Love. Oh, how odd and uncomfortable?

I have had few- I think. Who is the judge, the purveyor of what constitutes such a fickle thing?

Was love meeting by chance, and sharing a beer in a broken down basement suite?

Was love meeting online, flickering and fiddling with the torrent of wishing for a fairytale but confined to modernity?

I am not sure of True Love nor her mistress Fate. I believe my grandparents met by perfect chance, and it was fated they would create daughters that allow me to write now, with such sacrifice I carry like a soldier born and bred for nobility.

Odd, fickle, unsure.

If you are familiar with my writing, you will know I am a connoisseur of the dark. I am macabre, through to my very withering bones.

But something I thought long deceased, withers and worms in my chest for this one special soul. Someone I had known of and had hated for her promiscuity when we were both teenagers, now, a soft and sincere adult baring the wounds people like me had inflicted.

And it feels fateful. Someone as sane as I, someone as lost and loving perfectly twisted beneath a dark gaze and tinkling laugh.

It feels too much like a dream. But where the terror of having a great beast yanking me to reality used to lay, is a sleeping sound lamb.

Perhaps love at first sight exists. Perhaps fate and true love and chance all are one thing we find within the person we know are curated for us. Executed at the finely timed moment between chaos and destruction.

Oh, love.

jogs memory of mine,

when I lived with parents

(way before their demise)

at 324 Level Road,

which residence long since razed,

cuz when me late papa

inched into the latter years of his eighties,

he could no longer maintain and sustain

grueling physical requisite energy

to maintain fixer upper

purchased February 28th, 1968.

Summer re: imagery evoked today

November twenty second 2023

now before scrolling down

reading about Old Man Winter

imagine I envision heat wave

prognostication likely months in the future,

one abominably hazy, hot

and humid sultry day,

when climate controlled central air

allows, enables and provides

man/woman made respite hooray,

a temperature regulated apartment,

whereby yours truly his head he doth lay

(under crocheted blanket)

quickly slipping into deep sleep;

the missus (madre) and her padre

(me) take a siesta

in my dream I take treadway

to Piccadilly Circus, London,

where surveillance cameras take x-ray

of suspicious character - Not Me,

while actually in reality

outside apartment b44 nor'easter

howls like bajillion banshees

vents wind chill factor

as temperature dips

into low single digits

I summon fire breathing

friendly quasi dragon

as acceptable substitute cue Barney

purple Tyrannosaurus Rex dinosaur

crackling flickering hearth,

yours truly snuggling

close proximity warming,

thawing, quelling...

cockles and muscles

atavistic visitations hover

brushes within subconscious

purring, mew zing catacombs

kickstarting, harkening,

dawning... Homo sapiens

lion eye zing forebears

dormant memories thaw

predators vastly outnumbered

scattered beastie boy bands

recherché representatives

toehold barely latched

precarious niche easily

activated evolutionary quirk

imperceptibly bumped uglies

begot robust progeny

offspring expanding comfort zones

penumbra expanding edge of night

dark shadows receding further

outer limits of twilight zone

phantasmagoric shifting shapes (hint...

think Plato's One Republic)

phantasmagoric shifting shapes

alluring, beckoning, daring...

establishing, foraging, growing...

harvesting, invoking, jabbering

kowtowing, livingsocial,

matchmaking tinder (ha)...

now lemme zip forward

bajillion years circa 1970's

British comedy troupe

nudge nudge wink wink,

know what I mean courtesy

Monty Python's Flying Circus

rollicking humorous sketches

oft times tackling primal urges

proto humans initially verbally grunted,

where guffawing laughter

rewarded survivalist basic instinct

temporarily staving rabid

quivering premonitions outside

creature comfort boundaries,

whereby Geico Caveman

will kindle tinder

remain till... dis ember

by George thoroughly appetizer,

viz good chilled Wren plus

Pheasant under glass

burns away hunger pangs.

Mountains are just inconvenient. They block the rain. They harbor Sasquatches and their big, malodorous, fungal feet. They are of a chemistry altogether unique--sleep under one in a tent and you put on sticky trousers the next day. You can really get too much of a pine scent. Snow, just as it gets dangerous, comes rolling down. Mist above tree lines is just no fun.

They split our country, so that anything loose, rolling in from the West, gets stuck. Under each one is a reminder that our tectonic plates are not our friends. And what mountains do to the Department of Transportation!

Mountains just get in the way. They may love me, but I don't love them. Give me a flat

Earth any time.