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Happy Howl-O-Ween

  EAT, DRINK & BE SCARY!

♦♦♦♦

Broomstick Rides Available:  Click Here

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Little Orphan Annie

by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie’s come to our house to stay,
And wash the cups and saucers up, and brush the crumbs away,
And shoo the chickens off the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,
And make the fire, and bake the bread, and earn her board and keep;
And all us other children, when the supper things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun
A-listeniin’ to the witch tales that Annie tells about,
And the Gobble-uns that gits you if you don’t watch out!

Once they was a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers–
And when he went to bed at night, away upstairs,
His mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,
And when they turned the kivvers down, he wasn’t there at all!
And they seeked him in the rafter room, and cubby hole and press,
And seeked him up the chimney flue, and everywheres, I guess;
But all they ever found was just his pants and round about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And one time a little girl would always laugh and grin,
And make fun of everyone, and all her blood and kin;
And once when they was company and old folks was there,
She mocked them and shocked them and said she didn’t care!
And just as she kicked her heels, and turnt to run and hide,
They was two great big Black Things a-standin’by her side,
And they snatched her through the ceiling
‘fore she knowed what she’s about!
And the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

And little Orphan Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
And the lampwick sputters, and the wind goes woo-oo!
And you hear the crickets quit and the moon is gray,
And the lightning bugs in dew is all squenched away–
You better mind your parents, and your teachers fond and dear,
And cherish them that loves you, and dry the orphan’s tear,
And help the poor and needy one that cluster all about,
Or the Gobble-uns’ll git you if you don’t watch out!

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Believe me, it’s very scary when PQS reads this aloud to you!  That man has a way with him.  Oh yes he does.

The poet’s website:  Click Here   Wikipedia Page:  Click Here

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And did you hear about the Twitter "Tweance" wherein a psychic contacted Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain and River Phoenix?  Sadly, Avon Bard, Shakespeare was apparently rather tired and chose not to participate.  You can "see" the Seance HERE.  And read about it HERE.

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Before you go …

… shall we Dance? 

Dance the Monster Mash?  Click Here

Dearest Angela:

Having a nice day here in [ANONYMOUS CITY]. Got a haircut, ate lunch downtown (which means leftovers for supper, but good’uns), and did Yoga and a quick walk to the supermarket for milk.   yoga class was crowded. There was even a girl in like middle school (who was incredibly flexible). The teacher is always so nice, and says I’m coming along well. I’m honored to hear the complement.

[ANONYMOUS DOG] went by the vet school again today. It looks like one of his blood levels reflecting kideny function is a little higher than we’d like. He may be getting a little dehydrated, so at the market I bought him some watermelon. When I was waiting for him at the vet school yesterday I wrote the following, which I hope you’ll enjoy:

Moonlight

Just as real to me as the memory of your kiss
The feel of your fingertips on my lower lip.
Quieting my desperation by quenching my desire.

My heart rests by falling through the floor.
The roaring in my ears presupposes the day you say good-bye.
Now I draw this pen across these pages
instead of my hands along your sides.
And I moan into the moonlight
instead of looking into your eyes.

Love,

[ANONYMOUS CALLER, FRIEND, SWEETHEART]

p.s. I also bought little two dollar pencil sharpener. Look out journal, here comes the color pencils!

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I’d saved this email forever and a day (sent 5/20/09) … it was so special to me.  So, yes.  There’s a whole lot more going on behind the Phone Sex Curtain than most would imagine.  Most of my clients are witty, smart, creative and continually surprise me.  They’re doctors, lawyers and — for all I know — even Indian chiefs.  They read/write poetry, volunteer at soup kitchens, play Santa at hospitals, publish books (one in particular that I’m sure you’ve read or at least heard of),  fly planes, climb mountains, teach school, live the good life post retirement, and every other thing you could imagine.

They are the guy next to you on the light rail, the doctor who took save your mother’s life, the minister who taught last summer’s bible study, the psychologist who sits next to you at your NA meeting …

… the football player, the opera singer, the grocery clerk, the personal trainer, the television star, the hot shot lawyer, the multi-level marketing guru, the bus driver.

… they are Jewish, Catholic, Agnostic, Muslim, Unitarian, Methodist, Presbyterian, Buddhist.

… they are Italian, American, Greek, French.

… they are white, black, yellow, red.

They are everyman.  And you better believe it … there’s a lot more to this Phone Sex thing than Talking Dirty.

xo, Angela

 Phone Sex

by Joseph Matuzak

Sending bodies over wire
water removed
broken further than powder
translated into sound
then reconstituted at destination.
Here is a warm leg turned
into inflection, here
an ear described by a sigh.
Fabric rubbing, soft creak,
and romance
is somewhere nearly there
area codes away
twitching through switches
like a snake biting at a chest
then filling your room
like smoke, a proxied body
that would scatter
at your grasp
or even if you exhale
because all that makes it real
is the slick spark
of electricity that runs
with a hoarse whisper
from there to here.

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I’m having a pretty busy weekend despite my Enforced Vacation, which I may go into at a later date.  But I wanted to let you know I was thinking about you; and what better way than with a poem about phone sex?  Hmmm.  I guess this could be akin to phoning it in, except via the net.   Typing it in?  Would that be better?  Am I phoning or typing it in?  Ah, what the heck.  At least I (with a little help from PQS) found you a good poem to read.

While the poem describes a type of phone sex to which I don’t particularly ascribe, it certainly hits the nail on the head for plenty of others.  So enjoy the pretty phrases and rhythms and pacing .. and who knows?  You just might have to make that call.

You can read more of Joseph Matuzak’s poetry HERE, and can listen to an interview and more HERE.

xo, Angela