Saturday, September 08, 2007

For want ot a nail



One of God's jokes is to have a whole bunch of women after you at precisely the time when yout are out of food, booze, cigaretttes, out of a real place to take somebody, and when you have finally marked yourself down in your own estimation.

I had made a joke in a previous blog to the effect that I was so badly off, I was going to go down the street and troll for gay guys.

I think I did a little bit better. (That's if you prefer women).

So here I was, tromping on empty cigarette packages in a back alley, which opened into a churchyard.

I had found a long one, and paused at a bench in front of the twin-spired edifice to have a thoughtful smoke and a talk with Somebody.

Then out of an afternoon summer haze, she came.

She wore no makeup, had bangs, brown hair, and over jeans, she was weaing one of those almost-puffed sleeved faux-silk blouses that all the girls are wearing today.
In her left hand, she was holding something white . "Can I get a light from you?"

I immeditately reached for my plentiful supply of little Bics; gave her a somewhat grudging light.
I had other things on my mind than European pick-up scenes.

I was wearing a designer spa tee shirt, the lettering of which she was reading.
"You're from across town. Aintcha. But you look familiar."
Told her thirty years ago, I was in the newspaper business.
"Delivering?"
"Writing."
"I didn't get that. Working?"
"Writing. I had a column. My picture was up on top of it."
"I've seen your around town all the same", she said.

We finished our cigarettes.
Something intimate in this Fifties social act. The smoke. The prow- end of each-other's mystique.
We introduced each other. First names.
I was, suddenly feeling a possibility
She soon dispelled the mystery of what this oeuvre was leading to.

"How would you like a blow job?"


I have to end the story here.

For want of a nail, the empire was lost.
For want of a package of cigarettes, poor old Ivan remains unblown.

I thought I heard somebody laughing upstairs.

##



40 comments:

the walking man said...

For want of a "package of cigarettes", poor old Ivan remains unblown.


Wouldn't that be more like unsucked, blowing on cigarettes is a waste of them.


ha ha ha ha ha ha ha

Peace


mark

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Where is Apollinaire's poetry when I need it?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

TWM

(Hysterical laughter).

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

Didn't know your were into cut-up poetry.

Ah, your heart belongs to Dada. :)

Ivan

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Would you prefer Neruda? Perhaps his, "White Hills", writing?

eric1313 said...

Hahaahahahahahahahaha
I posted something very similar (similar but not), up that alley, I hate to jest, but it's just funny and I had to say it.

Hang in there. Sounds like life gets better when you get older. I really hope that's the case. You should be rolling out a new novel, and selling it to holywood, at least get it e-mailed to every desk in the town.

Or maybe gay is the way to another payday!

Meanwhile, keep minds and hearts opened and zippers and wallets closed.

either way, peace out

eric1313 said...

Tara

How are you? Hope everythings well!

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I am alright Eric. I will get to your mail this night. I have been stuck in old books and filling my head with poetry of men long since gone. How are you?

eric1313 said...

Settling down. Everything has calmed down ebnough to write everyday again.

I'm reading a lot of old books, my self. I finished "All My Friends Are Going To Be Strangers" for the third time. It's romantic, edgy for it's time and for now, hillarious and emotional. Really, it is that good. And only twohundred seventy pages, you end up wishing it was another hundred.

Reading Somwhere In Time, now. I've had it for a while, but just now started to read it.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Somewhere in Time is my most favorite. A love over distance and time. A love so deep that even distance can not keep them apart. As it should be. Distance is no reason to lose or let love go. Oh now, I am feeling romantic.

eric1313 said...

It's a great thought and consolation, the idea that truly nothing is so distant that it can't be acheived.

Yeah, I know, it's catchy, feeling like that.

Josie said...

Tara, I almost did a post about Somewhere in Time - also my favorite movie, by the way.

I had a somewhere in time experience. Unfortunately, the penny appeared out of the coat pocket. Ha! *poof*

Hey, boychik, it's Saturday. Is the party at your place? I have a bottle of vodka here that you guys didn't manage to find last weekend. I'll bring it with me.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Josie et al.

Boychik has made a piggy of himself and is drunk already.

Rock on, guys.

The doormouse will yet roar.

ZZZZZZZ

Ivan

Sienna said...

Oh Ivan!

You would so be the envy of Hugh Grant.

I went climbing mountains again, took a couple of beers this time, thought whats the point of all this work and not be able to have a nice (tepid) beer at the end...

Climbed and reached the spot where I could sit down and just take in the world and was half way through my first beer and a cute 30 something rocks up in his lycra! Leaving nothing to the imagination, really looked like the original budgie smuggler.

So we chatted (he works in IT) and I looked everywhere but *down*....try to drink and not laugh at the same time....I think he thought he had met the happiest/smiliest person ever....and I think I'm developing a fetish for lycra...

If your alleyway girl could meet my mountain lycra man, I'm sure there would be an immediate attraction. :)

Pam

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Eric1313,

I just looked up your 8-mile-love graffiti blog, but it is not up.
Missed your own write-up on (similar?) theme.
Yep, multiple-submission, though going against the grain a bit, seems the way to go.

Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Pam,

Well, Aussies aren't that much into tepid beer, but reaching the peak must have been satisfying...I have done some rock climbing.
Wow. A Batman Riddler outfit with no question marks.
Myself, I was just wearing shorts, had gone on a diet when the lady made her entreaty.
Gotta get lycra!

Ivan

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

p.s. to Pam,

Oh yeah, Hugh Grant.

I think I remember him in l995, telling Jay Lenno, "While I am not one to blow my own horn...(laughter from audience) I am a good actor."
Poor Elizabeth Hurley, his girlfriend, dazed by it all.

And the alleged hooker going on the make a fortune after the Beverly Hills white BMW incident, "Nine Months", or whatever Divine Brown's movie was titled.

Ivan

ivan@crativewriting.ca said...

Tara,

Ah Pablo Neruda.

White Hills. Erotic poetry.

Not for nothing the Nobel Prize.

Died at 69.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I know... which would you prefer... Neruda or Apollinaire?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Tough choice, Tara.

I admired Apollinaire because of his futurism; he sort of predicted our times.
Neruda, or course, was the deeper poet.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

well I will get back to reading them... I do not want to bore anyone. But I will go with the deeper poet for now.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

The whole Dadaist-Futurist-Cubist thing is kind of a gas.
There were people in Toronto around Marshall McLuhan--Edmund Carpenter, Jack Jone--just to name a couple--who put out a magazine called Explorations.
They really dug Apollinaire and an Italian dude nemed Marinetti, who said something like "our poetry can't match the streamlined grace of a speeding automobile."
The thing about the cubist poets is that they sense the horror of the First World War before it ever happened.
Like Leaonard Cohen sensing 911 before it ever happened.
A genius poet is a good bellwether.

...But then you're into erotica.
Aintcha.

Ivan

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I do not think I have to choose between the two. Erotica is great because it brings all the senses with it. As you read it, your body responds, how could it not.

Apollinaire is more of a political poet to me, perhaps because of the times in which he wrote that I see him that way. But then he could also write great erotic poetry... wasn't it called something like, "Eleven-Thousand Rods?

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Don't know that one.

Sounds like JR's work atmosphere, though.
He teaches in a prison. :)

ivan@crativewriting.ca said...

Whoops,

SNL reruns coming on.

Gotta see my Kristen Wiig.

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

I would write it here for you except the it is 120 pages. One huge "unedited erotica" book.

anyway.. have fun watching SNL ... soft love Ivan

Anonymous said...

nextime play some prince musicM.R.G.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Oh Mary Rose.

Don't know who wrote this in the Fifties:

I said hello Josephine.
How do you do!

Uno

Inside our hands, outside our hearts said...

Ha! Anonymous, it would fall on deaf ears I am afraid.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

...Almost did, Tara.
But I got it this morning.

The point, that is.


Ivan

Donnetta Lee said...

Well, the best laid plans...
Donnetta

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Donetta,
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

No question.

Funny you should say that!

JR's Thumbprints said...

I hope you're not implying that I'm counting. I remember having to bring a few boxes of files from the school building to the administration building.

"What are you doing, JR?" an officer asked.

"I'm carrying these boxes upfront."

"With all these swinging dicks around here, you shouldn't have to carry anything."

And from that day foward, I haven't.

ivan@creativewrting.ca said...

Got it.

TomCat said...

Well, I hope you lifted the wig to be certain it wasn't larry Craig. ;-)

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Good point.
You never know.

But I think Larry had a pageboy.

Ivan

eric1313 said...

My blog was down? That kind of thing always bothers me. I never know about it, xit's never giben me a problem. But people sometimes tell me it's unavailable, or it won't let them post and other annoying things like that.

Maybe that's when the hat people are scanning my blog for crimes to one day crucify me for.

eric1313 said...

My blog was down? That kind of thing always bothers me. I never know about it, it's never given me a problem. But people sometimes tell me it's unavailable, or it won't let them post and other annoying things like that.

Maybe that's when the hat people are scanning my blog for crimes to one day crucify me for.

eric1313 said...

blogger won't let me delete my comment, now. Says I'm not allowing cookies, or something.

Wish I had some cookies and milk tonight... I'd allow that.

ivan@creativewriting.ca said...

Eric,

I finally got to your commen(s).

I have had trouble with beta blogger since I switched to beta.
I won't allow me to comment on my own blog; have to be constantly inventive.
The Hat People. Heh.
I think that was the book that sank me. Publishers kept saying there were three holes in the book and one big one...I tried to shore up the holes in what I have finally put up in my links.
Flattered that you may have had a peek at it.
Had some luck with the book though.
It was hardly off the presses when
Steve Pearson, head librarian of the Uxbridge Public Libraty here said he would take it for his library sight unseen....Unfortunately what I gave him was the book with the holes in it. Embarrassing; gave him shoddy product...But I guess I could call it a publishing. Certainly small scale.