hey baby - miss me with a pain that hurts your soul
do you miss my scent in your bed
do you miss me at all?

So its been a while - and I have the words - but life is getting in the way and I got sick last weekend - will try to fix this weekend promise.

So who is checking this out? - blitz me at baisasa@hotmail.com I wanna know.

busy with work - but it ends soon - so lots of writing this weekend.

Well I wrote last night - but not this kind of writing ya dig

Here is the poem I read at the last mothertongue (www.mothertongue.org)
I shook when I read it - thanks to Lauren, Myasia and Drey who held my hand.

Anyway I dropped out of moto - so I should have more time for the Purple Chicken - but maybe just more for the other kind of writing.

Sam’s Calls

And now I’m finally free not because the cage door was not open.
Not because I didn’t know how to fly
But because I leapt – with no consultation, with no advice, with no feedback
from you
I just put one foot forward and….

Seven years of 1 am; 2 am; 3 am - whore – bitch - slut
Seven years of calls at all hours – to shout out and say
hey what you doing –
who you doing –
how you doing
Seven years of phone bills to make you feel better
Seven years of groggy nights to make me laugh in the middle of the day when you’re not around
Because I only get you after 4 beers and 3 scotches – sometimes coke – sometimes smack – too many meds from the state

2 am after you didn’t want to talk
2 am to tell me about 5 years of secrets
2 am to tell me you love me
2 am
and I know
2 am and you want mortgage payments and decades by my side
2 am and you will wait ‘til I’m ready
2 am but still no show

3 am I’m a slut – but you just wanted to talk
3 am to see how I was
3 am and I didn’t laugh that time
3 am and you started crying
3 am you don’t want to hurt me no more
3 am did you see that movie
3 am and you got to go but now I can’t sleep

4 am and you bought the bullets
picked the alley
found the gun
4 am call to say good bye
4 am to say you loved me and you were sorry
4 am to say sorry to keep me up
4 am to say if only you were sane we’d be together
4 am you wish you could promise
4 am and you won’t be here two months from now
4 am and you don’t hear my tears
4 am and so easily you hurt Issac’s mom
4 am and you don’t hear me pleading
4 am is where you left me to live

5 am and there’re no more phone calls
5 am and you are 800 miles away, a 7 hour drive
5 am and I call the state – to see if they can find you – pick you up
5 am and that is all I can do
After 7 years – all I can do is call a stranger to tell them to find you
So that I won’t loose you

“in wee small hours – long before the break of dawn”
where guilt won’t let me sleep

where your pain won’t let me breathe

I wait for you to call again

There was a flood - not ooh a trickle - but the bathroom ceiling opened and soaked the bathroom and half the bedroom.

All is well now - but there was no writing as I was away at a friend's - making things more complicated.

This weekend the beach - so I will blog again on the 27th.

blitz me to complain - baisasa@hotmail.com

There was a flood - not ooh a trickle - but the bathroom ceiling opened and soaked the bathroom and half the bedroom.

All is well now - but there was no writing as I was away at a friend's - making things more complicated.

This weekend the beach - so I will blog again on the 27th.

blitz me to complain - baisasa@hotmail.com

going on that midnight train to Georgia tonight - so later - tomorrow I promise - but i wrote two pages last night - the just don't go after the last entry.

kisses

He sat up more to not just because of the touch of this beautiful flirtatious stranger but because he was on that same flight to Boston.

They talked until their flight to Paris was called. They compared other Business Class Lounges, services and airports. Not uncommon talk for most business travelers. But he confessed a secret most business traders don’t have for another. “I had a dream about you.”

“Excuse me.”

“Now you want a pardon. After I saw you in that day, I couldn’t shake that smile off my mind,” she smiled, “and I had their dream and you came out of some store and asked me what I was late and where I’d been and you were smiling.”

“That must be fate.” This confession floored her, not for what it was, but she had the same dream. He was wearing a white turtleneck sweater and walked across the street saying, “Where have you been, Mena?” I’ve been waiting for you.” She didn’t say anything to him, that might be too strange even from her lips and it was written safely in her journal. Over the last years she got into the habit of writing her dreams down in her journal. Some come true and others didn’t. There had to be a pattern somewhere in that and she wanted to find it.

“You are right it must be fate,” he reached out and touched her hand.

Their flight was called and helped her with her bags and one tote and a laptop.

“So what do you do,” he asked.

“Many things.”

“For this trip?”

“First half, I had to meet my London office and attend two fashion shows. Second half, I visited with family that lives here in Geneva.”

“I still don’t know what you do something with fashion?”

“I’m the US correspondent for Claire, British version. I work primarily out of the New York office and do some work for the US version, but mostly work for the UK office via e-mail.”

“The internet makes so much possible?”

“Tell me about it.”