Rapt.Sure.

On the morning of the Rapture
I was in the woods, among the birds
with leaves around my ankles

Sunlit pools on the forest floor
through the rose window trees,
from a stained glass sky

In the afternoon of the Rapture
I was working at the lunch table,
counting blessings (sandwich was one)

Cardinal on the feeder shelling seeds
while my hands were making notes,
Shared a knowing glance, then gone

In the evening of the Rapture
At a window seat, with arroz y frijoles,
Her walk a casual flamenco

I could not turn away, eyes like magnets,
I sat up straight and smiled as she neared,
Those mahogany pools smiled back

and said hello, on the evening of the Rapture.

Dream of Sambalpuri Shankha

Strings drone, tabla booms,
Sari unwinds, silk on hands,
Taste of masala

The Ponytail Files, Volume 3: The Sap is Doomed

This will probably cement my reputation as a sap.  What happened was significant enough that, as a writerly chap, I knew I'd probably pen something about it even before it was over.

As usual, it involved a member of the fairer sex*.  It involves a question I had to ask myself:  Do women, in general, know the true power they seem to have over dopes like myself?

The afternoon was gorgeous, great weather, and I was in pursuit of sandwich at a local cafe-bakery.  Sitting down to tuck in, I was facing the door where I had a good angle for people watching.  People watching is one of my favorite things to do while noshing.

So, I was sitting at the table when she came in.  She was a blond, 'the kind of blond that would make a bishop want to kick a hole in a stained glass window'**. She was walking towards the direction of my table, so I had a great line of sight. She was quite attractive, but it wasn't that in specific that grabbed my attention.  It was The Gesture.

She reached up with a well-turned hand, and tucked her hair behind her right ear...and I almost fell out of my chair.  How did she do that?  In that moment, I felt like a goofy teenager again, thoroughly entranced by such a simple but amazingly feminine gesture, one that almost never has failed to gobsmack me.  I found it hard to take my eyes off of her for almost the entire time I was eating.

These gestures have been and continue to be an Achilles' heel of mine.  And I cannot explain it.  All I know is that women in general seem to have these somewhat unique ways of moving, of existing in space-time, that are my kryptonite.  These ways are to my mind innately feminine in the deepest, most mysterious sense.  They are motions or looks that I think of as 'sacred feminine' in some way, and in most cases they reduce me to the level of a awestruck puppy.  This has the unfortunate side effect of making me too foggy-headed to have the presence of mind to actually try talking to some of the ladies who have had that power over me.  I'm afraid I'd open my mouth and I'd sound like the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.  Or just stand there, slack-jawed and saying "You pretty."

Longtime readers know I have written of this phenomena before (HERE, HERE, HERE and HERE).  So you can see the history.

I think I'm doomed.

So, if you see me staring?  Please know its because I'm stunned, and at least you'll know why: it's because I'm a sap.

---

*The use of that phrase, in and of itself, is enough to brand me a sap.

**I heard that line on a radio comedy bit years ago.  Loved it ever since.

Pretty Sound Good - The Ponytail Files, Volume 2

Hey, guys and dolls!  Here's a little trip in the Wayback Machine.  Longtime readers may recall THIS POST from (get this) two years ago, about the the lurvely Adele and her incredible voice.  Well, a really ravishing look, too, but she can saaaaaang!

Guess what, my lovelies?  She's back!  A slightly different (but still lurvely)(very lurvely) look and a new album out this year...and once again I am gobsmacked.

So I...uh, wait, where was I?  I was approaching a point here, what did I do with it?  Oh, yes, of course...MUSIC!  As I said, she has a new album out, and if anything, she sounds even better.  Click on the picture, it links to a concert performance from earlier this month.  You don't have to listen to the whole thing (30 minutes), but at least give the first song a try...mmm, mmm, that voice...pretty do sound good, so good.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Heart of the Sun

No no no, this can't be but please let it be, oh yes I won't mind, but for the love of god can it please stop distracting tormenting pleasing exciting me, for a little while at least?  That's why sleep good sleep is a distant memory and the measure of days is how much can be accomplished between flights of fanciful insecurities and transient lonely glories, images of loveliness behind the eyelids.  Afterimages dancing on the retinas like they said the glow of atom bombs could be seen through hands over closed eyes.

Not something that he believes but the idea of it makes sense, carries its own weight its own logic, because he knows, he knows like a wise old dog that has been beaten one too many times by someone he adored, he knows that white-hot intensity of heart-forged ecstasy that mutates into pain and back into love, a crazy sine wave ripping stitches through the soul...

All it takes is a glimpse, a trace or a full on field of view, seeing that cast of skin or color of eye, a waterfall of ravens down the back along with a voice to melt stones and iron, that's all. And it can happen anywhere, anytime, isn't that right? Honest-to-God, in a noisy crowded room, or the hushed stacks of a bookstore or holy smokes grabbing dinner in a hurry.  He hears his master's voice, or sees her hair curled over a shoulder, or those eyes, dear lord, those eyes, why do all dark eyes remind him of those Dark Eyes, the Dark Eyes, the ones at the heart of the Sun where temperatures rise to numbers that don't matter, and fusion occurs and there is no barrier between Ego and Love?  Why, why?

Because after the fusion comes the burnout, the ejection of soul on a plasma wavefront of exploded passion that sprays fragments of the man he became and no longer was, out into the supercold ecliptic, pushed on the solar wind of the Sun he held in his hands once, and lived and wants to live again but dammit, its happening entirely against his will.  All that can be done is to grasp frantically at gravity to stop stop stop the fall among the asteroids, wearing a Kuiper belt of shattered hopes and wants while the heart slowly cools to absolute zero...

He thrashes desperately, fearing superfluidity or worse, which would be no motion at all , god, no that wouldn't be fair, damnit damnit damnit not after knowing infinity and peace, knowing what it was to be revived from freezing in the interstellar black of a foundering soul.  That would be unfair, too unfair, even by the standards of a universe known for monumental unfairness, at least that is what he tells himself every time orbits intersect, suns grow nearer, him clinging to the idea that life was reborn in a frozen heart, and can be born again it can it can, it has to be and for the love of god take comfort in that the battered stone of his heart can still feel...

A Gringo in America

Bonus night at the burrito joint, thought Colin McInerney as he stood in line for a weekly installment of frijoles and carnitas, Not one but two, count 'em, dos, ponytails workin' the line.  Rosa and Carmelita, the Burrito Sisters.

He fingered the worn bills in his pocket.  It was a nervous habit, exacerbated by the butterflies making lazy loops in his belly.  That he was nervous just made him flustered, and he could tell by the heat there was a flush creeping up his neck and over his face.  The ears in particular felt hot, like fleshy heat sinks riveted to his head.  Colin blinked rapidly from the effort of trying to appear calm.  The effort was tremendous, that of trying to catch glimpses of the pretty ladies behind the counter without being caught in the attempt.

There were gaps in the line of people, odd voids shaped by the heads and shoulders of the other customers standing alongside one another.  Colin was using them as a sort of hedgerow in which he could hide and see without being seen.  He hoped.  Every so often one would look his way.  It took all his concentration to avoid flinching, like he had been hit by rubber bullets from an invisible riot gun.  Still, anyone close would have seen the jerks and twitches, the rapid side-to-side motion of Colin's head, and would probably be wondering what sort of nervous affliction he was carrying.

The line moved forward.  Colin was next up to the counter.  The Captain of the Comal, as Colin had dubbed the man working the griddle, was a friendly sort.  "Colin, amigo! Good to see you!" called the Captain; Colin liked it because it made him think of what Cheers would have been like if it had been set in a cantina, and Norm walked through the door.  On another level, Colin thought it was a nice touch considering just how many of his weekly calories came from this place.  Of course, the Captain was the only person he had the nerve to actually talk to on his many visits.

"Hey, Captain, que pasa!  Gimme the usual, please."  The Captain slapped a tortilla on the griddle and closed the lid.  "This time, add a double scoop of the frijoles, please".

Out of the corner of his eye, Colin had seen the first counter woman, the one he called Rosa (the cashier lady he called Carmelita, although he had no idea why; they didn't wear name tags and if had heard someone call her name he hadn't really been paying attention), glance over at him when the Captain had called his name.

"She knows I'm here, at least.  Probably knows I've been staring," Colin muttered to himself, suddenly feeling warmer as the Captain ladled the beans and meat onto the tortilla and slid it down the counter over to Rosa.  He gulped.  He was next, and he would have to look her in the eye.

He inched down the glass to look up into a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen,  perfectly sized roundels of mahogany-colored stained glass.  She was smiling at him in that way peculiar to the front lines of fast-food joints everywhere: friendly, perhaps, but not overly so and looking a bit clip-on.

He didn't care.  She was talking to him.  Brown eyes, ponytail and corporate polo shirt just so, and Colin hoped he could get the toppings without sounding like what he was: a dork with a crush.  Her eyes seemed to get bigger as he stared at her.  Her lips, that lovely smile, began to part and Colin knew what was going to happen next.  She was going to ask him what he wanted on his burrito.  He gulped.  She spoke.

"What would you like on it?" she said, in English tinged with the hues of Mexico.  Colin blinked, once, twice.  His mouth opened. 

"What would I like? You, of course.  Just you.  Come out from behind the counter, right now, and let me kiss you on the mouth, twine my fingers in that ponytail.  Rosa.  Is that your name?  Not that it matters.  Your name could be anything and I would love it.  Just like you.  Love you, that is.  Am I being too forward?  I hope not, I hope I'm not bothering you, because really, I am in love with you.  Just like that.  I come in here every week and you, well, you are one of the reasons I do that.  Because its stupid and silly and I can't help myself.  So please? Let's leave here and get married and live somewhere where its warm in the winter and we can sleep with the windows open. Please?"

Colin blinked again, suddenly realizing his jaw was hanging slack.  Oh, shit, did I say all that out loud? he wondered. There was a rustle of impatience in the line behind.  Rosa was staring at him, half-bored and half-annoyed.

"Sir?  What you like on your burrito?" she repeated.

"Uh, the mild salsa, lettuce, cheese and guac, please," he squeaked.  His neck flushed hotter and he wondered if anyone could see him glowing.  Rosa swiftly added the toppings and rushed the burrito over to the counter.  Colin looked away, embarrassed, but felt a little relieved that she had already turned her attention to the next customer.  He pulled the bills from his pocket to pay.  A fine tanned hand at the end of a fine tanned arm put his meal on a tray and slid it across the counter.  Colin froze momentarily, then jerked a little at the voice.

"Any chips and salsa with that? A drink?"  Carmelita asked, a feminine bell calling the faithful to prayer.  Colin looked up across the counter...and into a pair of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen,  perfectly sized roundels of emerald-colored stained glass, and a ponytail the color of ravens.  She was smiling.

Oh, lord, groaned Colin inwardly, here we go again...

"What would I like? You, of course.  Just you..."

Pretty Sound Good - The Ponytail Files

I was all set: big mug o’ tea, laptop plugged in and fired up, remote in hand and the Gumbo buns parked on the couch to catch the inaugural events. Yeah, man, I was going to write this Big Important Post about how cool it was that things have changed, how Barack Obama is the President now, and what that meant for us as a nation. It was going to be GREAT.

But I found I couldn’t do it. Every time I tried to do it, I was sidetracked by the enormity of the events themselves. I was overwhelmed by Significance. This really is a pivotal moment in modern history, one that I am elated to witness. So elated, that there is nothing I could say to improve it. I had no spin, no take on it. It doesn’t need any gilding from me. I am, for the moment, left without something to say.

(thunk)(collective jaw dropping out there)

A first, I know. I’m a little disoriented by it myself.

In an effort to get myself a little more back to earth, I decided to cozy up to something a bit more earthy, and I was lucky that the Gumbo Image Files (a division of Freakflag Media©) had just the thing. Now I don’t feel so bad about clipping pictures out of the newspaper. I was flipping through my files and lo, looky at what I found! Something purty this way comes, so feast your peepers on this lovely lass:

Aaahhh….whuh….now, dammit, I know I had a point here….hold on (head between knees, taking a deep breath) WHOO! Okay! I’m back, sort of.

No, that is not a slightly curvy Audrey Hepburn (ooh, what an image that is!); that’s the most lovely Adele (after you click the link, scroll down – there is a color version of the above photo: HAWT!), a young* lass from London who has become quite the singing sensation. I first heard of her on my local tune source, WTMD, and the radio station was fortunate enough to have her stop by the studios for some vocal performances that they recorded. I have to say her voice has gotten to me the more I hear the music. She is in the same neighborhood as Joss Stone (rawr!) Sarah McLachlan (angel!) and Billie Holiday (O, summertime!). And that face in the picture?

Veered right off the path again. I was eating breakfast and reading the newspaper when I turned the page and saw it. I am not ashamed to say that the spoonful of ‘Honeybunches” or whatever that was on its way to my mouth ended up, in part, on my bathrobe. Good thing I suppose, as my jaw was sagging so much I couldn’t have kept anything in my mouth. I don’t remember for certain, but I may have actually drooled a little. Not sure. I do know that I sat and stared at that picture for a good two or three minutes before I finally woke up and turned the page.

And then I turned back to it. Three times, before I finished breakfast.

Then I looked at again. Twice. On the way to the recycle bin, at which point, I decided to cut it out of the newspaper. Can someone give me a clue as to what is wrong with me? Ida know, I keep getting gobsmacked by the wimmens. In this case, though I was in the safety and comfort of my own home, so I was in no danger of falling into a ravine or running into a tree. I did trip over the cat, though. Of course, when you combine looks with a good singing voice, it might as well be like this:


That’s me, the besotted chap there in the water. Hopefully, I’ll never end up wrecking a ship because I heeded the Sirens’ call (and I certainly don’t want to get eaten by a bird woman!), but I sure do like to look and listen. It’s distracting in a really, really good way.

Speaking of distractions, what are those people doing down on the Mall in Washington, D.C.? And who’s the dude with his hand in the air doing all that swearing?

*Young as in 20 years old. Can you believe that? Me neither. And no, I’m not a dirty old man. It’s just…purtyness, I can’t seem to escape it.

Siren image courtesy of Wikipedia

Secret Weapon: The Ponytail Bomb

Hooray, the sun has finally come out! The weather here has been on the ass end of suck, treating us to a kaleidoscopic array of cold, damp, grey and rain. Put it together however you like, it all sucked. I don’t mind cold so much, but cold, damp and gray just knocks the stuffing out of me. Today, however, it is cold, breezy and SUNNY: not perfect, but invitation enough to leave the cell, er, the house and pay a visit to the park at my favorite local lake. I dig these mini-vacations, even though it is winter. The outdoor forays I am privileged to take offer ample opportunity to observe the flora and fauna hereabouts. After hours and hours of staring at a computer screen, the walls and my own navel (just kidding about the navel), even bare trees and brown leaves are a tonic for the eyeballs. For the mind, as well. I took leave of my “home office” (read: dining room table, with computer) and hightailed my moderately out-of-shape self over to the lake for some fresh air and exercise, bird watching and leaf peeping. A short drive later and I was there.

Normally I take my iPod and headphones with me, for a little musical accompaniment. Today I decided to forgo the hardware and give the old ‘drums a rest. I have been listening to music almost non-stop since I got laid off, and this way I could listen to the geese and ducks and the wind instead of man-made noise. Lovely sounds all, and no fiddling with the cords and volume. No earphones also meant I could hear bikers and joggers when they were coming up behind me. I have only been startled to the point of embarrassment once (sorry, lady with the small child and big wheel stroller!) but today I wanted to be more careful than usual.

I have taken a lot of walks around the lake in recent weeks. I have noticed that after enough practice, it is very often possible for me to accurately guess the gender of joggers and runners from the sound behind me before I actually see them. Not perfect, mind you, but often enough to be amusing. So it was today on my walk. As I approached a particularly curvy, uphill portion of the path, I heard someone jogging up the path behind me. I guessed it was a female. When the person passed me, some things jumped out at me:

1) The jogger was indeed a woman. So my guess was right.
2) The woman had a very shapely physique. When you can tell under the layers of winter jacket (but with tights), it has to be good.
3) She was wearing a baseball cap, with a ponytail threaded through the loop.
4) The ponytail, and presumably the rest of her hair, was a deep reddish coppery hue.

I promptly forgot what I was doing and wandered off into the grass beside the path, nearly braining myself on a low hanging branch. I am sure it looked quite funny from a distance.

Now, I have no bias against short and medium length hair; some of the most beautiful women in the world (The Spouse, Halle Berry, etc.) have it, and I can dig it. But there is something about a well-shaped ponytail that just knocks the pins (and maybe the sense) out from under me. When combined with the coppery red (oh, lawd) and the ‘through-the-loop’ arrangement (duuuhhh, ohmygod, huuuhhh) well, you might as well just smack me with a billy club and toss me in the trunk. Yeah, I may have a problem.

It’s possible that this woman was really not all that and a bag of chips. As I never got the front view (she was jogging away, and I was walking. Jog? Uh, you mean me?) and the line of sight rendered that impossible, it could have been a case of ‘dreamboat body and shipwreck face!’. The glimpse I did get implied otherwise, though. But that was really beside the point. What really gets me is the overall look of it, and I am not really sure why. On one level, it is a simple case of attractive woman in my line of sight, a fairly standard condition amongst many of the males on the face of the earth. On other levels, though…I just…its…what? Maybe it’s the curviness of it all. Soft, feminine, rounded, these are all tropes that I key on. Maybe it is the motion of the ponytail. It reminds me of the ocean. And jaguars. And belly dancers. And horses. I mentioned that last one to a female acquaintance of mine some years ago, and she was mildly offended, leaving me to explain and defend myself. I didn’t do a very good job, at least in the sense of convincing her that I wasn’t saying that women with ponytails looked like horses, or were horses. And I was in no way implying that women were animals. It took me a while to dig myself out of that hole, I can tell you.

I believe I have it figured out now, at least in part. I think it befuddles and fascinates me because of the sum total of all those impressions: the femininity, the curviness, the association with oceans and jaguars and horses running. To my mind they are all exemplars of the beauty and the overwhelming mystery of Nature, and I cannot help but be impressed. I want to be a part of, submerge myself in this mystery. It makes me want to give thanks that I am allowed to experience all this beauty that is so good for my psyche.

So if you are a woman with a ponytail out for a jog in the park, and you see some goofball veering off the path and into the trees, don’t be alarmed or take offense. That will probably be me, out for a walk and communing with the Universe.