…and the tide goes out. but the beach stays sand, and the sea stays salt. It is the sand and the salt that I’m writing about.”
Good morning, Literati, from Oceanside California, and the towers that are A Word with You Press. Went down to the beach this morning with my drug of choice in hand, looking for my mojo. (Found it, btw). The sunrise here looks much like this picture, taken not far from where the towers await the full benefits of global warming and becomes beach-front property (Drill, baby, Drill)
Where youthful hedons wax surfboards, editors-in-chief of literary blogs wax nostalgic. I am busy rethinking God this morning, my faith in heathenism recently challenged. I think the last letter of God should be capitalized, and not the first, as in a crescendo. goD. What do you think?
I had the not too original thought that I believe all men have, and that is the portal to hiS temple is the hips of a woman. As I sat at the beach, I felt that the cavern of sky in which I found myself sitting on a rock with a cup of coffee was the view from inside a womb. Brilliant, vast, all encompassing, infinite with possibilities for beauty and creation. I don’t know if women can feel or think this way, but I am fairly certain that every male has felt this, and in the altered, out of body state of man-woman union goD whispers just loud enough to be heard, just loud enough to suggest hiS presence, but not so loud that the two lovers can not float on the cloud of their own creation. Blessed are those for whom love and sex are one and the same. In the state of bliss we forgive goD for his voyeurism.
(By the way, as you know we lost much content about six months ago due to hackers. If by chance anyone among you has for some reason saved a one page blog I wrote The Third Whale, being the tears of god, I would so appreciate it if you could send it to firstname.lastname@example.org)
I am pretty well recovered from pneumonia, and will be pouring some energy back into this site, and I so hope that everyone can reciprocate. This week, send me any random thought and I will post it. “Almost Avalon” is going to press this coming month, and “Courtesans of God” (or should that be goD?) is being shopped to traditional publishers. Meaning I am free to start a new book.
I have recently acquired a muse. (perhaps more accurate to say, she has acquired me) I asked her to place her hands on my face on Thanksgiving and plant the seed of my next book. This she did. My first line came almost at once: “He had an uncanny ability to predict the past.” And she said the story takes place on the East Coast. The rest is for me to discover myself. But I do share.
Why not do the same? Help me. Help me put some vitality in this site so that we are more than just a monthly contest. Send me your stories to put up on our writer’s showcase.
Mind yourselves crossing the roads.