What Lola Wants, Lola Gets

Dear Lola

I have been gasping at the thought of us meeting this evening, with nary a breath left in my lungs. I have been told by others that I have a penetrating stare, which, when you have understood the thrust of it, will most likely seem as if I am jabbing at your heartstrings, with my poking style.

I have been pushing the day forward, coming on strongly by hammering on your very door, with the throbbing intention, of jack-hammering your attention so hard, so long and so intense, that it might cause the lights of your house to go out!

This expose of my emotions, will serve to unclothe my feelings, leaving my words naked in your sight. This blatant use of semantics will show you in no uncertain terms, that your eyes won’t be able to extract themselves from my words, causing you to warm up to my way of thinking.

This biting commentary, will most likely start as a small nibble, but slowly, with definite rhythmic pulses of emotion, will hopefully bring you closer over to my side, my way of thinking, until the intensity cause you to lose control of your emotions, spreading your essence, so that I might complete the final thrust of my syllables in one climatic crescendo.

Your devoted friend

Moans.

PS My name is similar to something of another character, but if it escapes your attention, then please call me what you wish, but never late for dinner…..

 

 

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Mountains Majestic

When atop one of the neighboring
mountains majestic
allowing my wings to soar
while my thoughts occupied a place
where no one’s words of hate
could reach me

img374

Allowing someone, anyone
into my/your personal space
spouting fiery words, thinking that they
should tell me my business,
when they don’t really, truly know
what I am, and what I can do
with my own life, my own thoughts

Don’t let them, the others
get you down
Even though I don’t know you
what, who you are, not really,
you have just as much right
to be yourself, your own being
what this life knows you to be

img467

Stand tall
just as one of my many
majestic mountains

and don’t let others
ever
erode those thoughts

wearing you down, OK?

Words of hope and understanding

for anyone who needs them……


Mt Dana seen from Koip Pk. Yosemite National Park; October 1983

Mts Ritter and Banner- seen from San Joaquin Mtn. 1984

A Question of Semantics

Lola asked me to consider her in a different way. I thought, I’d tried all the different ways before, but this time turned out to be different. Before I get into this story, I had to visit the nearby TruWalu Hardware Store for an important item.

Armand greeted me with the usual joy and excitement of being a major cog in the wheels that were driving Alaska forward. His store was filled with top to toe, or the reverse, with everything in the world. Lola might have gotten lost here, if it had been someplace for her, but her heart was more to visiting Wally’s Gun Emporium and Sushi Bar, being just next door to Armand’s place.

My quest today was not only one bottle, but a whole box of “Fog Away“, a spray that was guaranteed to keep your sight “Fogless“. Armand prided himself on knowing of his customers and their ways, but I felt that this time, I needed to keep this particular purchase under wraps. “A little too steamy at home?” he still managed to ask, while I was heading for the door. I tried to respond in a fitting way, but suffered a lack of words, as I pushed on the glass door, setting off the local hit “Caribou Blues” which was heard whenever anyone entered, or left Armand’s Hardware paradise!

Back at home, I told Lola I was ready for her new plan for us. I sprayed a copious amount of “Fog Away”on my glasses and hoped for the best.

“Now” said Lola, taking a deep breath, showing me two of the reasons we were together that day and others, and began to speak.

“I have not felt that you have been attending to my needs of late.”

Such a thing to say. I used my best moves on Lola, waiting for her to counter them by moaning in the right ways, and during the best parts of my whole, but that was apparently not enough.

“You don’t seem to do what I want, when I am using certain words!”. I felt my glasses starting to fog again, which made me break open a new bottle of “Fog Away” before the subject went any deeper, or became more penetrating.

“I’ve made a list of important words, which will allow you, to allow me to attain a new sense of consciousness.”

Breathing, pushing, raising, pounding, exposing, biting, thighs spread, moans escaping...

“Stop it Lola” I yelled aloud, but had to feel my way towards her to apologize for my outburst. Fog Away, I thought. A complete waste of money! This was not going to work, I just knew it.

She just sat there, looking hot and bothered, putting down her tablet where those words seemed to exist from someone else’s imagination, but where mine didn’t seem to match them in form, or function.

Lola started again, after sighing a bit, but coming with a new suggestion.

“If we take those words, then translate them into some that are less threatening for you, then you’ll be able to use them without losing your sight (and your mind).”

“Remember” She said before we began. “It is just a question of Semantics”.


Breathing – might be panting, gasping, or pulling air in and out of your lungs

Pushing – could be thrusting, poking or jabbing

Pounding – hammering, throbbing, jack-hammering until the lights go out

Exposing – undressing, unclothing, stark, what the eyes cannot look away from

Biting – nibbling, chewing, snapping

Thighs Spread –


Moans Escaping..  “Funny that you would mention that Lola. I met a fellow the other day named Mogens, Danish I believe, and he told me about how foggy their glasses get, when…..”

“We are moving away from the subject at hand” said Lola, a bit more exasperated this time. “I would like you to take my alternative words, and use them in a story, then you could recite it to me, when we…..”

I would, really I would, but she was still lacking a synonym for the next-to-last phrase, “Thighs Spread“. I thought of Butter being spread on bread, or perhaps it was a new recipe for pancakes. Maybe it should have been flapjacks, or griddlecakes, but not with buttermilk or, we’d have to go to the store, and sometimes I’d get distracted thinking about sauces.

Lola just looked at me and against her better judgement, chose to ask what I was babbling about?

“In the old days” I began, “as if we were out exploring the last Outpost with Douglas Fairbanks, which is another place in Alaska, or Moot Shipley, the famous Alaskan Trapper, who…”

The look on Lola’s face told me to continue, or die, which seemed to be a good enough argument for anyone existing on this side of her rifle collection.

“People used to talk into the Clown’s mouth at Jack-in-the-box. Then there was the TV commercial with a young kid named Rodney Allen Rippy. What’cha eating? A Jumbo Jack. I used to dream, some might say fantasize about the Secret Sauce that was contained in those puppies, but….”

“Lola honey. Where are you going?”

The door slammed with the sound of her footfalls exiting the house, while cursing and yelling about killing that wolf once and for all. Regardless of  whether he was outside the house, or inside….

I felt the need to work on my assignment, which started to look like a life-or-death task, as the day grew older, and I sat in the corner of the room with my classic “Hunted Animal Look” residing on my face.

I thought of starting with “Thighs Spread” and working my way as far as I could with that opening line…..pardon the pun…

To be continued, but if you are only going to moan about that thought, then you might have to re-adjust your fantasies!…

 

Another Meeting

When you are down. Way down. There is only one way left.

I had hit bottom. Rock Bottom. I knew, I was heading that way, but I couldn’t get my act together and stop from falling. I knew in my heart, I’d be losing it all, but who could have stopped me from myself? Who?

I stood in line with my equals. The others who had come down to my level. Not all of them moving upwards yet. Just dragging their feet in a horizontal way. Waiting. Just waiting.

I hadn’t seen her in many years. Too many years gone by without even thinking about her, but there she was again. The steam from the soup adding a bit of darker color to her greying hair. A wisp hanging down, then placed back where it belonged. Where something in this life belonged.

I avoided her glance, when I first saw her. Not that I was ashamed of where, of how I had come to this place in my life, but something inside of me wanted anonymity. Just passing the time. Warming body and soul with a touch of soup. The best religion for the masses. The best religion for me, right now anyway.

I just retired any further thoughts about her, and went about my business. The only thing I could provide while my soul was healing, was a sweep of the church, or some good old back-breaking chopping of wood. Gain some blisters. Cleanse the soul. Then I wouldn’t be owing more than I could pay back. Either on this earth, or when the heavens considered my membership card.

I spent the rest of my time mending the grasses and weeds of the cemetery. No one seemed to complain that my shirt today was the same one as yesterday, or if my friends and family didn’t know my name anymore. If nothing else grew on some barren patch, I left the weeds alone to gain some color and life. Not everyone has the ability to enjoy the feel of grass beneath their feet, so other means have to be considered.

Kind of like Lola and I. I might just have been the weed in her life, while she enjoyed the nurturing and care of the grasses. We used to walk, hand in hand along that pathway along this very cemetery. Looking over the wall, laughing at those poor souls who had left this wondrous life for another. They worked too hard, or just died too quickly. Not for us, my dear. Not for us.

I held my head down the next time I saw her. My memories had been playing tricks on me since last time, making me believe we still had a few laughs to share together. A roll in the hay, sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette, before sharing a common thought and doing it again. Doing one another again.

Praise Jesus. Praise the Lord. The preacher seemed to tell the same story. Over and over again. The wages of sin is death. Just death.

We didn’t think about our lives being any different by what we did back then. She would rub her ring finger, while I was thinking of the next drink. A good buzz going always enhanced the love-making what followed with her. She would just turn away sometimes. Just afterwards when we needed the closeness to continue. That feeling of being one, taking it onward to the next day, the next year.

No ring seemed to come, but that didn’t stop me from my habits. My way of thinking about taking another drink to get me through the times, when we weren’t together. I started to fall out of my excuses. Started seeing other women. Did everything I could to mess up the best thing that ever happened to me. That ever would happen to me. She was gone one day, or was it one night? I had lost track of the difference between the two, not caring really. The devils of my past had found me again, and were whispering so loudly in my ear, I didn’t hear how she had been crying in her sleep.

My life continued, but to say I succeeded in what I set out to do, would be another lie. Just another lie upon a lie. I started to realize that the ones around me that loved and cared for me, couldn’t wouldn’t be doing that full-time. Not for love or money. Not for the rest of their lives. I needed to do something, before. Before I’d be spending time on the other side of that cemetery wall. Just wasting time with the others.

As I struggled with one of my weeds the other day, a hand fell down upon my shoulder. Firm, but warm. I hesitated. I wanted to look, but feared all the same. I heard someone breathing behind me. My time had then not yet come to join the others in this most hallowed ground.

Lola’s eyes were deeper in color than I had remembered them to be. Deeper and more caring. Deeper with compassion within them. Her voice being just the same as I remembered it. Back when it mattered what she said, and when I listened. I used to think of drinking when I had thoughts about her. “Here’s another round to you my dear”, but that was someone else. Someone who lived and loved a wonderful woman. Someone who managed to screw up his life so badly, he didn’t know if he were coming, or going.

We just sat across from one another. The mists from my coffee not being strong enough to hide behind, nor could they help me escape her eyes. Her lovely eyes. Anyone else would have been shooting the breeze. Talking about old times and asking about where we now were in this life. Why had we ended up here, in this life?

I just stood up and walked over to Lola. She was just standing there, smiling when she placed both hands on my shoulders and said, “God Bless you dear”, then turned around and disappeared into the mists of my memory.

We only have one life to live. That’s what they say, anyway. One chance to get it done, one love to carry us through. My first love. My failed existence. One cup of coffee between someone I knew, and someone I know. One more chance to get it right. One more love to seek. To win. To ask forgiveness for my past sins.

Put your trust in Jesus, the preacher told the same stories, from the same book. He was someone who was among the haves, while I existed among the have-nots.

I had someone once. She influenced my life like no other. If only I had bought her that ring. If only she had stayed and prayed. If only won’t bring her back.

It just won’t bring her back.

Say Hallelujah and thank him for your redemption. Your life being now complete.

So complete…

Ashly

I would have given my left wing-nut, if there was an instruction manual for Lola. There might even be a warning on Page 1: Caution. Slippery when wet. Be wary if your jokes don’t facilitate a laugh. If provoked, back away slowly. Before beginning, read all the instructions thoroughly. Funny how that last instruction should have come first, for all the good it would have done me!

Lola was out spelunking at Katmai National Monument. I say spelunking, but it might as well have been something else, like skydiving, or practicing spooning with my best friend. I really liked her when she got back from these trips. She was so exotic. Almost a different person, but it did have its drawbacks.

I was a born worrier. The latest tremor registered on my Earthquake App, would give me the willies, even if it had been Mt Pinatubo in the Philippines! You know, the power of nature and all, closing the US Military Base, succeeding in doing what the native population had probably wished for since WWII, then it took an Act of God to do the work for them!

Lola was caught in a few close-calls, when she wanted just one more photo, just one more selfie with pyroclastic lava shooting in the air, looking dangerously close to her, when I’d get the odd postcard, in living-color from none other than her. “Lava Lola” was her nickname among the Volcanologists, with her winning an opportunity to be “Ash-Babe of the Month” in Volcano Monthly!

It seems as if she got the glory, while I had to be satisfied with sweeping up the residue, and enriching our outside soils with a bit of Lola’s latest lava adventure.

She was a different person, like I said. How you might ask? Well, she tasted a bit on the gritty side, which made me worry about grinding down my teeth before their time. I also had a few issues with our cozy moments on the imitation grizzly bear rug. I yelled out, in the heat of the moment, that it was as if we were covered in sandpaper, and were rubbing each other the wrong way! She’d just counter that statement with “If you knew the right way to rub me, then it wouldn’t matter, would it?”

I suggested we tale a long hot shower to wash off any further argument about her gritty- disposition meeting my baby-bottom softness of a Caribou’s left fetlock. She started to giggle, and wanted to feel my fetlock, which of course, led to this and that, with the whole thing ending up with….well, that might be a story for later on, if of course it doesn’t receive an X-Rating along the way!

Although in the heat of the Volcanic Moment, when the lava was at its hottest, I let slip her new name, Ashly, which made her stop doing this and that, and look into my deep brown eyes. Don’t worry, I checked their color once before, so you wouldn’t think that she was doing this and that to someone entirely else! Anyway, she looked at me and said, “Do you prefer your women, smooth as a baby’s bottom, or gritty like “Ash Babe of the Month?”

Some might think that I haven’t been here before, with Lola, or Ashly, as it were, asking me such a loaded question with failure most certainly to follow, but I considered my options, and lit a number, that is, some of our Cannabis from Southern Alaska, before tendering my answer.

I had to admit to my voyeuristic tendencies of buying a number, or 2, or 10 of that most famous magazine, and letting my fantasies loose on that fantastic Babe in the Centerfold section of the magazine. I would “ouch” pry the two “ouch” staples out of the glossy photo paper, then store the rest of the remaining pages under the mattress, where any self-respecting, rather fearful, what-if-she-catches-me-doing-that type of fellow, that you can find.

Lola wasn’t born yesterday, which was she continued to tell me, and demanded proof that I was telling the truth.

I opened the closet door where my clothing was kept, and lo and behold, there she was in her Pin-Up glory! I had blacked-out her eyes, so she wouldn’t catch me in the act of ogling her, but the rest was there for the world, that is only me, to see.

Ashly reached over and shut off the overhead light, while I turned on the glow-in-the-dark Lava Lamp, illuminating the remains of that volcanic ash for our eyes only!

I got up and closed the closet-door, and turned to Lola saying. “The next show is for your eyes only Ashly, and…..and…….

 

First posted 30 March, 2018