Good and bad things happen in the shadows
I have learned that light not only reveals but bends
Is it wise to be so open and spill truths
To be taken and uses for others gains
I am the good that is hidden with pointed teeth
Docile and meek
are for those who fear shadows
(When I am ready to reveal what is happening. You will be the first to know)
Calvin and Hobbs Sunday comics
Hello everyone. You maybe wondering why I started off this way?
I was thinking that we are all in one form another are being fed maggots. It really wasn’t maggots. It was rice soup, but you get what I am saying, I hope.
We, as a society, are always changing and evolving. Listening to a YouTuber, podcaster, on my way to work. She was talking about how AI is taking over the way we write. And she is not the first to state this, but what I found fascinating is that she is looking for writing to have some kind of typos in it. Not to criticize it but just to see the human element.
The human element. We pride ourselves on always advancing our knowledge and finding new ways of doing things. There’s nothing wrong with that. But who is the gatekeeper or the person who’s going to say, “slow it down? You’re going too fast,” and our society is going to be in trouble because we don’t know when to say when or when to take a breath.
I am the owner of a short story and poetry magazine. A couple of the writers were complaining, “Oh, I see a typo. I need to fix it.” You as the writer or the human, if you want to fix your writing. So be it. Fix your writing.
That is your choice, and we are perfectionists with what we put out. But what about those readers who likes to see mistakes and imperfections. “Oh, this is actually from the writer. This is not something that AI fixed or changed.”
We all need to take a breath because we’re going too fast. Moving like they say in the science fiction hemisphere, at the speed of light, if not faster. In this world of Cars that do not need a driver now or automatic correction to words that you’ve never seen or did not intend to be on the page makes you wonder, why are we doing this to ourselves?
As children, we like to invent and create. As adults, we like to invent and create. But as an adult, is it always fun to invent and create when it’s at the detriment of us losing our own style and nuances in the way we write and convey what we think? Not anti AI, just anti losing who we are.
This is just me and my thoughts.
What does the word even mean
An apology that is supposed to be given when felt
The word does not erase the feelings
That absolute absurdity of it
As a child you were made to say your sorry
Looking in that same child’s eyes
There is not an ounce of remorse
Confusion
Anger
Adolescents are no better
Sorry rolls off the tongue to remove you from sight
Why say the word when they have done no wrong
Too sensitive
Delusional
Adults are a quagmire of word play
Rather the meaning of the word sorry
Sorry that you were caught…
Sorry that you heard it that way….
Sorry that you are having difficulty…
When are we going to realize
Sorry is only believed when the soul feels it
Within we have a natural detector to know when it is true
And when it is false
I have lived a life accepting and giving, sorries
And in this life time
Short as it is
I felt the truth
And given my truth
I feel such sorrow
For all of humanity
Because sorry cannot erase the damage/the carnage
Still, sorry falls from lips with no remorse, just avoidance
I have great news. I will have a table at Book Con 2026′. I am freaking out about it.
I will be representing Hypo Frost Magazine and Bookstore, and Stars Rite. A writing community. My table will represent both. Those writers who are published will be on the table.
I will post some pictures so you can see and tell all of you about the experience. That is it for now.
Fia.
Have you ever had a massage that was so intense that the muscles in your stomach cramped up.
OMG
The woman almost had me begging to stop. I needed the massage for my back, but my stomach was protesting.
When she decided to climb on the table to get really into the muscle, I slammed my hand on the table giving the sign that you won. I give up. All athletes recognize that sign.
Maybe she never seen Wrestling or Mixed martial arts. There was no white flag to wave in surrender.
Then I heard it the buzzer saying our time is over and my body is my own to torture as I please.
I considered calling for help because I am pretty sure several bones snapped and normally that relieves some of the pain, I had a sneaky suspicion that my skeleton was not going to hold up my frame.
I was going to go down hard. Fine…I will survive. This is just my way of saying “I paid for this. Why am I complaining?”
I have finally made the time to go down the welcome to Word press trail. I have meant to do that for a while, and I have gotten caught up with life.
I have read some very interesting introductions, and I hope that the ones who started on here for therapeutic purposes find some semblance of peace.
When I started on WordPress many years ago, my motive was to get people to read my work. I figured I don’t have to publish a book if people took the time and just read what I wrote this way.
I started putting out my stories here and now I have a blend of stories and poetry. It is funny what happens in life. I have published a book. Working on publishing another one. I own a literary site, a magazine and, now a bookstore.
The bookstore is in its infancy, but it will grow. All this to say is that we never know what may happen when we go down our own rabbit hole.
Still, when it is time to hop to it, I must at least. I have been spending a lot of time on Stars Rite. A writing community. If you are curious, come and see what it is like and say hello.
I’m Fia, and I always say hello back.
There are days I feel like I spread myself too thin, like butter on dried toast. You know how the heat from the toast just melts it in the crevasse. Then there are days I feel like I am the tube of butter a one slice of toast couldn’t melt me in its wildest dreams. lol
What an opening, just to say I have a lot on my plate. I have finished the third edition of my Hypo Frost magazine, and I have created an online bookstore where I import books myself. On top of that, I am running a poetry and writing site.
What is wrong with me? lol
I am a writer. I love creating worlds in my mind or doing twisted things to people in this world. My poetry is free-flowing thoughts and emotions. In one year, I wrote over 500 poems. some long, some short, but all mine. Well a few I did with a partner.
I guess I can be convincing if I want to collaborate on poetry and stories. Why am I writing this? I just need to write. I wanted to give you all an update and at the same time just write my thoughts as it tumbles out.
As
words
trickle
down
from
a
mind
consumed
with
thought,
One wonders with the flow stop, and will the pool stay still stagnant?
I will keep going till the water stops flowing. I hope you do too. fire starters.
Unjust jealousy
has taken over me
I cannot believe
that you cannot see
that he is for me
I will channel this rage
as my pen flies across the page
There is no smoke or sage
That will bless what is coming in spades
You need to understand
When this woman claims that man
He is taken in hand
No judge or jury can command
So, since an education is required
Pull up a seat as this transpires
You see those lips
those hands
that Chest
I can say more, but I will say less
It’s funny how men think we will not fight
Allow them to go to this one or that one during the night
But what is mine will never be out of my sight
Either tied or chained sounds delicious, right
You can’t handle what is right next to me
You’re too young, too inexperienced, too full of Glee
You see, when the lights are dim or even red and sinewy
You couldn’t even do what he requires of me
There’s something that comes with age and time
You would have to be taught, but not by what’s mine
The young green grape hangs loosely on the vine
Is not much of a delicacy until it’s turned into wine
Now go away, little mouse, and eat someone else’s cheese
They may like what you have, and you wouldn’t be on your knees
Oh, that was harsh. Forgive me please
I think you understand now, you finally see
Why am I drawn to your writing?
I’m not sure myself.
Is it because I can see the damage and every word
Or is it that I can see you
See, you get so engulfed in every word
To make your point come across?
It’s my own form of voyeurism.
You’re so open in a different way.
Do you pull your hair and get aggravated
When you can’t get the right words
Or when you’re writing something salacious,
do you put the phone down? So no one can see?
Maybe you could close the book. When you feel,
your ears are turning red from what your mind created
To see the human body and all its splendor on the outside.
Is deliciousI
I will not deny that
But to see what’s inside the mind is so damn sexy.
I like to watch as you toil around thoughts
.And then present it to me
Do you give secret notes away?
I’m a greedy bitch
Is it wrong for my beast to stir when you do
As I read the pulse in my neck begins to beat fast
Breathing air is difficult
When did air become thick
I feel my heart start to stutter
Not realizing I stop breathing altogether
It’s a drug, the words
Sweet then dangerous
A tender kiss to open one up
Then the moment a moan escapes
The world slips away
It’s just the words
The ache
The need
Half-hooded eyes
Blown pupils
Inner heat
Created by the poet
When it all comes to an end
I’m left with the tremors
I’ll wait until the next
Poetic piece
The question is…
When can I …
Have more
My skin hurts. It feels like they’re ripping it off my bones—sliver by sliver. I can’t scream anymore. My voice left me an hour after they started. They said that once it’s done, I’ll be a changed person. Yeah, it changed all right, because once they set me free. I’m going to kill every single one of these fuckers
Five Days of Life Left
The room smelled of sugar and sweet peaches. I did not want to bother Amanda as she slept, but she knew sweet scents turn me on. Watching her sleep with her lips parted, and her light snoring made me smile.
Looking down and seeing her nipple peeking through the spaghetti strap top made me want to wake her up the way she likes it.
I bent down and took that wicked nipple in my mouth, swirled my tongue around,d and sucked it in. Her breathing changed, but she was not awake. I glided my hand up her inner thigh, meeting a little resistance.
‘Fine, you do not want me to go that way,’ I thought, slipping my hand around the back and cupping her ass. She made a little moan. She moved her leg a little to give me access, and all this while she was still sleeping.
She felt so warm and wet. I continued torturing that nipple, and I found my way inside those shorts. I could be a beast and just go inside her. But she was so sweet lately. I parted her folds and took her slick heat and rubbed that greedy clit of hers.
She was breathing faster. Her eyes were moving back and forth as if she were having the best dream.
I stopped circling and waited till she showed me her sign that she was ready. Opening her legs and the whimper. Damn, she whimpers so beautifully..
‘Okay, baby, I am going to give you what you need. Even in your sleep,’ I thought.
I slid two fingers in her hot channel and found her spot. I knew it like I knew my name. Pushing in and out and rotating my finger, she was panting. The sweet smell and the natural smell of her filled my nose, and I wanted to taste her everywhere.
But she’s asleep, and I like her cuming and watching me. I stopped sucking her nipple and pinched her other nipple. Her eyes flew open, and the look she gave me. Priceless.
“Please..please” She whispered as she fucked my fingers.
I know her clit is begging for my mouth. But no. I want it to stay throbbing and wanting me all day. Instead, I turned my wrist a little and played with her tight hole. She was so wet she dripped back, and I lightly pushed in.
She was never taken back there, but we were going to on our anniversary. She was so receptive.
“No, not ready.” She whimpered
I pinched her nipple again. “No more speaking,” I fucked her harder with my fingers and added a third.
“You want to cum, bab,y” I asked, and I can feel myself wanting her to want me so badly she could almost hate me. Almost.
“Yes..Yes please”
I can feel her tightening and almost there. I am the sadistic person that I am. I pulled out and left the bed.
“Don’t you dare cum. Don’t touch yourself. That’s mine.” I said, looking over my shoulder.
She took the pillow and screamed into it. Yeah, she’ll think of me all day. Clit throbbing, pussy spasming, and the hint of the forbidden.
I went to take a shower, and I could hear the bathroom door open.
“What the fuck? You leave me like this?”
“Yes”
“Yes? That is all you’re going to say?”
I looked at her and smiled. “Yes”
We have been together for a while, and I told her that I get in funny moods. It had never appeared before, but it’s her,e and I don’t know if she can handle it.
“You do that shit again, you sleep on the couch.”
I laughed as she stormed out. Then I heard it. The fucking vibrator. “Bitch”
I walked out wet. Took the toy out of her hand and away from that fucking clit and threw it out the window.
“What the Fuck”
“Don’t test me. Get dressed and go to work.”
‘I need…”
“I know, and I want you to need me. Get dressed.”
I went back to the shower, finished, and went to the kitchen. Amanda came out, face red, a look of “I hate you” in her eyes.
“What you said, you can handle me.”
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the apartment. Maybe I went too far? Nope, not far enough.
Afternoon
After I got dressed in my usual white shirt, black pants, and black flat shoes, I grabbed my long pea coat and keys and left my apartment.
She will probably not speak to me for a week, and strangely enough, I was okay with that. She decided that she wanted to open our relationship to other people. I told her no, but she went out of her way to try to convince me.
Of course, we had amazing sex last night, but the thought of someone else taking what was mine made me mean. She used sex for me to say yes, and I used lack of it to make her pay.
Five years and she wanted another. Stopping at my usual coffee cart, I ordered my coffee and a butter roll. It was 28 degrees in New York, but I still felt the chill on the back of my neck. Looking around the street, it looked normal.
People are rushing to the subway or the bus stop. Horns honking to make the left turn on the main street, and Agnas sitting on the cardboard wrapped up in a blanket asking for money for the day. I called the homeless division to come and get her. She stays out here, she is going to die.
My attention went back to the cart, and I grabbed my order. Walking past the private school, I felt the chill again. I looked to the left, and I saw this man staring at me as he lifted the gate to the legal cannabus shop. He lifted his chin to say hi, and I lifted my coffee in response.
The feeling was not coming from him. Who is walking over my grave? That’s what they used to say when you felt like this. I went into the familiar place that I had control over. My office. I am a hired photographer. It’s just that I am hired to incriminate people more than to make them look good.
I work with all divisions of the department. It took years to get them to trust me. Walking in I was greeted by Ethan. He was part-time and a cheap receptionist.
“You have bills on your desk, and this was just dropped off.”
I stopped breathing the minute I saw it. The black envelope.
“It’s weird, but there is no writing on it, and the person said you would know how to read it.” Ethan was way too excited. He loved mystery novels.
“Can I see what it said?”
I snatched the envelope, went into the office, and slammed the door. I did not need to read it. I knew the words by heart.
I took the black paper out of the envelope, went to the bathroom toilet, propped the paper in and let the cold water wet the paper.
It read
“You are cordially invited to your wedding. Be there at eight. The wedding will promptly follow. No need for RSVP.
P.S. Show or you will die.”
Shit, I hate my life. I can not run because they will find me. By tomorrow night, I will be Nia Lin Barbatus. The wife of Colin Barbatus, the head of the Roman family in New York. The chill I felt was me being watched.
His people are called the Death Watch. I am now on their list. The paper disintegrated and I flushed it.
Hey fire starters I know I am off and on. The ignitor needed mor fluid. lol. I hope you like this. Let me know
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