolved
and the food still kept on coming
it was still an alien galaxy
a fortnight after my lectures on chastity
a big beast arrived
never first seen in the colony
and ate nearly all the humans -
the remaining of us resumed being a brothel
and years have passed since we last saw a beast
Vuja De
Vuja De
May 11, 2024
The sun set slowly as the restaurant began illuminating the tables on the back deck with strings of old looking incandescent bulbs and table top candles. The ambience was purposeful promoting both proposals and disappointments.
“Are you breaking up with me?”
I knew this was not the last time I would hear her ask.
“You creep! I thought you were special. You men are all alike. All you want is sex! No way would I consent to what you want.”
I hit the reset again.
The sun set slowly as the restaurant began illuminating the tables on the back deck with strings of old looking incandescent bulbs and table top candles. The ambience was purposeful promoting both proposals and disappointments.
“Anthony, the answer is no! Just get your mind out of the gutter and grow up.”
The sun set slowly as the restaurant began illuminating the tables on the back deck with strings of old looking incandescent bulbs and table top candles. The ambience was purposeful promoting both proposals and disappointments.
She thought about my proposal while sipping Merlot. She found it somewhat intriguing and wanted to know specifics. “I think I’m in, but what if she changes her mind?”, pondering both my boldness and the possibilities for future proposals.
If you roll a handful dice, there exists a probability that each die will land on the same number. The probability is small, but the possibility does exist.
A Priceless Pair
They asked me what I need in search for a perfect Mother's Day gift.
I thought about it I did. As I was gazing in admiration at my daughters laughing together with their father.
The light bulb lights. All I need is here before me I gaze over my shoulder with adoration of my two daughters a priceless pair. No box with ribbons or bows necessary here.
I already have all I need the two greatest gifts right infront me my heart is in one piece.
Delasity
Delasity is a word of my own creation. Delasity is all that exists beyond our limited understanding or comprehension in this lifetime, as we know it.
I remember sitting outside at night many, many years ago (after eating a healthy dose of “magic” mushrooms) watching the trees sway in the breeze, seeing the many stars in the sky and the moon shining its light and casting its shadows. And I could see the life-the energy-in everything and I was everything, and nothing at the same time.
In that moment, I could feel everything that existed beyond what my eyes could see, and my mind was opened to the immensity of what we do not know or understand. And I knew, even if we could know the answers to all the mysteries surrounding the meaning of life, we could never fully comprehend what those answers would mean within our human minds.
It's just too big, too immense, too boundless and limitless to be contained within our human form.
This is Delasity.
©S.J.Reed
I Am Fond
As this day begins, I’m fond of the ardor of desire.
I like blondes and brunettes, and I smell like fire.
Who are you anyway? I ask myself,
as the tasks pile up upon my shelf.
I wonder such things and feel the new day
rising up to recur in the same old way.
I wander through dreams and realities removed
and take off my jeans and my dirty, old shoes.
So what do you have to do—each of you, dear readers,
as you live out your lives with all the detours and seizures?
You don’t know what you’ll face when you look at the feeds
of the news and the cycles as they continue to bleed.
But you know something else, I have to continue to say,
as our lives wend on in a similar way?
There’s a fuckload of joy attending each breath
that we take as we dance between our births and our deaths.
And it all balances out when our last gasp is taken
and our hearts are weighed there at Anubis’ station.
So be grateful as long as you possibly can
as you exist as you are in this incredible land.
Blank Space
There's a famous self portrait of Edgar Degas, the guy who sculpted and painted ballerinas. He painted himself in searing accuracy, until you get to the bottom left corner. He left it blank. An open, empty space of white canvas (now faded into pearl white).
I think to myself it must have some greater meaning. But maybe that's the meaning of what he did, leaving it blank - he wants you to wonder.
It is art, after all.
When I started writing on this website in April 2020, I had no idea what I was doing. Instead of being a masterful painting with one blank space, I was a blank space with perhaps one small space of mastery. I wrote apology letters to my sister, who had banished me, and wrote about the men who had hurt me. I wrote a piece about the walls talking to me for a challenge, and got some good feedback. Perhaps I had found my niche.
Sometimes I reflect on that period of time. Why did I write?
I needed a self portrait, I think. Something to sustain me. I was in lockdown with two other people, both men who wanted nothing to do with me, and vice versa. At one point I only had champagne and eggs in our fridge, which one of the men commented on in disbelief, and the only way I could combat his words was to write about it.
April 2020 needed some kind of definition, and I was happy to shatter any illusions I might have had about normalcy. The world wasn't normal, but neither was I, and I finally had a way to get it out in a constructive way. (Cooking the eggs and getting drunk on the champagne at 2PM wasn't the constructive way, as it turns out.)
As I typed out responses to each challenge, I became more and more myself, the blank spaces disappearing.
But of course, or perhaps, every artist leaves some illusion, some mystery. I hope I have a blank space, some piece that's missing, that only I can harness - perhaps for my art, perhaps for myself.