The Unknowns

Sat, Nov. 12th, 2016 17:55
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Marilyn Monroe Goddess)

I like it here, in the past. Where just the right song unleashes an energetic flood within. Where the ignorance of youth struts through the world carrying an invisible guarantee of future ownership. Where death is just an imagined scenario of attendance and guessing how many hearts will be broken. On good days that is. On bad days it is simply a struggle to discover reasons to bother staying. Trying to believe it is their jealousy and not your inadequacy that entices such behavior. If you were not about to be King you might just give up.

Perhaps Alzheimers will not be all that bad. Living here, if I can just keep remembering here, I can stay here. Right? Believing I am a little girl, out in the woods alone, the big bad wolf by my side and a Mighty Mouse at my beckon call. It will be beautiful. Except in the awake moments. Offered a reality of an unknown old woman staring at me in wonder. Not knowing how I got into this body, this room, surrounded by all these unknowns.

When did I end up so alien? Sitting upon this spec of dust brought to life by the eye of Apollo. I know I was born this way, not yesterday, yet I wasn't bought or sold this way. All those half baked ideas on the cover of magazines teaching me exactly what I never could be. Those were the always and never of everything I was promised I would be. If I just, if I just, if I just ... turn to dust.

All that can be afforded in a time none bare witness until some bare ignorance. Laying claim that she is in the river when we all know she is of the land. A Virgo to be precise; if you ever wonder why it is that I analyze. Everything and nothing in the lies.

To make sense of it all is, at times, the most tiring thing. Forced to predict the facts of the outcome desired. Preparing for the redemption of the choice before it is ever made. A ladies prerogative presented to enhance the darkness. Sometimes it is hit, sometimes it is miss. It all depends. Just how long can you hold your own against the antagonists hatred of self. Before reaching the moment of awaited failure certain to see your rage.

Yet maybe if I just turn the page. Or the volume up on this song and the next. I can remember riding the bus next to him. What it felt like to be Queen of the backseat with clothes on. His eyes speaking the truth of a broken heart. His lips professing such strength on his part. Letting me go.

Nowhere but here, in this moment, does it matter where I came from. You can stick tape on the ends of the cassette tape and record over it all. Playing the radio, collecting the songs you can't afford to buy. Pausing to skip the advertisements of a life never to be recorded in the history where anyone looks.

by TigrisSky
©November 12, 2016
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
(note - this needs desperate editing)

Venus - Inanna
Venus orbits the Sun every 225 days and never travels farther than 48 zodiacal degrees away from it. Thus Venus is always found within two signs of the sun. Her continuous dance with the Sun is how Venus became associated to the aspects of the feminine. It was as if the Sun was entranced by Venus, in love. She is the first written of Goddess in Western mythology. Inanna is the first name we can truly know her by; and she is the Goddess who took her power. She tricks God, the God All Powerful, the Zues of this Mesopotamian Myth, to give up all his power to Her so she could save his life.

And he did.

She is warm, wet, moist, magnetic, and fruitful. She is where life comes from and where all life returns. Those things we associate with the mother; be they our mother or the mother that is our planet and harbors and receives all life. As well as those things we associate with love, passion, fire and a drive for life. As well as those emotions that can over take us at any moment; the way they wash over us again and again, like waves from the ocean. This is whatthe feminine aspects of life are represented by - Love!.

~TigressSky © March 3, 2015 (excerpt from a piece I am writing)
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
Lighthouse in the Dark by Nancy Rucker

When you grow up poor your youth is continually bombarded with wave after wave of reality pounding upon you. Each wave eroding your shore just that much more. Until eventually your shore becomes a jagged rocky cliff face that is hard to penetrate and can kill those who get to close.

So, you build a lighthouse, initially just as something to protect yourself. Finally though you make it to the top and find that beacon of hope that makes the lighthouse shine; a beacon bright enough to help guide others. Oft times shining as a warning signal to avoid your jagged shoreline; yet more importantly, rather than a warning, it could also be a guide. A guiding light that would allow people to get close to you. A guiding light that could even simply allow people to take notice of you. A light you had been gifted in which you most likely would not be aware you were in complete control of. As a matter of fact, you might at some points even allow it to extinguish, because it seemed so outside of you.

~TigressSky © February 28, 2014~
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (starbuck)
So I am.

Stop. Be humble. Ignite. Those things that light, need you. Those things that smolder, need you. Those things that produce only smoke, don't need you - they never create any thunder.

I feel re-ignited, spiritually. I feel reconnected, spiritually. I also feel reconnected, peacefully.

The turmoil of the steps of change hit me with a hammering fear of loss; a fear so strong that I went through the processes of grieving before any need to grieve ever really had a chance to manifest. I appreciate that piece of myself and, at times, loath it.

Being someone who is wired for change can oft times come across as someone who just doesn't give a shit about loss - i.e. insensitive. Which is the furthest thing from the truth. Especially now. Now that I have so many connections that are sewn inside of me with real love.

A Floodplain holds me, while a Mistress, a Turtle, a Native Hippy, a Red Foxx, a couple Silver Foxes, a Wild Horse Woman and many, many other 'totems' just love.

The 'totems' are sometimes solid rocks sitting upon my shoreline - steadfast to the spot. Others, ebb and flow with the tide. Crashing into my shore, tickling my heart until I smile and then moving back out to their own shorelines, with their own steadfast rocks upon them.

Further more, some have become rigid, setting their sights, like a lighthouse, far out to sea, far away from me. Sometimes their light runs across my shore, but just as soon it is aimed back out to sea. Shining so brightly into the darkness. An attempt at finding, within the dark distance, opportunities that can only come to them, to any of us, from deep out at sea.

Yet, the lighthouse protects, or should I say blocks, from any opportunity. Creating an unwillingness to attempt placing feet into even the shallowest world of the sea.

It is expected to go this way though, as inside the lighthouse you are far, far from the shore. Protected from the sea. Watching and longing are the only accomplishments to be achieved here; as the turbulence of thought crashes with each wave, larger, smaller, all around. The light searches past their breaks.

No matter what, no matter where, I hold love for all here upon my shore. On my shore I remain ... patient.

Non-poetically speaking, there is sometimes a sense of demand and self-righteousness in "leaving", in escaping to the lighthouse, that I just can't kau tau to. I understand this place - the demanding self righteousness is the second point in the grieving process: anger. Followed up quickly with the third: bargaining. The first point being isolation and denial - the initial reason the self takes root in the lighthouse.


I have been there in the lighthouse, isolated on that island, shining my light brightly in hopes of being seen and connected to from the vast sea of life moving all around me. So far outside of it all that the waves crash angrily all around me, the action seems so strong here. It leaves one to miss out on the fact that nothing more is happening within the lighthouse than a self-enforced escape from reality. A distracted attempt to matter when there is no one who that light can truly matter to more than the you whom is no longer allowed upon the shore.

With a distracting obviousness the waves crash all around the lighthouse, yet from within one still continually misses out on the fact that there is no shore for anyone or anything to land upon. Only big cliff rocks for the waves to crash ever harder and higher upon.

No, there is no shore, just a bright light to direct with. A light so bright you can feel yourself pulling all the ships toward you. A light that soon serves to leave one wondering why, even with as hard as you pull, all the ships seem to continue to pass by in the night - always landing on some distant shoreline other than your own.

Aye, this could be mistaken as a romantics ideal, but it is not just romance in which relationships bloom. It is upon the shore, where feet can sink into your soul, where eyes can see into the forest of your heart, where a hand can dig through grains of sand and find hidden treasures that are you.

Yet first you must have a shore to offer.

Until the point is reached, where you can sit at peace with yourself, upon an empty shore, looking out into the vastness of the sea and thinking, "oh what a lovely place it would be to drown."

Until this moment you are just a lighthouse, shining bright, yet empty of mooring and full of doubt.

Tropical Light Dark

And from this shore you will dive into that sea and swim out, and out, and out; discovering each mystery. Until you feel the shore is so far, until you feel you may drown, until you are brought back to shore by your own tide of self doubt or, by the love one can only find within the sea. Carrying you back in. Back in, to a safe place, where you can run to the lighthouse and hide, or you can lay upon the sands of your shoreline and appreciate how far you can go, have gone, and will try and go again.

The rocks on your shoreline, always cheering you on, the waves pulling you out with them in support. Not drowning yet - the sea so full of hope. Then you reach the precipice, they have to let go, you have to swim out on your own. Out into the deep unknown, farther from the shore than you have ever been before.

It is scary, you feel lonely, it causes change. Maybe your feet are webbed now, maybe your ears grow gills behind them, maybe, like a whale you can sink to the deepest depths and return to the surface with knowledge of the far unknown. Yet finally you are experiencing, finally you are far from the shore of yourself, finally you are not trapped in the lighthouse hoping others will come find you and bring you out.

No matter how far, no matter how long, no matter how deep and wide, the shore will always be your home. The sea will always beckon you to come love. The lighthouse will remain a beacon of solitude. A place where you can learn about your light, grieve for the loss you may fear, and learn once again how to direct your light so you can stand firmly upon your shore.

Your shore. The place that is you. Filled with so many treasures that, after so many years, may require a true treasurer hunter to explorer. A treasure hunter who understands how to explore your depths. A treasurer hunter to remind you of all the wonders you have seen. The wonders you have experienced. The wonders that make you, you.

I am swimming away from my shoreline once again. The lighthouse is shining bright, but it is aiming at something far out to sea. Something I must have seen while inside it? Somewhere I must be in order to find more of me?

Will I sink to some new depths, will I grow gills and webbed feet, will I even make it past my comfort zone?

Who knows?

All I can do is swim! Swim! SWIM!

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
©Adam Smith Photography 2009

Dear Ben Nichols,

Like Adriana experienced, you and I indirectly dated for many years. Your words wrapped me in more comfort than my homemade quilt and purring Zen cat could during a snow-packed day off from work. Those moments spent with your voice reverberating from every wall as I stood sobbing in the shower are what kept me standing when all I wanted to do was fall. Knowing I wasn’t alone in the craziness I seemed encompassed by, well, somehow, thats all I needed to get through it all. Someone understood me, hell, someone understands me, even if I can’t understand myself. I know you and I are actually nothing more than the gift of your words to the souls of those listening and I am only one soul. Yet, for all the moments spent alone with your words in my empty apartment, just your words and my one soul, I can truly be the only one that matters. That, dear Mr Nichols, is why there will always be a piece of my crazy heart mingling within your words. And, I hope, from time to time, you feel that piece of me and smile; in the same way I smile as your words touch me, more often than I can clearly express. Thank you.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)

"Tell us why your mom deserves a night out and you could win tickets to Cirque du Soleil’s KOOZA" the ad blares. The bright purple sucking you in as the man in his face paint and crazy outfit seems to pop out of the splotch of color in the center. "Kooza!" It screams and you remember a time when you were six and your mother was God and it would have taken nothing at all to write about all the wonderful reasons she deserved a night out.

You are no longer six though, you are thirty-two and your mother is dead. You think back on the adventureously horrible child hood she brought you up in and the diagnosis of crazy you live with now and, even with all that, you can still think of a thousand reasons why your mom deserves a night out.

Her ashes are tossed in the river somewhere, or maybe just a dump, and you have never really said goodbye. One day she was there, barely able to breath, clinging to a nurse while pantomiming a need for another valium injection, pushing the button on her machine to pump more morphine directly into the shunt in her heart and then the next day she was gone.

With black tar lungs and bones covered in skin she died drugged up and alone in a world full of people seeking connection and acceptance.

As a woman you wonder what power that wet box between your legs really holds? Should you put a lock on it and try and make friends outside of the cocks that wink up from between their legs at you? Is there something spiritually sacred about that wet mound of flesh that seemed to get your mom taken care of her whole life but left her a shriveled alone mess in the end? Or is it really an evil sinful place driving men into a strange mindless lust controlled by their second brain? A lust that could be cured with the return of the blood to the first brain and a few moments alone with the mental reality of the pussy life support sometimes called mom? Sometimes called by your own name?

Why the hell wouldn't a used up mess of a woman like your dead mother deserve a night out bathed in a deep purple spotlight shining down on her as a man in a crazy costume appears from a splotch of paint and begins doing tricks for her?

"Kooza!" Your brain whispers excitedly as you imagine your dying mother with a child like look of happiness on her face. You imagine her sitting in the front row under the big top and watching the man in the crazy outfit perform his acrobatics for her. The rest of the tent is empty, the show is just for her. She sits in her backless hospital gown, her hair barely grown back from the chemo she stopped taking only 3 months before she died. She is still physically just skin and bones in this vision but she is not drugged up. She is cognisant. As cognisant of her surroundings as a six year old is of their own as they walk through a department store beside their mother, hiding in the clothing racks and scaring annoying rich aging white women. Women, who are searching for something that will hide the age that is racing through them physically as they become angry at the child for being so naive.

You remember that time, when she was first diagnosed and really sick, and she wanted you to see Yellowstone. In her head it was all going to be perfect. She would drive and you would see all the sites, especially all the animals, she knew how much you loved animals. The two of you would drive slowly through the park and she would watch you squeal with delight when the buffalo forced you to stop while they crossed the street. Then, when the elk bellowed in the fields she would smile at the wonder in your eyes, the same wonder you had that night when you were five and you caught the Easter Bunny hopping through the living room, your gift basket around his neck. The green park of summer Yellowstone, the geysers and the gift shop with ice cream would just top it all off and make for a perfect day.

It didn't turn out how she had imagined it in her head at all. You were there during one of the dryest, hottest, most yellow and burnt, summers Yellowstone had seen. You saw all of one lone Buffalo sitting on the side of the road, in the shade, next to a large wooden "Enjoy Your Park" sign, with sad watering eyes. He was probably dying and the tourists were all stopped, illegaly out of their cars, surrounding him, taking pictures and he just lay their stoic and empty, his soul perhaps, already gone from this world.

The sickness from the chemo Mom was enduring kicked into overdrive once in the park and she could no longer physically drive. You switched places with her and drove through the unfamilar park missing the scenary and causing your mom deep frustration as the plan began failing early.

Mom was in so much pain and the more you asked her if she was okay the angrier she became. Angry at the universe for ruining everything and angry at God for making her sick. So you drove, relatively quiet and this became one of the last good memories of you and your mom as she reached out and did something mom like for you that became an utter failure of her expectations, just like everything else in her life had.

You remember that your ex kept the photo album from this last good memory with your mom and you think to yourself that he certainly doesn't deserve tickets to Kooza.

How do you request tickets to a show for a dead woman anyway?

"Dear Willamette Week,

Mother was not the best of souls. A Catholic whom did not adhere to her faith in anyway. She drank, she smoked, she did drugs, she wore make-up, she had lots and lots of sex, especially sex out of wedlock or with those in wedlock, she birthed an abundance of children, some she has never cared for, she used people, she stole from people, she cheated people and sinned whenever she had a chance. Yet, in the end, she made a request and the priests and nuns swarmed the house and she prayed with them and asked and hoped for forgiveness. Although, the look in her eyes, just before the end, that fear and knowing that sat deep within the drugged-up coma she operated from, showed that she definitely knew she was on her way to Hell. She sure could use a break from all that fire and brimstone."

You wonder if the Devil would even give her a break to come and see Kooza?

Maybe you are asking to much. You don't really know.

However you do think about it and maybe in today's world it is not the most wonderful mother who meets all the June Cleaver standards that deserves to see Kooza. Maybe it is the one who lived her life hard, forced her kids to grow up alone and crazy, and now sits in the heat of her own suffering for her inability to meet expectations only she had set, that deserve to see Kooza.

Then again, maybe you're making too much of this Kooza thing anyway.

Happy Mother's Day mom. Give the Devil a high-five!


Lucky Shirt!

Mon, Mar. 22nd, 2010 14:03
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)

“The Shirt”
Jane Kenyon

The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.


Oh the men I see daily. When haven't I wanted to be that shirt? Yum. The temptation of being a man's shirt; sliding along beside the best parts of a man, his chest, his stomach, his back, his arms, trailing into his pants. When I am beside a naked man my hands wander along these areas freely, taking in the curves, the warmth, the softness and the smell of him. This is the area of a man one is swept into as he holds you close to him, wrapping you in a feeling of luxurious safeness. For the moments spent here, you feel at peace. A shirt spends all day wrapped languidly around these oh so glorious parts of a man. Oh what wouldn't I give to be that shirt. Lucky, lucky shirt.


Last night I dreamt of a man, dark hair, blue eyes, tall, thin and covered in lean muscle. We were traveling together with two others; a younger man and what seemed to be their mother, or someone with authority over them. There was a desirous tension growing between he and I, yet, it seemed like what we felt was not allowed. The mother figure was in charge and she seemed to ensure that he and I were never alone together. Yet finally, right before the alarm was to go off, she put us together. She acknowledged our desire and as he whispered something heart capturing to me, I looked into his eyes, felt his hand run down my cheek as he leaned in and kissed me.

Oh how good it felt to be desired again. To be wanted. I felt my heart flutter, my stomach jump circles and my body melted into his control.

He was shirtless and as we lay down I placed my head on his bare chest and breathed in the scent of him. The smell of a man full of desire for me. His hands brushed through my hair as I ran my finger along the trail of hair leading into his pants. He was young, so the hair was sparse and very downey soft.

He twisted himself to where I was now on my back and he was propped up on one arm peering down at me. His smile was so captivating and he said something alluding to the fact he did not want to have sex just yet, he wanted to hold me and explore the feeling of us being interwined. He stripped me and himself and we curled into each other, wrapped up tightly together. I was thin and beautiful again and I fit perfectly into his embrace. Our hands explored the soft warmth of each others skin. As he kissed me again the alarm began to buzz and I had to let him go.

I wanted to go back to sleep and be with him. It was not going to happen. So I got up and headed to work where I sit sufferng from depression, and thoughts of wanting to be desired like that again are overwhelming me as well. Im trying to concentrate on working too, but it is so hard when there is this much emotion coursing throughout your body.

I have always wanted to be the "green eyes" sung about in this song. This dream brought me into the arms of that feeling.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
"Because I Don't Know"
May Swenson

Because I don’t know you, I love you:
warm cheeks, full lips, rich smile,
dark irises that slide to the side,
thick lashes, thick hair, gleaming
teeth and eyes, your hand in greeting
warmer than mine, wider in blue shirt,
rolled sleeves, in dark jeans belted –
I liked your robust shoulders, wide neck and
tipped-up chin. That glow is blood
under skin that’s warm to begin with,
almost dusky, the red showing
through—of health, of youth—but more:
your open, welcome, I-could-hug-you look.
We met once or twice, exchanged smiles:
your lips curl-cornered to my thin,
crooked grin; your easy, laughing eyes
to my sharp stare. Did it pierce you
there, my look of hunger, like a hook?
I wanted only a sniff, a tongue-tip’s
taste, a moment’s bath in your rare
warmth. That last night, trading
goodbyes, when we kissed—or you did, me—
my hand took your nape, plunged under
the thick spill of your hair. Then
I stepped into the dark, out of the light
of the party, the screen door’s yellow
square sliding smaller and smaller behind
me. You’ve become a dream of ripe
raspberries, in summer country: deep, dark
red lip, clean, gleaming generous smile.
Who owns you? I don’t know. I’ll hide you
away in my dream file. Stay there. Don’t
change. I don’t know you—and had better
not. Because I don’t know you, I love you.


"Because I don't know you, I love you."


Throughout life I have moved and been pierced by the connections I have made to so many people. Some of it real, but more readily than not it is fancy; fantasy, something I imagine through distanced admiration. Dancing in a club his eyes meet mine and for a moment I am hurdled into his embrace and I can see my future. Then the song beat skips, my head turns and he is gone.

I have known orgasms in many different arms, through many different men - and women. Yet in my fancy, I have known so many more and some of them have been impossibly good. Setting invisble standards that no one could ever meet. A combination of traits, smells, eyes and shapes impossible to do more than imagine exist deep inside. Fading and changing, one day it is her, tomorrow it is him. Friday it will be three of them and today it is simply the reality of the him waiting at home. Yesterday it is always you and the what if's I can never answer although I imagine their answers are sweeter than any honey I have ever tasted.

So it is in this way, through these connections, real and fanciful, the list of ideals grows and changes; like the tides it comes in and out. Somedays I am stable and happy. Somedays I need more than can be given. Somedays I sweep the shore clean of all debris and leave no chance of capturing any piece of me. Somedays I lay a trail of nearly perfect sand dollar pieces, like a puzzle that can never be put together as the waves wash in and change it again. The luck of finding one whole seashell is a miracle that you can only find wrapped up in a gift shop sold by a buddha who knows the generalities of all humanity and sells it wrapped up in this small piece of me; unique, just like everyone else.

I dream of you, the scent of you, the safety only your arms can provide. The way you look and long for me. The happiness you have in finding me. The lengths you will go through to prove your desire for me. The way you question me to discover who I am and in doing so who you are. The things you learn from me. The things only you can teach me. The way you will work vigorously to ensure I am fully satisfied. The way you have made me feel that I am the most precious beautiful jewel from the Nile, as you kiss her - and him, and I am outside of the scene still secure in your embrace. Ensured that there could never be anyone as important as me. No desire worth fulfilling more than mine. The two of us finding a security together in fulfilling mutual desires and chasing after each others dreams. Making childish fantasies the overwhelming reality.

Mostly I imagine that I am not getting older. That you would still see me as a beautiful piece of artwork; standing next to the younger more atheletic and supple women who fill this room in competition of your desires. That you would choose me from the crowd of these woman who are found on magazine covers, in the club wearing next to nothing, smiling their bleached smile with their shapely bodies and bared belly buttons. That you would walk past them all, take my hand, whisper in my ear and show the world how valuable I really am. You would find my intelligence, verve, dissonance, black hair, green eyes, average shape and cynical tongue sexy. That all of your songs would be about me. All of your poems would bare my name. Your smile would come readily from thoughts of me. You would create a ritual dedicated to the Goddess that I am to your life. You would want to create life in the barreness of my ever withered Autumn womb no matter how futile it all was. You would comfort me through the loss of my beauty, my mind and my verve. That you would allow me to die first so I wouldn't be alone in the last moments of emptiness this world really is. That you could make me feel like my life had actually made some sort of difference. That I wasn't just a sheep sporting the voice of a rebel and the ideals of a madman just so I could stand black outside of the flock. Bahing and mocking the very thing I had actually become, desiring so much to be anything but average. Somehow being with you would ensure to me that wasn't the case. You would never accept anything that was not above average in your life.

Yes, it is true what they say, "Because I don't know you, I love you." Because you are the fantasy of my reality I love you. You will always be here, filed away, inside my head - my heart. Please don't ever escape, I don't know that I could bare the realities of life without you my ever changing sea of mystery; my very own Wild Thing.


(no subject)

Tue, Jan. 15th, 2008 22:22
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
As I work on putting my new computer together and clearing out my old I keep running into a lot of memories. Its left me feeling rather mute. A lot of things are running inside of me. Emotions, memories, hopes, fears and on and on. I don't have that feeling of crawling under my desk and hiding though. I just dont want to talk. It just feels so empty.

I was watching American History X tonight and realizing how your past does not dictate your future. It shapes you but it does not control you. It does not determine what your future will or can be. Problem is I dont know what I want to will my future to be anymore.

Maybe the point is to not want. It feels so empty though.

I dont know, Im PMSing this could all be hormonal.

Nonsense to commence - in other words just free form writing as the thoughts come the words are added.

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She took such a journey to the light from the warmth and comfort of her Queen and into the cold she emerged. Screaming and wailing as if all her needs were going to be met in that moment. Little did she know no needs would ever be met unless she stood up and forced them too. Stand she did. With an intimidation that forced life to bend to her will day by day. Lonely was the path that took her from one thought to the next. No matter how full her heart her arms were always empty. Void of support having voided the ability to be supported except by a cheap bra and a penny in her left shoe for good luck. She wrapped her arms fervantly around hope and each time she came up empty. A hopeless fool clinging to an intention that was always there to make her the fool. And the fool she would remain, as her arms lead with a mind of their own. Foolish arms controling a foolish heart that clings to passion with a foolish hope that as he walked out the door again, to his life, his wife, the magazine cover, his estately palace where a woman of such meager stature and staunch ethics could never be, a tear would not cross her cheek. Exception reigned in the shower were the warm facet water rinsed away the salt from her cheeks as her eyes prayed their relief from the torment of her arms lead. Follow, follow, follow like a dumb blond seeing a white rabbit in a waistcoat with a pocketwatch who is always late and running away from her. Yet she follows. Follows expecting the rabbit to care she is there. All he can see is his future in that pocketwatch. Stepping out of the shower she sees the undesirable form and knows exactly why the rabbit never sees her. She wraps her body in a towel and her face in a frown as she turns the music louder and louder until she is blinded by the sound. No longer any vision, just that sound. That sound that captures and holds her close. Wait, where is the emptiness now? She sinks into his voice and he holds her and understands. Why is it always so cold with only the music to hold you? She wants to kick the rabbit, chop off her arms, yet really the core is that hope. How does she kill that hope. After instilling it in herself that moment she emerged wailing and screaming at the world to bend to her. How did she become the one thing that tore her world apart? How now brown cow? How? Not even the Cat in Hat could save her now. Not mine, not hers, not ours, not yours, not here, not there, not anywhere. She will not kill it sam I am. She will not kill the hope. Even if it leads with her arms and takes her chasing after a rabbit that sees nothing but its future without ever seeing her.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
Sometimes I wonder about the fantasies a song can create for me, especially when Im at work...
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Her heart beat heavy in her chest as if it was buried in a coffin and pounding to get out. She felt a nervousness she didnt think existed outside of her youth and she took it as a sign of all the danger she was about to step into, willingly.

The door opened and his arms presented themselves. She fell into them without a moments thought to the eyes watching and allowed his lips to partake of hers. Oh sweet trespass, if this be trespassing then let me step across that line again and again.

Inside her room she fell prey to the longing deep inside a craving ache that she could not satiate alone. With his embrace he took time to deeply penetrate and fulfill a shuttering quake. Her energy ebbing against the tide he completed her with. The flow, crashing upon her shores, in and out, and all about. The waves surrounding them in moistness and a sweat that tingled and slid across the bareness of their bodies pressed into a mold that created one and no one.

His breath heavy in her ear. His arms tight about her. Her face buried into his neck. Her appendages entwined tightly about him. Hips moving slowly, forcefully, to the rythm of the music their lost breath and nervous hearts were creating.

His breath on the back of her neck, his hands holding her waist, pulling her closer to him, his finertips running up her spine, every thrust met with her thighs pushing back. Her face buried in the bed, moans muffled, her hands gripping tightly the blankets, her arms supporting her and her thighs meeting every thrust.

The collapse as he erupts, the rush still between them, even fulfilled the shores still tingle for each wave, waiting the return of the tide.

With a contented sigh she still felt her heart pounding each time his fingertips brushed across her back. Each time his eyes met hers. Each time she reached out and felt his body next to hers.

Each morning since his embrace left her the emptiness of a tide not returning fills her heart and it pounds incessently to get out. Trapped in a cage she didnt intend to put it in. No locks or bars does it contain and yet the heart waits inside freely choosing to remain bereft of the tide.

~TigressSky~ © 2007
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Body Kiss)
She knew she would see him again and she took great happiness in the reaction of her male friend when she stepped out of the room and said, "do I look stupid?"

He looked up at her and she watched him do a triple check before taking a deep breath and saying sarcasticaly, "my god, what do you think?"

She could tell by his reaction that what she thought was right but she was going for confirmation and so she said, "well if I knew I wouldnt be asking you would I? Come on just tell me what you think."

He swallowed, looked down at his hands then back at her, "you look fine. Come on you know what you are wearing. What do you really think?"

She just smiled wide and smiled at the reaction she managed to pull from him. "I dont know. Get out of my chair so I can put my shoes on tard-o."

Her phone rang and her friend was there. Time to go. One last stop in front of the mirror and a confident grin that she was looking irresistable. She stepped outside and even her friend gave her a double take. She straightened out her short skirt, pulled her socks straighter in her boots and smiled, "lets go."

The made their way to the bar and she saw him from the corner of her eye. She was happy with how she was feeling, how she was looking and just knowing he would check her out in the least was enough. She sat and joked with the entire band, laughed with her best friend, chatted with the bartender and made as much eye contact as she would allow herself with him.

Randomn whispers in her ear. His hands brushing against her. His breath against her neck. She was losing her ability to control anything except her need to feel him pressed against her, his hands all over her.

He was spoken for and she knew she was just suppose to be enjoying the small ego boost he afforded her. She knew better than to take things any further with him. When he sat beside her and asked, "do you want to go outside and make out a bit," she turned off her head and smiled with her heart and said, "okay." She stood up quickly before her head could have a chance at bat and headed outside.

He followed her out, took her hand and led the way up a small flight of concrete stairs to the parking lot.

"Where are we going," she asked grinning behind him.

"I dont know, over here," he continued leading her. "This is my friends car," he said and pulled her behind it away from prying eyes. He pressed her against the car and she felt her heart thudding uncontrollably.

Every inch of her body sighed and tingled at the feel of him pressed hard against her. His lips on hers, his breath on her neck, in her ear, his hands exploring. She grabbed him tight to her, just sinking into him, pulling him into her as tight and close as she possibly could.

His hands explored. His lips found her neck as his hands slid up the inside of her thigh and brushed across her panties. He pulled away for a second and shook his head, holding her still with one arm against the car and just soaking in the image. She felt self-conscious and then he sunk back against her, his lips on hers and this time her leg ran up his thigh and then wrapped itself tightly around him pulling him closer yet.

His hands ran along the curvature of her ass, down her bent leg and to the inside of her thigh again. She moaned at his touch and felt him step away, sliding her panties to the side to reveal her wet anticipation to him. He kneeled in front of her and wrapped his lips around her folds, his tongue doing things she had forgot a tongue could do. Her excitement built easily and came quickly, he stood up and pushed himself against her again. She kissed him hard, her breath erradict now, her body heaving in excitement and then he made his way between her legs again and she leaned her body into the embrace of the car and tried not to make any noise.

He slipped back up and kissed her wanting her to do the same for him. They spun around and he was now against the car. Without any second thought she knew she wanted to do whatever it took to please him and so she bent over and attempted taking the length of him within her lips. She wrapped her mouth around him and enjoyed with a passion every moan that escaped his throat while she performed.

He pulled her up and pushed her back against the car. His lips touched hers and her leg wrapped around him again. She felt his hardness next to her wetness and her body just sank into wanting it more than she thought she could. He slid into her, just a bit and she felt every inch of him as her body tingled with excitement. The pressure of him against her, inside of her, the danger of being caught, the ultimate want and attraction for him. Her head was in the game the entire time she realized as he whispered, "you just came," and in excitement pulled out and came himself intiating the parking lot.

She leaned against the car catching her breath as he leaned against her for a moment. She thought she should have something to say and she could think of nothing. She wanted to do it again and again, thats all of what slipped through her mind. When they sat on the stairs to talk she didnt know what to say, she simply wanted to jump back on top of him and at the same time she knew she had just become, "that girl," and she honestly didnt give a fuck.

They made their way back in the bar and he made his way to set-up with his band. She didnt know what to do or say. It all left her speechless as she sat with her friend and grinned knowingly at her. "Life is for entertainment purposes only," her friend told her, "dont forget that."

Whatever it was she wasnt going to allow herself to not feel it and gods did it feel good, physically and mentally.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
"Why did I wait so long to have you in my life," he said as he pulled her closer to him.

She didnt speak, she just sighed deeply and contently sank into his grasp.

"I don't know what I was doing. I don't know how I could have went without you for so long when all along I could have had you here."

She closes her eyes and lets his words drift over her. These arms she had waited so long to feel about her and here they were. This heartbeat she had waited so long to be next to and it was beating for her. A speeding thudding in her ear that made her heart dance along pacedly. She gripped to him tightly and felt that her imagination might let this one fade if she didn't hold on.

The traffic on I-5 is moving steadily and the commute to work shouldn't be any hassle this morning.

Her finger finds the snooze button and she curls into her pillow and sighs. What was that song that was playing in her dream? She rolls over and grabs the Snow Patrol CD case and remembers, Make This Go On Forever.

She smells him all around her even though he is and never has been there.

She gets in the shower and turns the music on. The song reminds her of everything that has happened and her responsibility. She made her deathbox and then helped him throw her into it. Now as the blood of her actions pool about her she fears trying again.

And I dont know where to look
My words just break and melt
Please just save me from this darkness
Please just save me from this darkness

The song chants hauntingly in the background as she still waits to be saved. As her heart believes someone might ride in on a strong black stallion and kiss her. Believing so strongly in the magick of just one kiss waking her from her haze of doubt and fear that her mind doesn't even question the reality of the possibility.

She thinks of him again as her dream fades back into her mind. The Poet who will never really be the one and yet whose eyes and words haunt her. Would his arms really feel as wonderful as they did in her dream? Would his heartbeat that strongly if she were being held next to it?

She knows that the fantasy she has built up of him will most likely never match the reality. Yet she still dreams.

As she steps out of the shower she sings along, "if I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lay with me and just forget the world." She turns the song Chasing Cars up louder and sings louder as well.

She uses her hairdryer to clear the fog from the mirror and looks closer at herself. The laugh lines are more prominent. Her eyes are red from the shower and tears and she swears that thirty looks back at her laughing.

Thirty makes her think about the WhiteTiger and she shakes her head before applying the black eyeliner she holds in her hand. What is she thinking? Ten years age difference is significant, especially when she is the greater of the equation. She ensures herself it is nothing serious and then laughs as the only negative in their natal chart comparisons runs through her mind, "These two could get frustrated because they simply feel they havent done enough to please the other." Is she sure this isn't serious?

Most of what I remember
Makes me sure
I should have stopped you
From walking out the door.

Her mind remembers how in love she was. She hears the quietness of the song You Could Be Happy and wonders if he thinks about her as often? Should she have kept trying? Should she has fought harder? How could she have proved to him all he meant to her?

She knows she said and did everything she could. She knows it all changed the day he told her she wasn't good enough for him. She knows she made choices from that point forward that affected everything that could ever be between them. She knows she should have walked out on her own and let go sooner. She misses him anyway and remembers only one thing, how good it felt to be in his arms.

Will it ever feel that good again? She turns on her MP3 player and turns up her hope and shuts her eyes and sings to it.

[Error: unknown template video]

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
She shivered as his fingers trailed down the outer curve of her foot and he began placing soft kisses a top her foot. His hands ran quickly up her inner calves, pushing the blanket up exposing her lower legs. He slid his hands across her knees to the outside of her thighs and bent to plant kisses a top her knees.

Her trembling grew but this time Nicholas knew for sure it was not because of the cold. He smiled down at her and admired her blush. He positioned himself between her feet and began kissing up her inner calf, spreading her legs with his hands and bending her knees fully.

She could feel the moisture between her legs as the covering slid down her thighs and came to rest a top her belly. The beauty of her womanliness was fully exposed and Nicholas soaked in the beauty of the pink wetness. He ran his fingers across her deep dark pubic hair and felt his hardness stiffen more intently as she gasped gently and wiggled a bit under his touch.

He made his way kissing down her inner thigh, planting a soft, full, wet kiss upon her beautiful pink opening and then made his way up the other thigh. He had to concentrate heavily on controlling his want to quickly penetrate her. She gasped loudly as he made his way back down her thigh and this time his lips and tongue came to rest fully in her wet mound. She opened her eyes, but could not see anything more than the top of his thick dark hair and the brown covering lying atop her belly.

She reached down and ran her fingers through his hair and then lay back, arching her back slightly and soaking up every lick, kiss and nibble he had to offer her. She had no idea what he was doing are why everything he was doing felt so good and she found quickly enough that she had no desire to analyze what was happening anymore. Instead she simply lay back and let herself dive deeper and deeper into the sensations his mouth offered her.

He wanted to taste every inch of her and his erection throbbed hard every time his tongue dipped inside her moist opening. He thought he wouldn’t be able to control himself, he wanted inside her so bad. His tongued dived into her, his lips wrapped gently around her folds, he sucked, fondled and nibbled every spot he could. He wanted her so bad, wanted to be in her so bad and then she arched he back hard and her thighs came crashing down around his head, she gasped, she cried out a bit and she shivered and soaked his face with her wetness.

With the announcement of her pleasure he reached up and moved the blanket off her belly exposing her fully naked trembling body. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she worked on catching her breath. Nicholas was instantly drawn to her heaving breasts and erect nipples, he leaned in and began licking and nibbling one.

Sky’s shivers intensified as little gasps escaped her mouth and she ran her fingers through Nicholas’ hair. The wave of pleasure she had just experienced seemed to be drawn out as he fondled and caressed her nipples with his tongue. She felt his thighs press against her and a hardness began slowly penetrating her. Her opening quivered about his member as he slid deeper and deeper inside of her.

Suddenly she peaked again and this time she let out a deep throaty growl as her nails dug deep into his back drawing blood. She pulled him closer and arched her hips up to meet his deep thrust. He wanted to continue penetrating her slowly in and out but he couldn’t. His urges overwhelmed as she covered his erection in dripping wetness. He moved fast and hard for only few short strokes and then shuddered deeply inside her and collapsed a top her as her grip on his back lessened.

He lay atop her breathing heavy, feeling her strong warm body beneath him and couldn’t resist. He laid gentle kisses upon her ear and whispered, “I love you,” as his erection began consuming him again.

She felt her heart thudding with the excitement and she feared her heart would certainly give out as the butterflies consumed her belly. She felt his want rising inside her again and this only elevated her want for more. She pushed her hips into him with all her might and met his first thrusting motion.

He lifted himself and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flush an a small glimmer of sweat covered her body. He leaned in and kissed her passionately. Then he reached his arms under the small of her back and rolled pulling her a top him. Without a missing a beat she sat up, leaned back and rode the hard and wet erection until she felt the pleasures rising up inside her again. Her body began trembling, her nipples became erect and she growled, moaned and screamed as the pleasure fully engulfed her yet again.

Nicholas felt the wetness begin gripping and trembling, he thrust his hips in time with her and at he first sign of her growl he moved his hips, deepening his thrust and shuddered inside her yet again. He reached up and grabbed her erect nipples and fondled them as his body quivered under her last thrusts.

As the last wave reached her, Sky felt herself crumple a top Nicholas, I love you, she thought to herself as her lips rested next to his ear. She never did get the words out as they lay together that night. Sleep followed passion, passion followed sleep until at last, exhausted and spent, they found themselves passed out in each others arms.

~TigressSky~ © 2006
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
Sometimes I wish I were not human. That I could be an animal that is happy living a solitairy life and only really needs company to mate. Hmmm...what kind of animal do I wish I was? *grins*

Yes, a Tiger.

Sometimes I imagine my life in the forests of Siberia. My territory spanning hundreds upon hundreds of miles. Knowing every detail about what is mine. Being the one in charge of my territory, for no other predator as cunning and tough lives in my teritory. Honing my skills each year as I grow and progress and protect my territory and all within it. Understanding the laws of nature and enforcing those laws within my territory. Anyone who questions me will not question for long. Being content, alone, in my territory. Then, during special moontimes finding myself in need of connection. Calling for it and finding many willing and wandering males in the area fighting over the right to be with me. Having mad angry sex in the hopes of someday rearing offspring that would learn the laws of nature and how to respect those laws from me. Then sending them on their way to find their own territory, their own path, yet knowing that the knowledge they garnered from me actually sunk in and actually meant something. Not having to worry about them after they moved on their own. Being content with the cycles of life and always ever curious and learning from my territory and nature around me. Til one day, my claws missing, my teeth rotting, my joints aching I would lay down and curl up with nature and return back to her sweet kiss. be a Tiger.

tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
I'm On Fire
Bruce Springsteen

Hey little girl is your daddy home
Did he go and leave you all alone
I got a bad desire
Oh oh oh
I'm on fire

Tell me now baby is he good to you
Can he do to you the things that I do
Oh no
I can take you higher
Oh oh oh
I'm on fire

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife baby
edgy and dull and cut a six-inch valley
through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
and a freight train running through the middle of my head

Only you
You cool my desire
Oh oh oh
I'm on fire
Oh oh oh
I'm on fire
Oh oh oh
I'm on fire

I'm on fire. )


a book report

Sun, Apr. 24th, 2005 14:23
tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)
Someone will hear me. Eventually I will finish. At some point this chapter ends and a new one begins. The same characters may be aorund, some may have died off, some I may have killed off and some may be just showing up. In this drama that is my life each chapter has moved through many characters and those whom remain for several chapters do so out of their own free-will. This story is not one about a woman who is good with people. Honesty seems to lead to arrogance and people's ignorance tends to fear my arrogance.

So far in this story the main character, me, has been represented with the following characteristics, loyal, honest, independent. A wandering warrior gypsy stands tall before the world and faces down each obstacle with strength, dignity and only the slightest of fear. She is an adventurer and becomes bored with stagnation and the ignorance of the world. Her intellect demands to be matched. This characters mind is developed way beyond her years, therefore she does not expect the same development of mind from her peers. Yet if you are mature and your level of intelligence is dated and stale she may have disrespect for you, intolerance or nothing further to do with you. Arrogance? Perhaps. Or perhaps it is her minds way of dealing peaceful with a situation she has suffered her whole life. Ignorance has been one of the most destructive forces in her life and perhaps she will no longer tolerate the destruction. Then again it may all still be labeled by the simplistic term of arrogance.

In this story a child is hurt, repeatedly throughout her life. She manages to push that hurt off as a side-dish of life and learns to make responsiblity and laughter the main course. Sometimes the wry humor is to frequent, she seems impassive, unemotional and again the labels come forth, this label: insensitive.

There are many chapters that are filled with the love and adoration of the animal kingdom, sometimes the character herself feels that her connection is too close to that of the animals then of the humans. She questions if this is a draw-back adding to her huge list of character flaws. This character whom is always in such control may becomed panic when dealing with those of the animal kingdom. Where if she is put into a similar situation in the human kingdom she may become angry and frustrated at the humans and feel little to no sympathy for the situation they have gotten themselves into.

This character is full of an every changing degree of personality that makes you love and hate her at the same time. Yet the chapters keep coming, she has tried to stop the story numerous times, yet she is no longer a coward. No longer does she fear this story called life and the challenges it presents her. She is in control of it. She controls her actions, her reactions and her path and any whom get in her way be damned!

There will come a time when the story is complete and truly all she wonders is who will be left to tell it? Who will be there to hear it? Who will care? She knows, she knows that the ancestors are no longer respected and revered. She knows that at her passing, those of her generation and perhaps the following will remember her and then, then her story will truly be over. No one will tell it any longer and that is the real tragedy of the stories of life. The real sadness of this story will be in it's final telling. When it is no longer even a memory. When the wandering warrior gypsy wanders no more.



tigrissky: Tiger in Green Sea (Default)

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