Thursday, August 25, 2016

Impromptu Poem?

Impromptu Poem

Andy, Suzen and I were at this club in Nashville, TN (Douglas Corner) that featured an Open Mic night for Country singers and songwriters. Andy wanted to showcase a couple of his songs. Although Andy had called ahead to put his name on the performers list, we waited. We waited and waited some more for Andy to have his turn. In the meantime, I wrote this poem on a bar napkin. Well, I call it a poem, anyway. (What did you expect for a bar napkin poem?)

See my blog: 2015 Nashville - Music City

Untitled so far:

She don’t belong to me
I don’t belong to her
But we belong to us

We met on level ground
Sure, we fooled around
But we belong to us

An instant attraction
An automatic reaction
But we belong to us

She gives, she takes
I take, I give
But we belong to us

Its not about ownership
We sail our own ships
Because we belong to us

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

To the Next Generations

On the Younger Generations:

     Disillusioned by what they
       Want their world to be
          Compared to what it is.

     The deck is stacked
        The game is rigged
           The winners are on the inside
              Obstructed from notice.

       Because their sponsors prepaid
          The right people
             Under the table
                Behind closed doors.

        On some cold and rainy night
          Nursing a hangover
            Coming down from a high
               They realize...

They have always been the pawns of the powerful.
It isn't fair or just. It just is.


To the Lost One

A Poem: I doubt if this is my thing.

Originally posted: June 21, 2011

Come on. Go with me.
It’ll be all right.
Come and go with me
before the bright moonlight.

Wear something comfortable
Something old or new.
Bring your cheap sandals
Not your brand new shoes.

I’d like to go there
and go there with you.
Where ocean meets shoreline
Small waves wash anew.

You bring some candles.
I’ll bring some wine,
An old patchwork blanket.
We’ll have nothing but time.

It will be good for us.
Just wait and see.
We’ll watch the sun ball,
Slip under the sea.

We’ll kick off our sandals
I’ll hold your hand.
We’ll walk together
In the cool shoreline sand.

The stars will all sparkle
In the great Milky Way
And all the days’ problems
Will soon fade away.

Surrounded by star field
Of sand, surf and breeze,
We’ll hold onto each other
Like young willow trees.

Our hearts beat together
As a pulse in our ears
We’ll hear only surf.
Away melt the years.

It seems only yesterday
On this beach where we met
Our lives lived separately
Only one regret.

We should have been together
For all those years
But things sort of happened
Creating our tears.

We have no fear
Of what lies ahead,
Still we wonder if “magic”
Is all in our heads.

What was, now can’t be.
That’s easy for you to say.
What’s hard is to
Mean it that way.

No bandage or medicine
Can heal the past.
We should have worked harder
To make our good thing last.

So tonight is for memories
Of things we have done
Good things mostly and
Places we’ve gone.

Our footprints we’ve left
On the beachfront of living
Our history may fade
But we’ll be together, one more evening.

~ Yeah, I wrote this. (Stop laughing!)

Weird Scenes Inside the Mind of Jim

Originally posted: June 7, 2011

A found image that resembled my dream.
Jason suddenly awoke from what he thought was a deep, dead sleep. Then rolled over to shut-off the alarm clock without opening his eyes. As he slowly rolled back to his pre-awakened position - hoping to catch a few more Z’s, he realized he was already in a bad mood, so he might as well get up and face the day.

He rolled back over toward the alarm clock on the cherry wood nightstand and slowly - at his age and at this time of day, everything moved slowly - then moved his feet around the carpeted floor searching for his slippers before opening his eyes for the first time. Rubbing away the morning fogginess, he stretched and took a long look around. Everything seemed to be right where he had left it the night before - just as it should be.

He was clearly in his own place, but he could neither shake the feeling of being elsewhere nor his bad attitude. Normally, his waking attitude could be described as neutral. It was only Tuesday and he hadn’t had time to develop a bad attitude toward his job. That doesn’t come until Thursday when he’s had about all he can stand and still he has another workday ahead before he can collect his meager paycheck. No, something else happened because he felt differently about the world in general. He wasn’t at all happy about it or anything else, but why?

Standing up was easier said than done. Jason had taken some night-time cold medicine to clear out his sinuses to breathe which included a sleep aid as well to help him power through his first air-conditioner sinus cold of the summer. “Where’s the damned kitchen. I need my coffee.” He half-mumbled to himself and half-expecting some unseen angel to guide him to the coffee maker. His head itched and butt cheek itched simultaneously and he took care of that as he walked toward the kitchen. Pushing the slow brew selection and the start buttons on the GE coffee maker, he made the loop through the dining room and back down the hall to the bathroom. Time to take care of some personal business and get a shower before work. Before he closed the bathroom door, the wonderful aroma of dark roast blend wafted through the air. “Mmm. The best part of waking up”, but it wasn’t the brand of coffee you’re thinking of.

Testing the shower temperature, he made the commitment to get wet. At first, he just stood there and gradually waded into the full stream and centered the shower head on the top of his head. “Ah, that feels great”, he thought. As more and more of the gentle stream poured down upon him, random thoughts of some bizarre theme streamed through his consciousness.

A flash - in black and white - of a video tape left for him to find by one of his former girlfriends. It had a big red bow around it. The only thing that was in color was that bow. Then, another flash of her sitting on a bed in black silk hip-hugger panties, sheer black thigh-high stockings fastened to the suspender tabs of a lacy bustier - one of the top straps dropped on the right side. The key word to next describe is exposure. Damn it was pretty. Just the way he liked them shaped and sized. He remembered the shot but couldn’t see her face clearly. Her hairstyle was definitely classic Bettie Page.

Squeezing some shampoo into his hand, he set the bottle down, rubbed his hands together and spread the shampoo into his already wet hair. This was going to feel great. It was his morning shower and the high point of his day. The rest was usually all downhill from there. The images returned as he closed his eyes to avoid the shampoo. There he was in a large living room with the bedroom in one corner and the living room in the next corner to the left - not the way any house he’s ever lived-in was ever arranged. Seeming to be in two worlds at the same time, Jason stood there holding the videotape with both hands, observing the scene as he continued to shampoo his hair with his eyes closed. Hot, pulsating shower water power-massaging his back.

He looked down at the video tape with the red bow, then over to his ex-girlfriend posing seductively on the bed. Out of the corner of his mind’s left eye, he saw a youngish, but slightly balding man, unknown to him, sitting naked and sexually aroused on some gaudy plaid couch watching her in the bedroom scene. A sting in the eyeballs woke Jason from this dream within a shower. “Dammit, ya can’t do two things at once. Shower up and get out!” He finished his shower, toweled off and put on his bathrobe hanging from the peg behind the door. His slippers handy, he immediately went to the front door to pick-up the morning newspaper and have his coffee, toast and strawberry preserves.

The coffee smelled great and the first cup always tastes the best. A multi-vitamin pill and some whole wheat toast was all he needed now.  As he sat down at the table and looked out the rear kitchen window toward the sunshine, just coming up through the treeline, he opened the newspaper to see what’s new. Sipping his coffee and waiting for the toast, he remembered something else. He knew the video tape from his memory flashes must have been about this ex-girlfriend and her other lover “doing-it” and he was supposed to watch that tape as her gift or something. Her motives were unclear as were his interpretations of the scenes flashing from these “memories” which he never created in reality.

“Ah, so THAT’S why I have such a bad attitude today. A freakin’ nightmare.” He still couldn’t put a face on that lady in the black bustier or the other guy on the ugly sofa in the scene as, of course, neither ever existed in real life as they failed to resemble anyone he knew. He took another big sip of coffee before going over to the cupboard to see what, if any, warnings were listed on the back panel of the night time cold medicine he took last night. There were several medicinal warnings, of course, but none of them included cuckold nightmares.

Jason wished he knew more about meanings of dreams. Was this dream a premonition of some girl he was going to meet someday? Had already met? Or as some like to call it, “random remnant memory brain junk” - in this case, possibly OTC drug induced. Jason spoke up, “Now, let’s shake the bad attitude and read the morning news. Really? You can’t do that after reading only the headlines? Harumpf. It’s just not your day, pal.”


She Was Perfect; Looking for Me

Originally posted: Saturday, June 2, 2007

I sat in her office for quite some time. I didn’t know how long. I always arrive a little bit early for such appointments. I’d never met her before and wondered what she would be like. It was a professional office with well decorated walls and an expensive looking wallpaper and draperies. The furniture was simple but elegantly comfortable. I heard a car drive into the driveway and arose from my seat, dropped the magazine and went to the office door.

As I opened the office door, the scenery changes to the front porch of a nice house in an upper middle class neighborhood. All the houses on the block were new, had well manicured lawns and had new cars in the driveways. Where was I and how did I get here?

She was a petite woman, her face hidden from the sun, as she walked up the sidewalk. She was short-ish, around 5 foot 5” or 6” (I’m 5’11”) and was wearing an incredibly beautiful, well tailored simple black dress with black and white chiffon trim flirting at the neckline which blew ever so slightly in the warm Springtime breeze. Her professional, yet classically stylish high heeled shoes and handbag were two-toned, black with an awesome white, artistic trim and matched exactly. Her naturally striated blond hair was pulled back smooth and tied neatly in the back. To set her off to the nines, she wore the most beautiful wide brimmed hat - very obviously haute couteur - which, when she lifted her face to walk up the three short steps to the door, shielded the harsh direct sunlight from her lightly tinted, pouty lips, remarkable azure blue eyes and perfect face. She looked up at me as I held the door open for her from within.

She stopped short. I stood motionless. I didn’t know how long we stood there gazing at each other, but it seemed a very long time. Something was happening that I’d never experienced before. Our eyes were locked in a gaze that couldn’t be disconnected. Neither of us wanted that - we couldn’t - powerless. I opened the door a bit wider, smiled and said, “I’ve been waiting for you. ... I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”

She smiled, took one more step and said, “I know. I wondered how long it would take for us to find each other. I’ve been waiting for you too ... all my life.” Still locked in the yet to be broken, eye to eye gaze as if mystically connected soul to soul, she glided up the two remaining steps and stood close to me on the very top step. As I moved aside slightly to my left, she stepped aside slightly to my right, but not very far away. We stood motionless still looking into each other’s eyes. I could only hear my own heartbeat, but I could feel something strong was stirring deeply within my very soul.

I let go of the door. It silently closed, but the sun still shone through the glass panel to accent her lovely shape with indirect sunlight. My right arm reached around her small waist and gently pulled her closer to me. She said nothing, but her lip-line stretched slightly, curling upwards into her cheek and her eyes narrowed at the temples in a more than friendly way, yet coy. I heard her purse drop to the floor from her left hand. She moved her hand upwards along my side until it rested on my right shoulder; her arm resting on my arm as if about to dance. I smiled. I pulled her towards me and my forehead bumped her hat. I grinned sheepishly and asked, “May I?”. Her smile broadened, she blinked her eyes and scrunched-up her pert little nose. I carefully removed her hat and laid it gingerly on a nearby chair. As I did that, her right hand reached up, untied her hair and let it fall. It fell perfectly - not one strand out of place. It was just barely beyond shoulder length and smelled of fresh rose petals. My hands moved back toward the sides of her waist.

Gently, using only my fingertips, I pulled her closer to me. As I bent down to kiss her, she rose on her toes, both her hands went to the sides of my head, then caressed the back of it and my neck. I continued slowly closing the distance between our lips, my breathing was becoming labored and my heartbeat was becoming erratic. Just as our lips were about to meet, she slowly turned her head away. “Not yet.” she whispered softly. “Not just yet. It’s not our time.”

Still moving forward, I slowly and softly kissed her neck instead, trying desperately to find that little place that only she would know and like to have tasted in the good way. She tasted good. She tasted sweet. Her perfume was intoxicating and my mind began to whirl. I was thinking, “Was this what I think it is?” Her arms lowered to embrace me and mine did likewise. We melted together into a single shadow on the thickly carpeted floor. As we stood there embracing, all she could say - still in a soft whisper was, “Not yet.... Not yet... It’s not our time.”

The birds outside were making a big fuss about something; only two of them were singing beautifully in the Tulip Tree outside. Suddenly, the room began to get lighter and lighter, she was disappearing into the swirling halo of the light. The birds were getting louder in their chatter and their song. I was losing the warmth of her touch; the feel of her form against mine. I wanted to shout, “Don’t go!” I pleaded, “Please stay with me”. My lips moved, but my voice didn’t work.

My eyes suddenly opened to see the hazy outline of the five bladed ceiling fan, not turning and then, began to get focused on the ceiling itself. The birds outside were bickering over the birdseed in the feeder. There is no Tulip Tree. I was awake. I panicked and immediately closed my eyes, rolled over, faced into the pillows and tried with everything I could to go back, but couldn’t.

She was gone.

This scene has haunted me all day and all night long - even at work tonight, I could think of nothing else. I couldn’t get it out of my mind; couldn’t dismiss it, either. I had to write it down. I know it was only a dream. Most of the time I forget dreams as soon as I see the light of day and realize I’m indeed awake. This dream was different; very different. It was vivid, in color, there were smells - not present in the house - and the visions were not set in any places I’d ever visited before. I can’t remember her face, now, at all.

Was this beautiful, petite, well-dressed blonde woman - obviously attracted to me and I, likewise to her - a premonition of the love of my life who has yet to come into my life, was she someone from, perhaps another lifetime or was she the Angel of Death, who when kissed on the lips, would take me away and beyond this reality. I guess I’ll never know for sure. It was just a dream. At least when I DO know, I won’t be able to blog about it, will I?

~the end~

Friday, August 19, 2016

Gothic Loves (screenplay)

ENTER GRAVEDIGGER: (middle aged, man) wearing work clothes (dirty white t-shirt, bib-overalls, red bandana and old straw fedora), sweating and dirt-stained, he races into the kitchen of his house, throwing his hat on the kitchen counter. He hurries to the refrigerator-freezer, withdraws a frosty bottle of Russian Vodka and pours a short drink into a tall glass from the cupboard. Hurriedly, he downs it, then quickly pours another and swallows it, taking a deep breath afterward. More slowly this time, thoughtfully, he pours another drink, but only tastes a bit of the vodka before wiping his lips on the back of his dirt stained hand leaving another smudge on his face. Taking the glass with him, he hurries to another room.


int.den.moments later

The man enters the den of the house where the computer is already on, a web page or document is open and the cursor is still flashing right where he left off presumably earlier in the day. He places a hand on each side of the computer monitor and stares at the screen and the voice-over begins.

CLOSE UP: Zoom-in, Close-up of the computer screen and blinking cursor - as if being hypnotized, then blur-out to flashback in the next scene.


Man in pajamas, hot coffee cup by the computer monitor, he types the following words into his computer journal, while narrating part of the back story. We see him typing from various locations around the room, setting his location.


"I never quite figured out the attraction of beautiful women who (somehow) fall madly and inseparably in love with vampires like Count Dracula the fictional Bram Stoker story loosely based upon Vlad the Impaler. What was the attraction? Was it the pale, pasty-colored flesh they seemed to exhibit? Was it the fact that they had no pulse or body heat generated by a warm, beating heart. Why did they wear only one and outdated change of clothes for every evening occasion? Why were they never around in the daylight, when the sun shines and the flowers bloom? Who knows?

Scene 3 - Add jump cut flashbacks in b/w of Amberlynn being carried through the graveyard to her resting place intermixed with cuts of gravedigger typing on keyboard - close ups of fingers, hands, etc.

"These were once people and now undead creatures who only come out at night and stereotypically seem to live (If that's the right word) in cold, dark, dusty, dingy castles illuminated only by candlelight and heated only by fireplaces. They seem to have some high-level of wealth, perhaps at money being left safely on deposit for hundreds of years - possibly in exclusive or hidden bank accounts. After all, their property taxes must be paid or else the county would foreclose on their property. What about the cobwebs! Who could live in a house with so many cobwebs? I never met a woman who could do that - not even for love nor money.

"As an adult now, I learned long ago never to look directly into a vampire's  hypnotizing eyes. The kind of eyes that allowed "the Drac" into the bedrooms, quite unnoticed, of only unusually lovely women who conveniently leave their third floor balcony windows open and wear only sheer, comfortable clothing to bed. Hey, wait a minute. Maybe that's what I wanted to see as a pre-teen-aged boy at the matinee movies. I was curious about how the other half .. uh ... looked. Well, that potential almost sexy scene from the movies was quickly spoiled when "the Drac" bit her on the neck. After the third such bite, she was his forever. I admit it. I tried the biting thing on some of my dates. Some girls liked it; most didn't. Eventually, I just got tired of being slapped, so I quit doing it altogether. Hey, it worked for "the Drac".


CLOSE UP: Fade out of flashback and blur back into previous close up focusing on the cursor of the computer screen - still blinking.


Man resumes typing on computer. Voice overs continue.


"That's what I used to think, ... but not any more. Those old movie visions were not at all like reality. Not after what I've seen tonight. You see, I'm a freelance writer, but right now my writing career isn't paying so well - not that it ever did - and the bills are piling up. 


several Shots: stack of bills, red stamped "past due", "Please remit"


several shots: stacks of envelopes from publishers, marked "return to sender".


"So I took this job as a grave digger at the small cemetery just outside of town. I earn enough planting dead old people to keep me sleeping indoors with electricity for my computer and a shot of Vodka now and again. All I can say about that is that I'm glad its Spring, so I can turn the furnace off to save money.

"Today, was a different matter. Young Amberlyn was supposed to be buried today. She had more or less been going steadily with Tristan, a young man from a wealthy family, but suddenly, a few years ago, that family must have taken a long vacation or something because they haven't been seen or heard from in a couple of years. Nobody questions what rich people do.

fade out/fade in

EXT.grave site. old cemetery

A lovely young woman in a white dressing gown, flower-lace crown framing her lovely face is laid out on a gurney or table with a white sheet draped to the ground in front of an open grave site. She is surrounded by fresh flowers, hands clasped over her heart, a Catholic Rosary in her hands.


The gravedigger, shovel in hand, rests behind a nearby tree.


A priest silently gives a blessing with Holy Water and mumbles something in Latin under his breath, making the sign of the cross. There are no other mourners. The voice-over narrator continues:



"Poor Amberlyn. She was so young and so innocent. How could Tristan have known that her parents had only recently died of a horrible disease and that she might eventually contract it too. Fearing the worst and having no other family or knowledge of Tristan's whereabouts, she committed suicide. Her funeral was today, but it was not well attended as the disease which afflicted her parents has also consumed many other people in the small Appalachian village. The people were advised to stay away from anyone having come in contact with it. All except the Priest and myself, that is.

"I was standing behind a nearby tree waiting for the Priest and his services to end. I was hardly dressed to pay my last respects to the lovely young lady. Besides, it was my task to hide that beautiful face away from the world forever by burying it beneath the earth. A task I knew I would not enjoy doing."

Finished with his service, the Priest withdraws and leaves the grave site with a sad-faced nod and wave to the grave digger standing beside the tree. The priest continues to walk toward his car to return to his church. He isn't gone long when ...


a LONG SHOT OVER AMBERLYN'S BODY AND INTO THE DISTANCE: Suddenly, a male form wearing Gothic clothing begins to materialize out of a fog.

A moment later, he appears closer without ever having moved.
finally, he arrives at Amberlyn's side.

CLOSE UP: Gothic male looks down at amberlyn with love, desire and affection.

CUTAWAY: to close up of gravedigger with astonished recognition of the Gothic man.


In a whisper, "Its Tristan! But how can that be?"

CUTAWAY:back to Gothic man and amberlyn. Tristan raises his long yellow nailed right hand and settles it over amberlyn's heart.  As if by supernatural magic, a red rose and baby's breath (symbols of romantic love) slowly materialize under amberlyn's hands.

Raising one hand over her head and one hand over her hands, then raises his face skyward as if asking the Universe for the power, Tristan tries to raise Amberlyn from her deathly slumber.
Her body arches and her knees raise as if to rise, but alas his powers are too weak.
Tristan moves to her feet, places one hand on her feet and the other hand outstretched to her clasped hands over her heart and again, raises his face to the sky summoning any power the Universe will supply.

Amberlyn again arches her back and raises her knees as if to sit-up, but alas again he fails.

Amberlyn resumes her repose, but in so doing, her left arm falls free of her chest and dangles over the edge of the table she is resting upon.

CUTAWAY: Suddenly, off a short distance away, a Gothic female begins to materialize in a hazy fog.
she nears closer to Tristan and the Innocent Amberlyn near the grave site without ever seeming to move.

(There is no apprehension of fear. Her name is Nimue (NIM-oo-ay so named from the Arthurian-legend Sorceress).  Tristan knows of her well, but they are not sociable about it.)


"Keep away from her, Nimue. What is your interest in being here?"


"Be still, Tristan. I have my reasons, which I shall explain."

As she looks down with loving eyes at the young Innocent, she opens her hand and hovers it down her left arm and raises it back over her chest and stops over her right hand, still holding the red rose of romantic love.

As if by supernatural magic, a white rose (symbol of purity and truth) appears under the Innocent's hand, next to the red rose.

Nimue Raising one hand over amberlyn's head and one hand over her hands, then raises her face skyward also in an attempt to raise Amberlyn from her deathly slumber.

Nnimue moves to her feet, places one hand on her feet and the other hand outstretched to Amberlyn's clasped hands over her heart and again, raises her face to the sky summoning any power the Universe will supply.

Nimue also fails in her attempts to bring Amberlyn into their world - the world in-between life and death.

(Tristan and Nimue talk softly at first.)


"It appears as your magic isn't any more effective at bringing her back as mine was. So, go away! Amberlyn belongs to me."


"What you do not realize, Tristan, is that Amberlyn has not yet died but we have very little time to act."


"Of course, she is dead. She took a powerful and deadly poison to end her life. The country coroner assumed this from the bottle they found."


"And do you know where she obtained this poison?"

Nimue looks as Tristan.
Reaction shot: Tristan appears confused and surprised by this news.


"Ah, another important discovery of which you were not aware. She sought out an apothecary to obtain a quick, tasteless and painless method to end her life after her parents died. You were not there to protect her from herself. I disguised myself and created a potion which simulates death, but she is not yet fully dead."


"And exactly why would you do such a thing? Again, I ask you, what is your interest in her?"


"I have been watching her for a long time - since her parents took ill. I want her for the same reason that you do. I want to love her and she will learn to love me in return. She is very beautiful and I want her."


(The discussion quickly escalates to a heated argument about what could be done and in whose world the new would-be lover will belong.)

TWO-SHOT: Tristan and Nimue poised at each other as if to project force of magic against the other, but neither can destroy the other.


Finally, they devise a plan to work together, thereby sharing the young Innocent. Perhaps after a while, they would allow Amberlyn to choose whose world she prefers - Tristan's or Nimue's. Each of the vamps realize that the other would and could betray this fragile agreement when the opportunity arose. They would both have to keep a watchful eye on the other.

Together, they decide that they both must use their combined powers to bring Innocent Amberlyn into both of their worlds - the existence between life and death.

Nimue stands at the head position while Tristan at the foot position of Amberlyn, both raise their hands mirroring each others pose then slowly close their eyes and lift their faces to the starry night sky to summon energy from the Universe.

Slowly, Amberlyn animates as before and rises to a sitting position still clutching the roses in her right hand and left hands.  She clutches them a bit too hard and the rose thorns pierce her skin causing tiny droplets of blood to seep from the small wounds. She is still asleep. Her head droops forward, but her back is straight.

CLOSE UPs: tristan and Nimue try to hold back their lusty thirst for the blood of the innocent Amberlyn.

To bring Amerlyn fully into the world of life in-between, they both must share their immortality by mixing their blood with hers.

Tristan poses behind Amerlyn, holding her around the waist (or higher) allowing her head to rest on his right shoulder as he prepares for the sharing bite on the left side of her neck.

Nimue has raised the nightgown from Amberlyn's legs and prepares for her sharing bite near the femoral artery on the inside of her upper thigh.


"Do not be afraid. The apothecary potion will not harm us and it's effects will be reversed as we share."

Together, they bite into the flesh of the partially transformed Amberlyn. As the feasting and the sharing continues to an end, Amberlyn begins to open her eyes. Normal skin coloration is slowly returning to her cheeks. She begins to become “aware” of her surroundings and her visitors, but not her situation.

Amberlyn sets the flowers aside and rubs her eyes; trying to focus. She immediately recognizes Tristan, smiles, twists around and hugs him. Then, she realizes ...


"Oh, Tristan. My love. Can that really be you? Where have you been for so long?"

(She remembered that she had also swore her undying love and affections for him only what seemed to be years ago, but she had not forgotten him.

Amberlyn was but a young and beautiful girl in her early teens when Tristan at his age then of 21 years, made his pledge.  He had suddenly disappeared and has been gone from the village for several years now. No one knew of his whereabouts or what had become of him.

There were rumors spread mostly by the village elders – especially those who smelled of garlic flower and wolf bane. They wore long chained necklaces baring the Christian symbol of the Cross made from silver or shiny metals that could reflect large amounts of light. The elders believe that this necklace could be used as a potential weapon against the undead. The smell of garlic flower and wolf bane also serves as a repellent to these creatures that inhabit only the night.)

Feeling quite awake and womanly now, Amberlyn turns to Nimue and inquires of Tristan (almost jealously),


"Who is this woman? Why is SHE here?"

Tristan looks to Nimue with a nod.
As amberlyn questions tristan, he offers his hand, palm up toward nimue suggesting that she answer the question posed.


"I am Nimue (NIM-oo-ay). It was because of the purity and truth of the ancient sisterhood and my powers as sorceress which brought you back to life from the valley of the dead."


Interjecting: "It was my true love for you that brought you back so that we could live together happily as I always promised you."

An unintelligible argument ensues between Tristan and Nimue. Both vamps assume attack poses; fangs showing, long-nailed hands poised to strike out, faces contorted for battle.


"Stop it! .. Both of you. I want the truth, now."

Slowly, both realizing they cannot destroy the other, finally admit that it, did indeed, take the strength of both their powers to bring her back to life. Further, they admit that they each want this young innocent to live in their world. Tristan would have her and hold her in love as his wife, while Nimue would have her as a co-partner and playmate.


"In purity of truth and under the unwritten customs of all underworld societies. We call it Nosferatu." Nimue pledges, "I am obligated to tell you that all three of us can share each other for only the time of three full moons before you, Amberlyn, must make her choice of afterlife partners, for you  may only have one. The potion you drank to end your life has in reality prepared you for this time. If we do not act quickly now, the potion will surely end your life."


Looking puzzled, "I don't know what to say." Looking at Tristan ... "Tristan?"
Tristan can say or do nothing. This must be a willful decision for Amberlyn. After all, It is Nimue's potion.


After a short pause: "If this is what you wish, and to seal this pact between us, we now kiss - all three.

The three now kiss simultaneously - six lips together as one.

As they linger at each other's lips, their bodies together, arms wrapped around each other in a full body hug. together, they each begin to visually fade into the evening mist.

Grave digger continues typing on his computer journal.


Who would Amberlyn choose in the end? - Tristan or Nimue?
I didn't know what else to do after that. How could I explain it to the townspeople what had just happened and that there was no body to be buried?

How would I get paid?

If I told the truth of what I saw, the village elders would be off into the night trying to find the three of them. Maybe they would try to kill them as the old ones did during the Dark Ages. Who knows, perhaps yesterday's superstitions may give rise to some new sciences of today?

As I watched them - the three of them together - their love for Amberlyn seemed so genuine and yet so possessive.

I did what I had to do. I filled-in the grave site hole, threw the flowers on top of the dirt and left the cemetery as quickly as I could.

What will happen between Tristan, Amberlyn and Nimue? I'm just an unemployed writer. What do I know?

Fade out to credits
Background music plays "Triad" by Jefferson Airplane, "Crown of Creation" album

~ End ~

The Rendezvous

The man in the dark gray trench coat with matching fedora threw his unfiltered, burned short Camel butt into the orange and blue neon reflections in the puddle of street mud at the curb. "Blue Knight Spot" the neon glowed around the medieval armored helmet of the logo. The small, blue and white painted sign above the red-leather upholstered door with the double diamond shaped windows read "No Smoking by Ordinance 01-387."

"No shit." Said the man said under his breath as he pushed the front door aside.

He quietly strolled-in removing his coat, but keeping on his hat and sat down on a dark red leather bar stool, third seat from the end. It was his regular seat by the tall, old, wooden box called Public Telephone. It had a working 1940s-style, candlestick pay telephone in it, but it only called the bartender for a nickel. He never answered it and you got your nickel back, but it kept new people from constantly asking, "Does that old thing still work?"

As the man adjusted his blue silk necktie by his reflection in the mirror behind the Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels, Blue Goose and Smirnoff bottles neatly arranged on glass shelves. The tall, balding bartender pulled-up the red sleeve garters on his white, long-sleeved shirt, adjusted his black paisley patterned silk vest and walked over. In his usual deep, booming voice he said, "How ya' doin', Jim. Long time. What'll it be? The Johnny Walker red or the black label, tonight."

"Haven't had much to celebrate lately, Ray. I'll just have the Red on the rocks."

"Comin' up.

He put two bar naps down on the sweet spot of the bar - half way between the edge of the bar and the customer within a short forearm's grasp. Turning around, he quickly fixed the drink order with a heavy pour and set it down neatly in the center of the bar naps.

"Had dinner yet, Jim. We could fix you up something special in the back. Rosie's got a Blue Plate Special if you want to hear it."

"No thanks, Ray. I appreciate the thought. That's why I like coming here. <slight pause> Is Frank Sinatra coming in tonight or is it that dame what's-her-name this week."

Of course, the Frank Sinatra had been dead for years, but Jim didn't want to remember the names of these new entertainers that occasionally sat-in with the house jazz and blues band any more.
They come and go. Nobody really wants to rehearse and stick with their musical craft anymore. They try it on like a fast food job for a while and if it doesn't work for them, they move on. The fairly good ones, get into drugs or get pregnant and move in with their sugar daddy - meanwhile what they might have had to offer the world, is forever lost and wasted.

But, Jazz and Blues - the way THESE guys, the house group, play them - is the way it should be played with soul, emotion and technical expertise that looks so easy for them to play and always sounds so good. Good music, good Scotch and good company is what Saturday nights are all about. Now, if only she would come in.

"Neither, Jim. Tonight we have a couple of new ones. Kid plays blues piano like you never heard. Got a girl with him who sings torch songs like the old days - like before even you and I were even kids. Looks really nice in that blue dress, too. You'll see. Call themselves, 'Tom and Tonya'. I think you'll like 'em okay. Kinda remind me of Bobby Troupe Trio and Julie London a little bit. I know you have at least one Julie London album in your collection."

"Yeah, When I was in high school, I used to sit for this little kid down the street. The guy and his wife always played their 1957 Julie London album before they left for their night out on the town. Romance. I guess that's what it was. I liked the thought of it, but I wouldn't want to go there. Too much trouble these days. Dames our age are nuts .... except for your Rosie, of course."

Jim looked in the bar mirror to see his foot in his mouth, but Ray took no offense at anything his old friend had to say. There were plenty of times the shoe was on the other foot and Jim always understood what Ray meant. Besides, he knew full well, that the older we get, the more we become damaged goods. Damaged by our many mistakes in love and life in general, but only to the effects they left us with. Gun-shy whenever something or somebody new comes along. Everybody is different. When you're young, fall in love and marry early, you tend to grow up together with the same identity with each other. Ray and Rosie were like that - lovers, pals and all that goes together.
Ray and Jim had been friends since the old days. Jim bounced around from several careers, never settling on anything that made him happy but Ray retired from the Marines after his 20 years were up, bought this night club and turned it into the type of club Jim and Ray always talked about owning together, some day. It was their dream, but Ray was living it. Jim was jealous.

It was kind of an English pub with dark-stained, wainscot walls, shiny brass wall sconces with lights turned down low, polished-brass rails and a clean, friendly atmosphere. The entertainer's stage was small and the dance floor similarly sized. This was an new/old blend of the things that Ray and Jim always said they liked about various bars they visited when they traveled in the Marines together with an homage to the look of the 1930s and 40s (or so they thought). A little something for everybody, small enough, yet large enough to make a profit after all the sin taxes are paid. Nobody, was going to get rich in the bar business these days.

A few at a time, new customers came in and took seats in the tables and chairs sectioned near the stage. In the center of each table was a battery operated candle globe that flickered just like the real thing. The waitresses took their orders and Ray went to work.

Sitting there in his usual seat, Jim could faintly hear the quartet of jazz musicians warming up and tuning their instruments in the anteroom. It would be showtime soon and the house was rapidly filling-up. Ray was busy mixing drinks and popping beer bottle tops while the waitresses were just as busy at delivering them to anxious, smiling customers. Bars like this were happy places to be. Saturday night was couples night, but Jim sat alone at the end of the bar. She would come in, see him, then all would be well.

Every so often a numbered light would glow above the waitress station to indicate which waitress had a food order ready. Jim watched it all and took it in. It was going to be a good Saturday night.
Satisfied that he wasn't missing anything he hadn't seen or heard before, he took one more glance toward the door and turned around on his bars tool, tipped the brim of his fedora back off his forehead with his thumb and finally took a long sip of his sweating glass of Red Label.

"Damn this stuff is good. They oughta bottle it. It would sell a million."

He said to himself. To Jim, that remark under his breath had some humor to it because he always had a tremendous grasp of the obvious. The first taste is always the best.

As the alcohol glow warmed his insides and slightly dulled his senses, Jim's mind began to wander as he tried to entertain himself until the music started. It didn't take long for him to remember what he thought he wanted to forget. As much as he tried repeatedly over the past couple of years to forget, to think about other things, to avoid the issue altogether, that second long sip brought it all sneaking back to him as if through a secret trap door to his mind.

It wasn't his subconscious working on him. Tonight, his visit here was purposeful. Tonight was or could be special. He wondered if anyone else might think it so. He hoped it would, but he was also doubtful. Yet, he couldn't pass on the possibility that it might be. It was as if the Cosmos had willed him here - had pushed him here, tonight of all nights.


It was two years ago, on this very date that they met here. He was sitting alone at the end of the bar, third stool from the end having a beer when she strutted over to him, sat down next to him, leaned over and smiled brightly near his face and cheerfully said, "Hi!" 

Her eyes were slightly narrowed with her smile, which Jim thought made it genuine. There are people who smile with eyes wide open, but they always turned out to be liars.

He hadn't been paying attention to anything or anyone, being deep in thought about his unsuccessful sales week. He hated that job, but it was all he had left after the divorce. He raised his eyes and looked directly into hers and just gazed for what seemed to be eternity. He automatically returned the smile, struggled to raise himself from the bar stool and said quietly, "Hi".

"That's some pickup line you have there. Hi. I'm Jim. You are either extremely attractive, or I'm just too easy." as he offered her his hand, palm upward.

She slowly, seductively and smoothly slide her warm soft hand with narrow tapered fingers and perfectly painted nails into his and he was immediately electrified - not that static shock that one gets when they scoot leather soled shoes across a dry carpet in the wintertime. This was different, more powerful and the jolt went straight to his heart.

Her green eyes sparkled with golden flecks and narrowed as she smiled then she curled her tongue up just touching her teeth a little before moistening her full, deep rose colored lips. It was a good color for her warm olive skin tone and dark chestnut curly hair which perfectly framed her oval face.
As Jim took a quiet deep breath, he inhaled her mixture of pheromones and perfume for a perfect combination 1-2 punch that set him back down on his bar stool. He was a salesman by profession, but now he was speechless. This never happened to him.

That's how it all began and it began right here at the Blue Knight Spot. What followed was a year and a half of emotional bouncing between Heaven and Hell for both of them. When he was up, she was down and visa-versa.

The only real Heavenly bliss occurred when they met in the middle while bouncing back and forth. When things were good, they were very, very good. Nothing in the Universe could ever make them feel any closer as one. It was everything either of them ever wanted in a relationship. It was a love glowing like in fairy tale magic, but neither could hold that together for long.

Although it was clear that something very special was happening between them, too many outside interference would tear them apart and cause them so much misery that it was never going to work out.

They never really talked about how or when to end it. He just moved out. Then a week later he discovered she had been moving-on to another guy behind his back for weeks.

As weak-kneed as he was for her, he put a deposit down on an engagement ring - hoping to draw her back into his arms - for the good times again. She didn't say yes and she didn't say no, only that she'd think about it. I guess Jim quit waiting for her final answer and eventually got his deposit back. Every once in a while, he thought he would see her in a crowd, but over time, even those disappointments would seem to be less and less heartfelt.

Flash forward:

A few months later, someone had purchased that same ring he had picked-out for her from the jewelry store. Torturing himself, he envisioned the buyer was her new boyfriend. He just knew it. That was a bad week for his blood pressure.

Return present time:

In the lonesome times, late at night, the mind plays tricks on us into thinking that some how in the Cosmos, lost loves will find their way back to us or enable a pathway back to them. All will be forgiven, forgotten and we can start again, building on the love we once shared; only going forward from there - finally, in the right direction, blissfully and lovingly together - for all time. It's easier to rectify the past and gather hope for some kind of future, but people always change.

It just never happens that way. Jim finally understood that, but still he came back to this place where they met all those years ago, on the outside chance that this time, his dream-like premonition would be true. What a sucker!

His drink glass empty except for a couple of small lumps of ice, Jim turned around and just as he set down the empty glass on the bar, Ray had already set a fresh bar nap and another scotch next to it. Ray knew. Ray always knew.

~the end~