Sara hasn’t slowed down a bit even though she manages a demanding schedule that would leave ole Lord Geezer here huffing and puffing if I tried to keep up. I love this book cover because it really captures the intensity of the story. Sara doesn’t shy away from the challenges life and societies throw at her characters. I’ll be back when she publishes her book because I don’t want to miss out.
“The writer’s silent mind is a period of intermission before orchestrating a symphony of words.” ―
It seems at times that I’ve kept you waiting far too long. The seasons sail by and leave the hints of their passing and invariably disguise your patience in a kind of artful repose, a detritus of settled time.
My neurology, a hasty concoction of clusterfucked dendrites finds something sublime in your silence and I find myself staring off into space and only when I realize the object of my gaze is you do I realize how my failure to be productive has led to a mental sleepiness I can’t say that I abhor. Forgive me – my silence.
I’m reminded of a time when I was busy falling in love again – it was a long time ago. The object of my passions, a sweet child of 20 and I not much older, found ourselves doing that googly-eye thing at the local dance club in Ludwigsburg, Germany. You know how it is when you are young and your fantasies are still real enough to try. Of course, you know. We were on the dance floor and the music had stopped. The band was on an intermission. We were not.
How I worked all day, danced all night, and made love till noon the next day remains a mystery in the late fall of life. At first, I wondered if it was the German Beer and its natural ingredients, or the German Coffee, maybe both. More than likely it was her mysterious hazel eyes wrapped in dark shadow above dark red lips and her black hair; long, straight, thick, and shiny. Perhaps her white cotton bodice with barely constrained breasts in a red velvet corset over black leather pants and knee-high boots did me in, bled my heart like a daggered plum. I pictured her riding the bitch seat on my Harley Sportster, holding on so tight, her lacquered fingernails cut like a laser into my chest. She saw it differently. I came to love her point of view. She gave me so many of them.
What does all this have to do with intermissions and delayed posts, you ask? I only mean to say, I’m distracted by stories and memories gurgling like a teapot just before the whistle blows. Alexandra Dragana is spilling the beans faster than I can count them and so, Dear Reader, I’ll be away bean counting as it were. But don’t go away, I’ll be right back after a brief intermission.
It’s strange how much older we both are now but I’ll swear she can still rock my world in a pair of leathers. It’s pure hell getting her out of them, tho…
You know what I mean? Of course, you do.
Image Source: Pinterest.
To have prescience of my future, I must know my past and the struggles of my ancestors. – Hyperion Sturm
The hall of mirrors and pigmented memories on canvas bordered in elaborate gold leafed frames spun lazily in an erratic path like the flight of bees. Alexandra heard the buzzing vibrato of diaphanous insect wings in her mind as she struggled to maintain her erect posture and attentive smile. She wove her arm inside the crook of the Viscount’s elbow and held him tight to steady herself. Read more
Alexandra wandered along the path with me. Sometimes she liked to lead and other times she liked to follow along silent and sullen, her thoughts an anthology of mysteries, a muzzle of worn black leather and rusty wrought iron rings. I held her reigns for a time and she was okay with that. What kept her by my side was her desire to be taken unexpectedly with passion, hard and fast. She confessed once that the pain of being filled with me was the trigger that fired her guns. I fell in love with her and her triggers. Read more
“We all carry, inside us, people who came before us.” ― Liam Callanan, The Cloud Atlas
Alexandra studied Cezar in muted admiration. His hair and beard were immaculately trimmed and lay in obedient waves on his tanned face and noble head. He wore a formal black uniform fashioned to fit his physique. The jacket covered a starched white shirt and shiny black bowtie. His proud chest was a garden of colorful medals, ribbons, sashes, golden colored cords, and adorned epaulets. The handsome Viscount and the dual wolves on the coat of arms electrified Alexandra. The wolves, she thought. Our connection is the wolves but what do they mean? She had only questions and no answers. Read more