The Pirate, The Boy, and The Peanut

There once was a young man, who after eating a gooseberry pie spiked with moon juice, fell terribly ill. No one in the young man's town knew what to do, for the boy would respond to no medications or treatments.

Now, everyone knows that the evil pirate, Roberto Arnando Del Montague al Noutzen, has in his possession a magical object that could cure all ailments. The boy's parents, fretting themselves raw, and knowing not else what to do, placed the poor sick soul in a fishing boat, and pushed him off to sea. In between his index finger and his thumb they placed an offering. A peanut. (Because everyone also knows Roberto Arnando Del Montague al Noutzen can resist not the temptation of a single peanut.) And they prayed to the ocean gods to guide their son safely to a cure.

The gods, being Martians from outer space, and having brought the moon juice to the earthlings, (also knowing all too well the temptation and power of such a magical concoction, and the hangover - OH! The HANGOVER), took pity on the boy and using the ocean currents, guided the boy to R.A.D.M.a.N.

Swiftly the boy’s small boat approached the massive ship commanded by the evil pirate. Angrily he saw the boat approach - such audacity that anyone dare approach his ship and treasures! - and with a grace born of a man at sea, and a grunt befit only of the piratiest of pirates, he swept up a harpoon gun and aimed it levelly at the poor sick young man. Just as his thick evil finger pressed the trigger just a hairs-span in depth, his keen eye caught sight of something that instantly melted his heart.

The peanut.

Without hesitation RADMaN fished the limp figure of the boy out of the rickety craft, and placed him tenderly onto the ships deck, all the while cooing softly to the peanut.

Now his crew knew all to well the warning that was within that soft cooing sound, and slowly backed away from their dread captain, hands held out in supplication for peace. Or at least, sanity.

RADMaN hungrily licked his lips. He rubbed his hands together briskly in anticipation. He opened and closed his mouth with a sloppy slick wet sucking noise. And he grabbed for the peanut with greed in his beady black eye, (eye, in singular, because his other eye was covered with a patch, of course. Pirate.. duh.) and tried to pry the coveted item from the sick boys fingers.

But it didn't budge.

RADMaN blinked stupidly.

He pulled at it again.

It was stuck fast.

Tug, tug.

Nuthin. It wouldn't budge.

He growled and sat back on his haunches. “Yaaaaar me matey’s! What be the deal here?”

His crew looked back at him warily, none knowing the answer.

Suddenly there was a great boom and a crash from over the railing, the sound knocking the dread pirate back to land squarely on his tush with delicate little ‘oopsie!’ only befitting of the daintiest of milkmaids. (“Ahem!” he says, “Yaar.. I mean.. OOF!”)

A deep and powerful voice echoed over the wind. It was a Martian!!

“T’is the Moon Juice you great fool! It has rendered him stiff!”

RADMaN glared sulkily over at the Martian. “Stiff??” he yelled, “But I wants me peanut, yaar!”

The Martian chuckled mightily. “To get it, evil sir, you must SAVE the poor boy! Using your thingbobbit you got from your last raid.”

“SAVE?” The pirate pouted, “But that goes against me morals! What kind of pirate would I be!”

The great being grinned slyly at the prone, dread, evil pirate. “A peanut-less one.” And with that the Martian slipped silent back into the depths of the ocean.

The pirate stared at the boy, who was still, sure enough, stiff as a wet dream. Pursing his lips, he signaled to one of his crew members, who intelligently enough, scurried away to grab the thingbobbit.

After a brief wait, the crewman returned but yanking awkwardly and pulling in tow a very pretty young lady in a blue dress. Attached to her wrist on a thin gold chain, was the thingbobbit.

“But it’s MINE!” She screeched petulantly. “Daddy gave it to ME!!” Her whole body leaned back in protest, her heels planted firmly with her little toes pointed in the air.

The crewman, completely out of his element, looked bewildered and completely at a loss. The dread pirate RADMaN looked up, although hesitantly, from his contemplation of the small peanut planted firmly in the sick boys fingers. His eyes practically making a tearing sound through the air as his gaze pulled away.

“Susana Petunia O’ Indica La Entre Dam!” He boomed. “My daughter, come here now! Yaar!”

Susana stopped her futile tugging at the pitiable crew member, but didn’t move.

“B..b…but…”

“I said, YAAAAAR!”

SPOILED’s eyes turned the size of saucers. With shoulders slumped in defeat, she approached her father. With the purest expression of mope in all the land, she offered up the thingbobbit.

“I really don’t understand what’s so important..” she started, but her father eyed her sternly and her mouth popped closed, albeit with a perfect pout gracing her lower lip.

“I must save this lad,” he said, “to get me my peanut!”

“A PEANUT!!!” she screeched again, “And SAVE a boy! POPPA,” she said deliberately, “WHAT, KIND, OF, PIRATE, ARE, YOU?”

RADMaN grinned greedily. “One with a peanut! Yaar!” he bellowed triumphantly.

He leaned low and placed the thingbobbit directly into the sick youth’s mouth. Instantly his eyes popped open and he was alert and awake. “WHOOoooOOoOoo!” he breathed, “my HEAD!”

Deftly the evil pirate snatched the peanut from the young man’s still groggy fingers and suddenly burst into a jig and sang a yo ho ho pirate song.

Unbeknownst to him, his daughter suddenly turned from petulant spoiled child, to demure young lady. She watched coyly as the young man wobbily stood up. He was a fine figure of a young man, and she noticed. Blinking, he turned to take in his surroundings, and at once was assaulted by the incredibly beauty of RADMaN’s daughter. They stared at each other unabashedly.

RADMaN, giggling contentedly, finished his jig and popped the peanut in his mouth with a satisfying crunch, (shell and all, Pirate’s eh?). Then, he noticed the two young adults.

He looked to his daughter, then he looked to the young man, then back to his daughter.

“Crap,” he said. “Yaar.”

the kiss

Soft.. Brilliant. A furnace of fire, built up and powerful; supernova held between our lips. Preciously kept, contained.. ..slight breath.. but a hunger pulls intense, begging, wanting freedom. Fire. All in these lips. ah... this kiss..

09.25.10

glass mirage

Oasis.. mirage of complacency.
Lipstick stains on glass skin memory.
Meandering reluctantly down a sturdy path
- practical -
it makes sense.

It screams in contradiction to every glistening breath of me.
Limping, strong. Deep breaths trying to calm the questions.
I feel the silk bandages snaking up my body, cocooning me.
Wrapped tight and blistering.
Safe?
Smart. Healing. Hurting.
Fresh air seems so much gentler, so much sweeter..
if only the blood of my love wouldn’t spill so generously.
My eyes are everywhere at once. Liquid globes of questing need.
Downcast.
thoughtful.
Hurt.
Cocooning me.. loyal.
What am I seeing?
Oasis
… mirage…
glass skin memory.
This glass skin memory.

retinal flare

Something profound whispers at the edge of my vision. Like a retinal flare it teases and jumps away, elusive distress. Pardon my
incoherency as I haven't slept. And artistic need now blares it's trumpet tenure. Astringent debt pulls my bohemian soul to it's climax. I obediently march to it's call. Artistic? Lunatic? Blessed with impressed words to share in my rapture. I know you must think me crazy. It's okay, I am. My goofy smile plays out the script I don't know who wrote for me. And still I scheme to catch a look, a glimpse even, of the answer flickesring at the edge of my sight. Look deeper, I say.
But
we all know full well: I have no idea what I'm doing. Still it's one step ahead of me. Ethereal epiphany. Sand through begging fingers. So I giggle, and smile, and wait for the next act. The story is written by a sleepless hand.

04.23.2010, 6am

dance

Testing the waters of my reflection: dreams pass unbidden through my stormy resolve, as I patiently, impatiently, wretchedly, crave absolution. I’m living bright and burning strong. Lit wild in the might of this intensity and my heart still glimmers musically, desiring more thoughts, more dreams, more realities. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for. Life. I know that. I know I want to love. Unabashedly, gloriously and relentless. The percussionist sets a beat, and I am dancing - licking my lips and twirling, breathing, and the pulse is in deep; my bones. My marrow aches for the art in this. I’m gripping and grasping at the animal knowledge of a real future. Ghostly memories and novel desires are my dance partners. And I am laughing. Brilliantly. Drugged. Obsessed. Living. This is life at it’s purest. I am Luamerava. Iniquitous passion is igniting, brightening, fueling this desire to dip deeper into the horizon - limitless, circular, infinatous – possibility.

09.21.10

photo by Kristina Shelden

natural born addict

What can an addict do when her addiction lies prone before her, begging to be swallowed. Tell me how to quell the lust for my obsession. Tell me the secret to the simplest, sweetest word: No. Admission is what governs my desires and 6 feet below couldn't hold down my phallic greed. I am titanic and yet weaker than even the simplest desire. It's unearthly beauty in my mind and I am spellbound by its traction in reality. I place the cuffs on myself and with a glint in my eye I show you the key over there on the history books. Funny - and with a hit of desire I am happy - You ignored it too. I suddenly forgive myself the hangover. I am a natural born addict. Yes. A natural fool. Yes. Lips parted. Yes.

08.10