Life is a story. Type it.
We are all stories, after all.
My Glass is raised to all the others out there.
Unplugged from social media for my mental safety, but thanks to all the typospherians, I’m out here again.
Again, cheers to all out there. If there are any in CA, especially south of LA, I would love to hear from you.
What the hell is writer’s block? A chemical imbalance? Depression? Laziness? Who knows.
I think that at times, at least for me, a visual person, see a blank sheet, precise in dimension, seeming to demand to fill it’s defined dimensions, and feel fettered, challenged to do as orders me to do, and punish or humiliate me if I fail.
Who needs that?
So, go on a roll. be limitless. Runners keep moving when they don’t see a demarcation. Nor should a writer.
Well, I keep reading about how many people get lucky while just perusing antique shops while I never had much myself. I eventually considered all that as an urban legend, but I found this.
The weird thing is that the serial number on it is K 41954. Right. I might have missed something on the database, but……. Check for yourself.
So, if you’re into mysteries, Look this up. If you can find the right serial number info, consider yourself Sherlock.
Cheers.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
William Blake, c, 1803
He went to his current home, a hilltop apartment in old Hollywood where many of old Hollywood have lived and died here, and perhaps that is why he has been able to move in at such a deal. It is an old building itself, made in the twenties, with paint in need of retouching and perhaps some nails to be replaced, but it is one that holds its history comfortably, never forgetting those who laughed or cried here, or still do. The lingering scent of other lives, whether happy and fulfilled or of desperation and disappointments waft through the hallways.
He then fell into a troubled sleep, nagging vague worries poked at him, and he is annoyed, aggravated, and then eventually tortured.
He does not like this dream at all, confused why he cannot wake up, cannot be shocked into a sweaty wake.
He thinks to himself, health affects the mind, and so affects the hidden parts on the mind, the dreamscapes. He admits that he is not in perfect health, does not exercise often enough and he is getting older. Then again, he also maybe spends too much time alone, and that invites darker thoughts into any peace he may have.
Then again, maybe this happens at night, and this is all a visitation into this old house, this old apartment.
So, I’ve got two options: exercise or exorcism. Great.
He runs for safety, home, and makes it, and finds himself there, grabbing at sheets scissoring legs, and face roiling but never waking.
He carefully approached his prone self which immediately raised his arm, apparently to shield himself against himself, and turned himself away.
He runs from the room, down the stairs which creak, not with each panicked step but in one pulled groan of wood, drying and dying.
Take it as you will.
I
You said that people should be free with their thoughts.
I want to kiss you all over in the dark, but I can't find that dark.
I'm always out in the light watched by people or my conscience,
over me lie a
damn bird of prey that does away with any good I find or which
may come
my way.
In a time once, I did have a passionate life. I practiced some
conspicuous
consumption of carnal candy.
II
The Image blown away
There's no more mood to play.
Good times came and went
To bring them back I pray.
Has all the good been broken
so the memory's just a token?
It could be true
But I still love you.
Steve Ivanovics
July 1996
At the Sinister Bar, they cut off your legs.
Both at extra price.
They give you wheels.
They slide you down the bar with a tray.
If you don't finish all the drinks they put on the tray
by the time you get to the end of the bar,
they take your wheels away.
It's a place I love,
and I still have my wheels.
Steve Ivanovics
October 1998
let's just stop now dear
before we say something we might mean.
Don't touch me there
You don't fight fair.
We're not done
You haven't won.
I do everything you ask
anything you say
and there's no way at all I can fuck with your head
'caus try as I may, my body could never bend that way.
Look at me with that look
in your eyes when you opened your door
the second time we saw each other,
a time you said would never happen.
C'mon look at me
and take me back to that mystery.
Your feet are cold now
like on the night the blizzard outside the karaoke bar
wouldn't quit, no cab came,
and we danced through it all on blue feet.
Your feet are cold, we'll make them hot,
our contact heat; won't take a lot.
C'mon lo at me
and take me back to that mystery.
Remember when the bangers pulled the guns
and you stepped in front of them and me.
They left shamed and
we made love on the stairs in that alley
right then and there in the rain.
C'mon here and touch me again.
Roll over here and keep the nightmares away.
Your feet are cold, we'll make them hot,
our contact heat; won't take a lot.
C'mon again and look at me
and take be back to the mystery.
C'mon Cherokee baby, c'mon
you haven't been dead that long.
(formerly titled: Private Eulogy)
Steve Ivanovics
February 1996
This is a little rap from a bygone time and place. Friends, don’t give it away. Tourists would not appreciate that knowledge. Keep it close and it might keep you warm.
An Inevitable
PART ONE
Sunset Denny's counter all alone
Beeper starts awailing get me to a phone
O dear waitress please dont' take my plate
Another cup of coffee you know I won't be too late
Bye, back in a minute.
Stepped out on out
Sneered right back at Rodney, tripped on quaky ground
Body checked a freaky old babushka with that permanent kind of frown.
Wait....... I don't have a beeper. What was that sound?
did anyone hear it, or just me?
It's a sign a revelation
Extacy a personal elevation
Its mighty wrong to question or cause an intervention
Mayve another jerkoff jerkaround by the
butchest bitch, Fate.
Held the receiver pulled it to my head
like it could bite
and it just might.
Oh god, Steve, thanks so much for calling
All morning long your stuff I've been out hauling.
The neighbors nearly grabbed it all but I stashed some 'fore it was too late
A bottlecap collection and your momma's franklin mint plates.
so come and get your
socks
jocks
clocks
'caus I'm changing all the locks.
{ and so I say.....}
Oh....... I'm sorry for everything.
Uhhh..........
Who are you?
PART TWO
SWF experiencing everything before it happens, a seeer. We will be together supposedly forever Our love and passion The envy of all around. Some futures can't be controlled An attempt would take a toll and everything that's reached such heights has always hit the ground. That's where I am. I'm talking and freaking you out because the emotions from the future visions are more real and intense than any of the present. I wanted to talk to you again even though I didn't. Oh well, we'll meet you know where. Bye. Click. so I walk back to my colorful Grand Slam and cooling coffee and wait and wait and wait 'caus it's coming. Steve Ivanovics July 1996
Cold sweat, blighted night
Try to sleep with all born might
There she lies
Stirring thighs
Such a torture has no right.
Skin on pale moon
her fur darker than death
Curious eyes twinkling their mystery language
She slinks comfortably away and far and wide to return and perch
back into your life before you are aware.
At home but never mine
My Cat.
Onyx typer