Lovely Girl @ MindSay

As I lie next to her in the bed

She's the kinda girl I'd like to wed

Nevermind the fact that she's dead

It turns me on....It turns me on

Sure she's a little cold to the touch

But that doesn't bother me much

Because the embalmer did such

A lovely job....A lovely job

She's a month Dead and she's starting to smell

But if loving a corpse is a sin, I'll see you in hell

...And now

I got her propped up in a chair

She's losing her skin and her hair

And I'm wishing she wouldn't stare

So much at me....so much at me

Rigor Mortis is taking it's toll

Her body is as stiff as a pole

But I'll never put her back in the hole

I dug her from...I dug her from

She's a month dead and she's starting to smell

But if loving a corpse is a sin.....

...........I'll see you in hell................................................

.....................................................I Love You

    I spent the evening last night with family. I guess it was nice.. other than being in pain and sick. I got to see a few of my cousins.. which was nice. My baby cousins are getting so big.. it's amazing.

    Spent Saturday with the lovely Kaci. I know how wrong this is, but I'm attracted to this girl. She is my best friend and I want to be the girl that isn't like hey let's make out.. but I really do like her. I don't want to tell her this because that would ruin everything we have.. like I said I'm the girl that doesn't ask to make out with her. I'm the girl that she can go to with anything and not feel pressure. I'd have to say I like being that girl also. I'm glad I have a friendship where I don't have to worry about anything and no matter how wrong I am she is always there for me. That is the type of relationship Katie and I had.. I'm glad I can have the same kind of relationship with a friend.

hmmm, Well not too many folks offered their opinions and thoughts on the subject of the sisters, WHAT A SHOCK! I guess it will take many more blog entries on the sable femmes to get some motors running.

How about a photo of a lovely sister. This my friends is the lovely and oh so EBONY Alek Wek:

Have a great day, French a Sister and be as safe as one can.

 Foot ache to back to shooting from foreign arrows as a fishhead, cold in a half lit room where air was pushed through vents and wandering, alone for once and wandering. I was transfixed by convinient eyes standing lax armed in a crowd of spoken words, and I abated and returned, abated and returned, those eyes having done some variation of the same. And I walked on, and they fell back into the sockets of the croud.

Oh, when I finally fixed myself to stay upon the edge of a balcony how glorious it all was, how flowing and explosive and gleaming to a twist and flare and burn, oh

you with your rounded face and voice as a sentinel spoke, falling in waves above heads and wrapping itself around the metal of stately poles, you with your ringmasters jacket and extended necked smile, you with the sudden force as if a kiss at the edge of a waterline, oh

you, lax armed girl, with the flowers in your dress and your violin's bow tapping at your side, with your quaint feighning name and laugh and posture, with the form of your mouth and teeth and tounge, staring out, staring out, oh,

you, wild haired woman, rocking back and forth and pounding key to finger to key until the two melded to a single flesh, only, of course, to be ripped apart, oil and porcelin and hardened white things, and brought down again, slammed down again, again and again and again, and you made it seem like forever. You made it seem like noweverythingnoweverything, melding lines of definition and logic as you melded your fingers to the keys, lovely with your cymbols clanging clashing in a wayward waltz and oh,

you standing bent backed arm extending, supporting the weight of your medium and of the birds which flew from behing your brain to the looking eyes all in one singular direction, to those who drank, to those who loved, and your companion bent over a box with concentration in a three sided hat, a gallows reveree, and the colour was brown.

And how the music, that beautiful clay, that lovely, flowing watertap, was spring in a cold raining fall, and the cold raining fall itself. Shaking at the soles of my feet with every stroke and moan and verse and belt and beat, with every chord and every meter, with every time you closed your eyes, I rocked my tired legs to a numb, arm thrown motion, clutching at my breast and throwing my arms to my sides in turns. I loved with everything I had exploding in my chest, awash and I let it take me, every inch of me, allotting myself to an already inevitable sprightly surrender to the aristocratically formed hands of purple camisol path memories, of gypsy girls and drowned barrel boys, of a month whose name screams millions of others, of beaten paths and riverbeds, and of a girl in love in love with wrongs.

And at the nights end walking through the doors, I was enraptured in the face of a boy behind a countertop, and he smiled at me and spoke to me in a tone sweeter then I'd heard all the night, and an old man rocked by in a leatherworn jacket and told me I was the most beautiful girl in the building

And the words fell lightly on my forhead as the rain did. And I remembered the boys face and thought of letters to write. And everything flowed in the stasis of a silent town at midnight, and I felt completely possessed by a hungry love.

*lana*