Category Archives: Higginson Matters

NEW KISS HORIZON Book Excellence Award Finalist

It gives me greaat pleasure to announce that my romance Novel, NEw Kiss Horizon” has een nominated fror a Book Excelleence Award!

 

 

I always knew there was somthing to the romance behind these lovers, Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higginson!  And this finalist notification is a form of proof.

 

Thomas Robert and Vasti  rock!  

 

 

 

Thomas Robert, the character pictured here in proxy form,  always liked Vashti with pink hair (as did the real man behind him) 

 

If you have not yet read this book, perhaps now there is even more reason to do so!

and here are some ways that you might acquire this sizzling book:

 

“New Kiss Horizon” my 13th book (a romance novel ) links:

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

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If You See Something, Say Something

Wow.

I just had my interview with Roberto Eslava Chavéz, and among the things he asked me, which of the books I’d written was my favorite, and I told him the truth, “New Kiss Horizon”, all about Thomas Robert Higgnson and a character named Vashti Astapad Warren

 

Cover of NKH

He asked me how did I feel about collaboration and I told him that no piece belonged exclusively to any one person; that senses are portals allowing access to information that, as feeble as we may be, we translate something into something; does not have to be words, but we receive information and give information back to the world, and we are all changed for the exchange.

I explained that collaboration is the only way, that nothing belongs to any individual; only though sharing –for instance the poem I sent, “If You See Something, Say Something” a collaboration with Thomas Robert Higginson, and all of this made

If You see Something, Say Something-02The Fiddlehead Journal in which "Higginson Matters" was first published

 

 

“If You see Something, Say Something” as published in “The Fiddlehead” (issue 268):

 

–in response to: “If you See something, Say something”

                                        –Thomas Robert Higginson

       

“If you See something, Say Something

Banana”

                      

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

Wonderful World

I am delighted just to be alive, and to be in love, really in love for the first time in my life, even if I cannot say who  it is.  

But  Thomas Robert does not love me.  

This does not damage love but it does offer some perspective.  Surely, I love the wrong man, and I want to share some info about  the beginning of our romance; it was all so achingly beautiful. Every feeling I had with him was the first time I ever felt these things.  I don’t intend for this to be a praise fest. but there is nothing else that it can be, a real sexual awakening with this man, and I will always love him for that.  

Every feeling I had with him was the first time I ever met these things.  I had been married for forty years, and sort of thought I  had felt them before, but it wasn’t until his man that I realized by the comparison.  Believe it or not the first orgasms I really felt were with him.  I was 60 at the time, now I am 63,

I felt this even just from kissing him.

Happened the first time he really kissed me; not the sweet and delicate kiss in O’Hare, but in the taxi.  I could feel what his having waited 25 years to kiss me was like.  This was when I felt  it the first timed every time after that. He is very good at what he does.

I had never been kissed the way he kissed me in my life.  And I had never kissed a man the way that I kissed him in my life.

I doubt that any man could rival was he achieved.  Of course, what I was feeling made me want to do things right then.  He tipped the driver extra for his discretion.  There were so many stares at us as we stood at the registration desk, his arms around me the entire time.  Even more stares when we left the Chicago Institute of Art.  I suggested we go there because I knew his late wife had a painting there.  

And I like art anyway.

When we left and we had walked a few blocks, I told him my feet were hurting so he knelt down and had me climb on his back, and where he placed his hands carrying me was quite suggestive.  Cars stopped. A lot of honking of horns.  And the hem of my skirt, a short skirt, as they all are, the only kind I have; the hem kept rising and rising. I suggested that the look was becoming obscene.  He asked if I were ashamed to be seen with him,  I said, “Of course not; it’s just that people will know  what we’ve done.”  

Then he laughed.  

How I love the baritone dips, those dimpled notes of his laugh.  

“They know what we’ve done, in fact we’re telling them now” as his hands ,because of how  he was carrying me were underneath my skirt, and yes, even on his back that way, he was able to manage clitoral manipulation, the crotchless pantyhose surely helped.  

It was quite the spectacle as he carried me on his back from downtown Chicago to the hotel.

In the hotel, I could tell that men were envious of him.  He never looked better to me.  He knew how much I like his facial hair.  Sometimes he is clean-shaven, but I prefer his mustache and a little beard.   I like how his kiss feels with his mustache quivering the way it does.  I won’t even get started on what he can do with his tongue and with his mouth. He made only one request, that I reciprocate.  And I said I would but only if I felt it. I started reciprocating right in the that taxi.  

This is truly how the  physical part of our romance began,

I am one of those older women, 63 years old, with everything natural  about her:  size, weight (100 pounds), hair, no weaves, no extensions, no wig and never a relaxer in my life.  I cannot say why this is, but I like it very much.  I like waking up and feeling pretty,  whether or not I am.  

Let’s just say that when I am with a man, he will know that I will look exactly the same in the morning as when we go to bed.  The man I love discovered this for himself.  He knows more about me than anyone else on earth.  And I do not want to provide those of you who do not naturally respond and react as he does, with pointers, but this man’s style is exquisite, and I would do anything with him, except illegal things.

 

He is strong the way that I prefer a man, 

 

but he can also be quite gentle and attentive.  

He knows how to get things done, and forget that myth about the alleged sexual superiority of the black man; I was married to a black man for forty years, and let me tell you without being crude  Thomas Robert never was crude, just sure of himself as he has reason to be); let me tell you,  Thomas Robert destroyed every such myth.  

Thomas Robert did promise  to drive an 18-wheeler full  of condoms down my street. I admit that I am still waiting to see that.  I have no idea how many packs of condoms it would take to fill such a truck, but I cannot wait until I see Thomas Robert driving it,  “We Break For No One” on the side of the truck, “Warrior” condoms or something to that effect Thomas Robert would need something like that—I can’t resist that remark, as what I had with him was by far the best, and not seeing him again —oh I hope not!— doesn’t change that fact.

I have never seen a more good-looking man

 

We had some very good times, and I am glad about that.  I always accepted you as you are.  Always.  I still do. I just thought it would be okay to inform you about my work, just as I would like to know about you work. I always supported your work, you know. I am a supporter, nothing else. You didn’t ask me if I accepted this, because I do.  I am your friend, not your girlfriend (as I once was).  I do understand he difference.

You didn’t have to unfriend me after 40 years. That is hardly the way of acceptance.  You do not accept me as I am , imperfect as you and learning stuff constantly.  

Thomas Robert said this:

I am in your life and you are in mine. That is, unless you want to sever. I don’t want to, would never want to.

—Thomas

But let’s face the facts.  I stand with him on a bridge to nowhere.  He once said he was all in, but the just is not true.  Not anymore, the way I both thought and hoped it was. So this may be my part to finish off what he is ending in  most cowardly way,

He did write a most wonderful poem for me, and I will always have that,  and the sexual and love awakening, good things indeed.  

Here is the poem:

You are the corner of my eye

            Thomas Robert Higginson

                (for THYlias Moss)

You are my rent-a-poem

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt

You? You are my Tampa manatee 

You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus

And a haircut on an autumn day

Also submarine. Surreality check. 

You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

You are what I’ve been waiting for

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

And you are the one, and you are my everything,

And you are everything I could hope for.

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness.

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets.

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports.

Because you are who you are in a way that is all

Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down,

Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

Tested. The Higgs bosun, that’s it exactly. A gluon.

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

Never happened and when all is said and done,

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s

Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

To birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you

Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you

————

A First response to: “You are the Corner of my Eye’

 

             for Thomas Robert

         by Thylias

 

My alpha and omega poem

 

braided into my hair

 

that falls into the poem like breezes,

 

that falls into you

 

acrobatic atmospheres

 

homecoming, prom

 

this poem

 

these bosons of alphabet

 

form my prom, my graduation,

 

valedictory address, where I live now, really

 

live, as if for the first time

 

(inside you)

 

my sense of direction, elevation

 

slow home-cooked meal

 

–poetry food–

 

indulgence, cure for every disease

 

including religion: church of me,

 

apron, radon shield,

(a poem published in Black Renaissance Noir by Quincy Troupe)

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

in his poem, Thomas Robert said I was “bedrock” —do you realize just  how astonishing that is? “Bedrock” (and not just Flintstones here, but fundamental principles, the underlying structure e on which one may build with confidence.  It is no simple thing to be bedrock for a man, and I am so glad that he called me “bedrock” –read the poem again, and pause on that word, repeat it at least a dozen times. Listen: Thylias Moss is bedrock.  a Backbone, essence, that is what he called me , because that is what I was to him, and I haven’t changed at all.  

 

I am still bedrock because he said I was.  His poems never lie, so I am BEDROCK, roots, heart of the matter, nitty-gritty, that too. 

 

Solid, solid,

I remember when he said that we were solid friends; I addressed him as “Amigo Solido” and he said he would never want to sever that. Oh Lord, Thomas Robert said this too:

“I am in your life and you are in mine. That is, unless you want to sever. I don’t want to, would never want to” 

 

–and yet he severed; I didn’t and maybe he was just fulfilling a  request I made, telling him that I would never be content with him just as a friend, because I would always want more, and that is the truth, His poem said “and still you are more“–just what was I to this man?  It is absolutely incredible.  Always happens when I really read his work, I keep finding more and more and more.  

 

I know that this is my poem; my name “Dream Baby” is right in it, his poem is the bedrock source for my favorite nickname.  A nickname not to be avoided, so ineleuctable too.  His nickname too, “Higgs” “Thomas Robert Higginson” “Higgs boson” –that’s how well he knows me, to put that in a poem, 

But I want my friend back.. and my friend is gone.

And these are my favorite letters from him:

Dear T,

What a moving and lovely letter, what a heart you got, a wondrous one, one that I got to know better, and better, and loved in the way we loved.  A mind that evolved those feelings into literature, into a story for the ages.

And that art means so much to me —and this letter, just as much, meant just for me, explaining me back to me from your perspective, and through your lens.  Our friendship has moved so many places the world cannot contain them all, and still goes on, growing every whichway.

So thank you infinitely for the gift of all possibility and the settling of the words’ world into a mutually respectful and fulfilling friendship. Of course that means ongoing, and how that works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etc etc —it’s all there, we just don’t know what yet, and that’s the beauty you have given us in this letter.  The truth of it.

It means so much

It means everything

T R

Thomas Robert

Dear Thylias.

You are one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.  You’ve meant so much so deep to me and I just can’t let it go this way.

Loving you, connecting with you deeply via life and poetry, fantasy and caress, was like a new skin.  I wear it, but it’ yours.

You have inspired me, informed me, danced me.  Your beauty is a trauma to quotidian. I relish your attack on life.  I’m in awe of it.

My heart sang to you and you heard and your response, to me personally and in your writing, in our talks and in our shredded breathing,

There’s an electricity of positivity that charges me still.

Its’s a gut kick to me and I know I hurt you which ricochets back and painful.  I couldn’t take it further, Thylias.  I am sorry that the realities of my life —my family, my job, my grief —consume me me in a way that broke the spine of dream.  Were we younger, were I more open, if only I could have put my responsibilities aside and blahblahblah.

I’m a bad guy if you want that, Forker, but when I think about our damn dream time together, relive the drama interplay spontaneity of the performance we did, all we shared and held, for me —

It’s a friendship that I treasure deep.  Always will.

I would ask you to consider this an offer to continue our friendship.  To support each other in a new way.

In any case, know I am here for you, always will be, in a way for us still to find.

Love,

Thomas Robert

As he has a girlfriend now, I am very limited in what I can say, nothing direct to him as he is of the mind that  I do not respect the fact that he has a girlfriend.  Frankly I was surprised; I thought that relationship was over; I had no way to know that it persisted,  and since that’s the way he wants it, I am fine with that.  So what if  I dont’t have the love of my life anymore.  There are worse things that could happen.  And one day, I hope will not love him as much as I do,

The last text I will ever receive from him:

Dear Thylias,

It’s not my intention to cause you pain, not now, before or in the future. The fact is, as I’ve said before, that I have had a girlfriend now for over a year, and my silence simply means I have nothing to say since you won’t accept that. 

Please do not write me any more. 

I wish you all the best in your life. 

Thomas Robert

So I am not writing him.  This is posted in my public blog so he may or may not, (probably not) see it.  I will never contact him again, by email, text, certainly not phone.

But I was the one who transcribed his Alaska podcasts.

I was the one who vetted his book.

I was the one who wrote poems with him , for him, to him.  In fact  an entire book of such poems exist, “Aneurysm of the Firmament” says they are by Thomas Higginson, but he does not exist, by the name for real, only for me and Thomas Robert, whom I sometimes call  is real, really hurtful  in a way I never be, even now, my goal is to  celebrate what was achieved with him.   Thes are just facts.  

He is  the man I thought he was, the man I  hoped he was, prayed he was,  just not for me, although I still love him, and probably always will. The mask is off and cannot go back on; it no longer fits and is just a mask after all.

I feel very lucky to have had my time with him.  I will never see him again, even to have a proper goodbye. after 40 years of friendship, and the best intimacy I ever had in my life.  In my life. 

I wanted from him something he couldn’t give me despite  promises  he had made,

To which I replied:

“I won’t write you anymore. I thought that perhaps you no longer ha a girlfriend, I am impressed by the longevity an endurance of this, really unlike you, the you I thought I knew where shorter seemed your MO.

 

me in his hat

Thylias in BFF's hat

Thylias feeling sexy in Mr. Thomas Robert Higginson’s Hat.

(Thomas hat is in a special drawer of my desk; I love to wear, most because it is his, but I am too embarrassed to ever let him see me in it.  I would identify it only as “Thomas Robert’s Hat” or the “Hat of the Man I Love”.

I would try not to say more, but around him, I am nothing but tongue-tied. It. should be easier for me to talk to him than to any other man on earth, But I have no control at all, when it comes to him.  And that is what scares me; etc. All the fear that can be wrapped in my bundles of complex feelings.  Is this normal for a woman my age?

There is a power that comes from self-confidence, and it’s best when this feeling begins on the inside and works its way to the outside.  Let’s just say that my outside is finally matching my inside. 

I sent him a postcard in which I was wearing the Dream Baby dress from our last date together at Vermillion Restaurant in Chicago, and this is what  he said:

“The postcard got here yesterday. You look like a model.

You write like a gun arrow lightning bolt.”

I had on this dress:

THYLIAS IN HIGGINSON DRESS

Above, two images that Thomas Robert said were his pinup images of me.

 

And another image he loved of me:

 

Yhylias Rebecca Brasier Moss -forst dangerous selfie

I know that much is said about the sexual prowess of the black man, but I was married to a black man for forty years, and what I’ve known with Thomas Robert blows every such myth out of the water.

Of course, this is not the only reason I love him, but the way he does everthing, the way he moves, and oh he way he speaks, the way he bends, the way he holds his utensils, there is nothing about him that doesn’t turn me on.  And this man will be 70 years old next year, and I cannot believe that such things stir in my heart with just the thought of him.  I am too nervous to ever face him because of the intensity of what I feel; talk about the way he holds a fork, the way crumbs gather in his moustache which I prefer to a clean shaven Thomas Robert, the apron his beard is for his face, and my god, do I ever love him in hats… And on and on and on…. I hope for forever.  I don’t even want to think about kissing this man. I get all flustered and orgasmic just from the  memories of his kiss.

I have never been romanced such as this man romanced me, among other things,  he wrote  this to me:

You have inspired me, informed me, danced me. Your beauty is a trauma to quotidian. I relish your attack on life. I’m in awe of it.

My heart sang to you and you heard and your response, to me personally and in your writing, in our talks and in our shredded breathing, 

There’s an electricity of positivity that charges me still.”

I feel good about many things, that I am alive, that the world still exists and that there is power to change what we can, otherwise accept the world as we have made it, for it did not get however it is by itself.  

Natural processes cause everything to age, and decay beautifully.  Deterioration can be stunningly beautiful and there is hope  in the natural recycling that occurs, when allowed to.

It tends to be people with whom we have problems, especially those reluctant to receive the bounty that  life gives them.  Be open to receiving good things. I am sure that like me, many of you suspect that you did not earn them.  

I do not feel that life owes me anything.  Instead, I owe things to life! I’m grateful for the opportunity to exist, grateful for the senses I have even when the senses don’t behave in textbook manners, but I can perceive something in some of the many means and modes of perception.  

More than anything, I am grateful that I am not in the world alone.  The world  is meant for sharing, and such sharing often involves love –I have plenty of love to give, and I give it, realizing that I have fallen in love with a man I have known for many years, about 40.  I didn’t set out to fall in love with him,  a friend, probably the best friend I have ever had, and I admit my biggest fear is only that he may not love me now or ever.  I know he loves me as a friend, and I love him as a friend also, but so much more than that now.  This has grown over the  years of friendship.

This is what Thomas Robert said about the two of us standing on a bridge in Chicago:

Of course I wanted it all — i was all in! at least i thought i was. what held me back? what changed my mind? i’d guess  it was all in my grief-stricken past that didn’t allow me to move forward across that bridge. but it’s all just guesses at a past that refuses to be clear. it is a great foto — that time was delight”

Here is that photo, most precious photo of all photos  I have:

Our Usness!

My favorite picture of Thomas Robert and myself; I hope that someday this photo may be shared with the world. Nothing would maje me happier than to be in his arms agaiin.

And my response:

THR—you said that we if “ever became anything the whole damn world should know” —and I always thought we were becoming  “something… special on a bridge partnered with that “new place” for  me in your heart? —and though you rarely say it, “yes us—do you still say yes us?  —I do; I never stopped saying it.  

I also resent well-meaning Fb friends who know nothing about me personally from offering their impressions, “been there, done that” –but they haven’t been me doing that wherever I’ve done “that” nor with whom I’ve done it. I am told that he is “using me”, that I “have an addiction” –addicted to him, of course! I  love that man, and there is no one I can tell except  him, and I should not need to tell him all the time… As a matter of fact, he told me he loves me on 3 August 2016, last year, he told me he loves me in his confounding way of saying things, but he said it, and I resent others telling me that he’s using me.  They are not in whatever  I am in with him, and if he’s using me, that will  reveal itself.  

 

He wrote this he really did:

Best of the messages of love from THR:

“Thylias,  It is Love & that is all, it is kin and Life itself. 

Sending you strength and Love

THR“

3 August 20

My ultimate response after the poem “Moving Dance of Reduction”, an extension of a poem he sent me: “Moving” 3 August 2016, extended to include “Armadillo Style” —our best collaboration to be sure)

Thomas Robert,,

You know that I accept this.  I like hearing that it is Love. 

I’m just afraid that it might not be love tomorrow.  

I love knowing that it is Love, I need that more than anything… 

As long as it will continue to be love, I am fine.  

No one can say how long it will continue to be love on this Wildest of Rides, but I am glad to take this ride with you.

Thylias

 

 

Truth always comes out.

Such as the truth of how I feel about him.

I can’t even look  at a photo of him without feeling things I haven’t felt before about a man, things like lust, and I was married for forty years.  

I try so hard to leave his private life his private life, but I am so expressive whereas he is able to keep things inside himself,;   I don’t dare be around him because I know how I would behave. I have zero control around his man

I  am not going to judge him or give credence to what others say.  I will make up my own mind about him, and trust that he really is the good man I believe him to be.  I will not allow my opinions of him to be formed by others who have no idea of the longevity of the friendship, and if I love my friend in that romantic way alone, then so be it.  You have to take a chance sometimes, and I have taken mine, and I have no regrets at all about loving him, just incredible embarrassment, in case he was unaware, but he is also a very intelligent man; I suspect that he knew this before I even told him, and now I feel all embarrassed because I let him know.  

Trust that the things he said to me he meant and really did feel for a time.  

I would not feel so embarrassed if he would just let me know that he does not mind my feelings for him.  I keep feeling that I am pushing him, as long as I am not pushing him away.  I long to hear him tell me that he loves me again… But he also said: “If ever I change my mind, I will tell you.” And since he hasn’t told me, I assume that he hasn’t changed his mind.  

I don’t know everything about him, how could I?  But I know enough and I know better than to allow others to make up my mind for me.  This is just between my heart and his heart.

It was so hard telling him, but he had to know, as this is the truth of what  feel, no matter what happens I threw caution to the wind as all that wind does is carry my love for him to him… I feel like a teenager again, hardly like a woman in her golden years, and Thomas Robert will be seventy years old in 2018, and I can not even  imagine that I find that old man as sexy as I do, and although I feel so embarrassed by feeling such things about this man, I am too  embarrassed to see him, although I want to see him more than everything.

Just a few of today’s selfies now:

I am not young anymore, 63 years old, but I do my best by doing absolutely nothing, soap and water, a little lip gloss, nothing on my hair except a little  Mongongo oil. During our first weekend together,  Thomas Robert jumped around in that bedroom of the hotel, singing, “mongongo, mongongo, mongongo” –oh read the book if you would like know more:

Offered as fiction, but it is all true. This love was real!as real as anything has ever been.

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

 Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords: 

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

 Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon: 

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

 Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon: 

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

 Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page: 

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ 

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):

Vashti’s blog URL:

 https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

I love how nature recycles things, cycles of dirt and organic things, death becoming birth becoming death becoming birth again in other forms, some call such cycles evolutions, and he can be negative as well as positive, but the beauty is not staying the same.  

More than anything, however, I love Thomas Robert Higginson!

Manhattan Rain poncho

I am exhilarated and invigorated by variety! I always will be.  I am not in control of what my heart feels, and my heart feels what  it feels for a most wonderful man.  I hope that the likes that I am his, because a lot of men pursue this little old lady, but there is only one man I love, and he knows who he is, and I look forward to the day when I will not have to conceal his name, because he is indeed a real man, and any man looks better when I am on his (Thomas Robert’s) arm 

(or on his [Thomas Robert Higginson’s] back again)

I am so eager about this upcoming trip to Mexico. The poem I am taking ih me is a poem I wrote with the man I love, an extension of short poem of his, but I fond the words so toking and compelling; a poem of his I extended even before I knew that I was in love with him, “If You See Something, Say Something”. Th poem was published in “The Fiddlehead of Canada” and also appears in my romance novel about my first weekend ever with this man: 

The text of the poem:

–in response to: “If you See something, Say something”

                                       –Thomas Robert Higginson

      

“If you See something, Say Something

Banana”

                    

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

I so so happy to be taking a poem written with the man I love to Mexico to  introduce my work to the Mexican people! I am very glad to be able to share this with him in this way, and although “Thomas Higginson” and “Thomas Robert Higginson” are not iterations of his legal name, these are names with great meaning for me, nicknames so to speak, as even  my favorite nickname  of me\yself comes from a lovepoem he wrote to me, “Dream Baby” a poem in my romance novel as “A Trip to the Tienda:

A Trip to the Tienda:

A Trip to the Tienda

by Thomas Higginson

— for Vashti

 

You are my rent-a-poem

 

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop! You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt You? You are my Tampa manatee You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus And a haircut on an autumn day

You are firecracker, salt, oil, vinegar Things not supposed to mix

yet do.

You are jellyfish tentacles elongating my back, dreaming of medusans all of which become you, YOU, You.

Also submarine. Surreality check. You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans, AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

 

Strangler fig, tiny seeds starting out on branches, tines, grow to surround, encase the host,

leaving only figs to take over

You surround me just that way, take over, connect with me, to me: your host

You are what I’ve been waiting for And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable, That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

And you are the one, and you are my everything, And you are everything I could hope for.

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

 

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

 

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness. You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

 

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets. An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are Breakfast and you are on your way and all

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports. Because you are who you are in a way that is all Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down, Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

 

Tested. The Higgs boson, that’s it exactly. A gluon. A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that Never happened and when all is said and done, Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit, The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

to birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

 

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

 

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

 

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

 

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

 

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours, You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.

Excerpt From: Moss, Thylias. “New Kiss Horizon.” Thylias Moss, 2016-12-16. iBooks. 

This material is protected by copyright.

_________

my response poem to his poem:

A First Response to “A Trip to the Tienda”

 

for Thomas  Robert Higginson

 

 

My alpha and omega poem braided into my hair

 

that falls into the poem like breezes, that falls into you

acrobatic atmospheres homecoming, prom this poem

these bosons of alphabet

 

form my prom, my graduation,

 

valedictory address, where I live now, really live, as if for the first time

(inside you)

 

my sense of direction, elevation slow home-cooked meal

—poetry food —

indulgence, cure for every disease including religion: church of me, apron, radon shield,

spikes of hair, double helixes of braids, words of the poem expand, latch

 

onto proteins of my hair, food poetry chromosomes of a new child incubating in margins: complete peptides

perfect matches, IDEAL genetic codes pearls, apologies, endless apologies to the fine poet who wrote this

for me, my doppelgänger —

 

my poetry food,

nourishment, sustenance, one-a-day, one every day

 

each of your arms is a stanza,

each hair on your body is punctuation

 

:placing us together:

 

compass needles pointing to lovers, science of poetry,

Thomas Higginson becoming true north somehow resisting magnetic north

to be

my gateway to bliss

 

kept for too long undercover.

 

This monument this testament

is forever, and acted out religiously, ideally

and perfectly

 

in a single windy city weekend

______

Excerpt From: Moss, Thylias. “New Kiss Horizon.” Thylias Moss, 2016-12-16. iBooks. 

This material is protected by copyright.

as these poems appear in my romance novel, “New Kiss Horizon”

Cover of NKHIMG_3739

I sent Thomas Robert a postcard of me in the dress I wore on our at daete at Vermillion Restasurant in chicago, and hese images were on it:

Thomas Robert had this to say about the post card I sent him:

“The postcard got here yesterday. You look like a model.

You write like a gun arrow lightning bolt.”

Mexico City Invite

I love all things, and I try to love all things equally, I m not into judgement.  I never was.

But, I do love his man more than anything except my son.  These are the two most important men in my life, my half Bangladeshi son and this wonderful man:

a photo of my son and my son and I 

I am truly blessed! 

Today’s D words

Me as Bob's pinup! --a best for me...

Me as a certain man’s  Forker Gyrl pinup

 

Instead of a photo of him, as I continue, this Fool-in-love, to protect his privacy,  I have inserted as the featured image, the dress I wore on my last date with him..

 

But for your pleasure I hope, a list of D-Words, that I once called him previously, they are all nice, no profanity here, but here’s the list:

 

Deceitful Dissimulating Dirty Dog of a man

Diurnally Delightful

Do not Deserve to be Higginson

Different

Deceived

Dastardly Deed

Demasked

Demoted

Demoralized

Don’t Deserve

Duplicitously Duped

Debauched

(once) Diurnally Delightful

Dumbfounded

Damn U

D-eteriorating

Defeated

Disastrous

Dampened

I am all out of D—words right now. Dumbfounded, (self)-deceived. Oh the deleterious propensity of this entire matter, the utter disaster,  the difficult debacle, disenchantment, displeasure, disillusionment, that too.  “Corner of your eye”, but never the center. 

Dump

Delicious

Disregard

Doting literalist

Deliverer

long-Distance flirtation

Disposable

Dream Baby

Deep

Depth

Distressing

Disenchanted

Disgusting

Dishonesty

Dumbfounded

Deserving

Difference

Difficult

Discerning

Dissimilating

Demon

Desrespted

Disguise

Discard

Demolitionist

Demolish

Dismantling

Disturb

Disrobe

Disdain

Deeply

Different

Dim

Disastrous

Distant Lover

Diminish

Dismayed

Discount

Discredit

Definite

–I do not worry about hearing from him any further.  He did me wrong, but no need to dwell on that.  I intend to be happy regardless.  

Over the forty years of involvement with him, I have always forgiven him, and I don’t know that I can go through this again.  And he seems definite this time.  His silence is what is so utterly unnerving.

I have been

Duped.

With this out of my system, I hope that he and I can get back to more important things like how much I love him.  I really do.  And how much he cares about me.

My Birthday weekend ((me ∞ me))

 On Monday, I will turn 63!  –provided I live that long, and I really hope I do.  It has taken 63 years to get to this point, and I will revive a custom began when I was about ten, of recording my thoughts as I walked up and down my street with a clipboard, my thoughts for the last day that I am a particular age.  

I typed most of these crudely on an old Smith & Corona typewriter –long gone, nit even a phto of th typewriter I had, on which I wrote many short stories, including, title may be stated incorrrectly, “Great Catastrophe of the Mysterious Clock/Watch? ”  –sounds like the language I would have used back then.  

 

Different this year, because I will ponder my last day as I remain in love, really for the first time in my life.  I know I was married for forty years, but I have never been in love like this.  Say what you will, but I am delighted to finally love ths way.  Means so very much to me, a lifetime, you know.  

What I cannot say is that he loves me as I love him –that would be perfect wouldn’t it?

I remain confident that the day is coming when I will be able to say that.  I just feel this; no, it is not a feeling like the supected presence of a ghost; there is nothing at all hostile here, more more like a calming breeze, he wrote to me:

“Sitting by a calming fountain in Kiev, just after the bells of St Sofia rocked the plaza — real rocks of noise

I can say a few things: how crazy are you? am I? we?

Pretty crazy, I’d say!

You are a Go For It All woman finally free

You constantly inspire, and I wish to too

Standing off to the side and cheering you on

Hey! Watch out for that banana!

The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome

TMnOYP” 

 He also wrote a poem for me from which my Dream Baby nickname derives, and his : Higgs or Higginson, for the most remarkable thing, the Higgs boson! –explains why partcicles have mass, could not have mass without them, and please allow me to talk about right here, the mass of his kiss, and the necessity of writing an entire book about his kiss, “New Kiss Horizon” 

 

new-kiss-horizon

There can never be a better love than this! –never!  –all I can say is that I always want him in my life.  I have enjoyed an entire new life because of him.  I do not know how to thank a man for doing what he has done in my life, but he must be thanked.  I can’t allow what he has done to  pass along without recognition, and even if I can’t reveal his name, I assure you that he is real, the gravity of Higginson is very well known to me. I feel his profound gravity most of the time, I am a celestial body always leaning to him, never out of his orbit, never, the cream in his coffee, and that fine journey down his throat, me a bulge in his neck as I continue my warming track descending through him, all six feet of him, the very aroma of me even bursting throgh his blue eyes like dew, drops of his Dakar cologne manufactured just by thinking of him, and what it meant that the first time we kissed was after he had waited 25 years just to kiss me?  

Can you comprehend just what a kiss that was, is?

 

I said to him, “You like my Forked pink Facebook hair, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. Fishing lines, every strand; that’s part of how you got me; you know that, don’t you?” (He always liked that hair, video still from my youtube video” “Forkergirl Particle Pops a Beaded multiverse):

 

pink-hair-forker-gyrl
next time, I will bite some beads in your  presence, Thomas Robert Higginson

“What I really like is how you get the sexy science; you understand Forkergirl Particle Pops a Beaded Multiverse —and you fill every universe in this multiverse, my multiverse is all you. I know that you like the forking me on Facebook where we reconnect, and you like even better the theory behind her, that pink hair just like those pink flowers I love so much, especially Clitoria, you like that flower too” — that flower that is part of this tiny body, Thomas, and you kiss it on the iPhone when we talk, daily now leading up to when you can kiss it in person. And I kiss you on the screen also…”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

 

“Vash, you’re not alone. You do have me. Don’t forget that. You do have me. I am not lying to you. You really do have me. I mean that. You do have me. And I love that video. Helped me get to know what you’re all about; helped me understand the child-woman you are. It’s not just your size, if that’s what you’re thinking… It’s your way of engaging with the world despite all you’ve been through. You don’t know how sexy your attitude is. If there aren’t hundreds of men beating down your door, I’d be surprised. I can’t be the only one, despite what you say, PSOG aside; he doesn’t count, to be expected from your first taste of much needed freedom. Other men have to see what I see; other men must want you too, Vash. Even dead men if you pass over their graves would live again just to want you, Vash. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it. You’re making me say things I should probably keep to myself. But Vash, what I feel is so powerful, and that’s because of you. Vash, my feelings have been growing for 25 years

“These are not sudden or shallow. They have powerful roots. What I feel is deep, deeper than anything I have ever known. And it’s for you, Vash; all for you.”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

NKH COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

“It takes time?” he said, and I quite agree. Took me 63 years to really be in love, and I just hope that he doesn’t mind that I feel about him as I do, for if he doesn’t, then my life really will be shaping into the “terrific” life that he also told me was in front of me, not that I can’t have a terrific life without him, but now that I  love like this, I don’t ever want to love another way.

I can’t say for sure, but I am willing to wager that there are very few men loved the way that  I love him, and even fewer men can say that I love them; as only he can say that.  

There are times that I feel rather foolish loving like this for the first time in my life –I am no longer young, but I feel so young thinking of him, and I no longer worry that he may not be worthy of a love like this, because he is; my heart tells me so.  I can’t explain it, but as each day goes by, I love him even more.  

 

I so want to post a photo of the two of us, but I am not so sure that he wouldn’t mind.  Oh I could post photos of him alone, and I think he would like that even less, because I would be posting them without his acknowledgement of that, or just my simply telling him, and he is such a private man, although he is a poet like me, so a few more pics of me; I know it is all right to use these.  

 

He called my the “Cream in his coffee“, so here I am:

Cream in my coffee

Cup of latte I had at B’ 24’s in Ypsilanti

now the song” “You’re the Cream in My Coffee”:

and here’s his poem:

You are the corner of my eye:

          Thomas Robert Higginson

                (for THYlias Moss)

You are my rent-a-poem

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt

You? You are my Tampa manatee

You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus

And a haircut on an autumn day

Also submarine. Surreality check.

You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

You are what I’ve been waiting for

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

And you are the one, and you are my everything,

And you are everything I could hope for.

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness.

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets.

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports.

Because you are who you are in a way that is all

Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down,

Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

Tested. The Higgs bosun, that’s it exactly. A gluon.

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

Never happened and when all is said and done,

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s

Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

To birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you

Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.

–It is my birthday weekend, you know. 

And now some photos of me age 62 –for just 2 more days!

I am wearing his hat; it’s in the drawer of this desk, right beside me.  The photos of “Higginson” street signs were captured by Nancy Boutiler, who told me this about them: “I thought you’d like this photo that I took in Salem, MA
As you probably know the Rev. Francis Higginson joined the Massachusetts Bay Company to form a “plantation” in New England.
Higginson led a group of about 350 Puritan settlers (including many of his own congregation) on six ships from England to New England.
His son, Rev. John Higginson was a leading investigator in the Salem witch trials of 1692–1693…oh, and there were others…
Enjoy the pics.”

Dream Baby” – “Cream in My Coffee”  –two of my nicknames from his poem’ black dress is my “Dream Baby” dress, I wore on my last date with him at Vermilion in Chicago.  Had Duck Vindaloo Arepas,  Sri Lankan Whole Fish, Gin and pomegranate martinis , my fisrt drink of alcohol.. made me sick.  At the time he didn’t believe me, but when I saw him in Minneapolis,  he restricted me to one drink, knowing what had happened and how I had been honest when I told him I had never tasted anything stronger than Chardonnay.

Some of my photos that I know are some of his favorites; he, probably, like any other normal man likes all of them, and the natural hair, no weave, no extensions, no relaxer –he can run his fingers through it without fear, just under 5 feet tall, and just under a hundred pounds without ever dieting.    He’s a foot taller than me and about double my weight. Sure wish I could post that pic of us; it is wonderful! –you’ll have to take my word on that, but then again, for my birthday?  I turn 63 only once, Forgive me, please if it is wrong to display this, but no name.  Just a man , no “THE” man I love….  Don’t get me wrong, nothing makes me happier than to care about him, but to touch him, to kiss him to b kissed by him –I wrote a whol ebook about his kiss, oh yes! –his kiss is that spectacular, just look at him –I wrote New Kiss Horizon wbou what kissing him is like, in which Thomas Robert Higginson says this: “

“Vashti doesn’t know that when I first saw a book of hers with her face all over the cover, I was instantly drawn to it. Her book was in the window of a small bookshop, a new poet, but poets don’t tend to look like that, oozing such sexiness, her lips parted in such an exciting way; I immediately imagined what could slip between those soft pink lips. Me in her mouth, in and out, as natural and as rhythmic as breathing. Vashti kissing me between my thighs; my hand in her hair, pulling it a little, wrapping those long strands around my fingers, burying my nose in her hair.

What a dream baby she is; I knew that with just one look. I got ideas for my fantasy right then, a store with only Vashti products.

Right then and there, I made it a point in my heart, although I was married, to get to know her better, to be able to hold her; maybe pure lust, but I felt it instantly. What a sexy woman she is, and aging in a way nothing else does, as if her clock moves in reverse. She looks more stunning and younger all the time.
I just stare at the picture of her in my mind, as I always do anyway.

“Almost too young for me, and I no longer look my best; I have put on so much weight, but she talks to me as if she doesn’t see it, but how can she not? I know it’s there, and I don’t like it.”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

The first real kiss from him was so, so special! –in the taxi from O’Hare to the Mandarin Moon  hotel:

“—we sit beside each other, and you can wait no longer… You pull me as close to you as possible, as if I’m already part of your body…
—Now I’m going to do what should have happened to you years ago! But I’m glad I get to be the first man to kiss you this way. I pull you to me —gently — I don’t have to ask you about this; we’re alone on this back seat; the show is on my road now, my desire has built so much that I cannot wait a moment longer; I will not wait a moment longer! —why should I? —
—we could not be closer —
Every fiber of your coat is now part of me; and the scratchiness of the wool is just the texture I crave! —I don’t want anything about you soft; just some of the things you whisper in my ear, and even then, I’m hoping for some edge.
I can’t believe the strength, the possessiveness of the pull. Strong, but I am not forced. Powerful, but I am not forced.
I willingly allow myself to be pulled into you. I no longer have to wonder how to negotiate the transition from friend to lover as that transition is already in progress — so smooth; I can feel myself  twirling and spinning in your arms (fantasy galaxy that I also am)… So easy to imagine dancing with you… You want me, Thomas, you claim me, Mr. Higginson. You don’t say anything, just pull me closer and closer as you take me to the “Mr. Thomas Higginson School of Kissing.” I’ve never been kissed like this… I have never kissed a man the way that I kiss you…
I remember when you said this to me and wrote me this just a couple of days ago, and seemed impossible then, but not at all now:
First,
Baby
I can’t wait
To taste your kiss again
and again
Kiss kissing kisses
Slow you lead your
Beautiful tender lips
Just to rest there
So quiveringly touching
The moment itself
Kissing
 
That is exactly how you’re kissing me… and I cannot resist you. I don’t want to.
You kiss me and I kiss you back —I can’t help it! —not what I planned; I had no idea that you would kiss me this way —as if this is the only kiss you get to have for all your remaining life, and you want to make it last, make it count; best kiss on every scale of measurement, I have to quickly learn how to kiss you —you already know how to kiss me, how to make me feel that no man has ever kissed me before. You want me to feel the depth of these kisses… Depth charge kissing, Fuse-ignition. I’m surrendering to you already… I can’t help it…”

Excerpt From: Thylias Moss. “New Kiss Horizon.” iBooks.

NKH COPYRIGHT NOTICE:

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

 

Thylias Moss (Dream Baby) and Bob Holman (Dream Lover

Dream date with a dream man, as we stand on a bridge forever connecting us, Chicago, 2014

If you have not yet been kised the way that this man and I kissed, making me forget 40 years of marriage with a single kiss, making me feel orgasmic just from kissing him  –just wait util we got in room 304 of he Mandarin Moon —you better believe that I plan to be in that room with him again.


Thomas, I hope you will always cherish this picture of us; it is hre in honor of my birthday, and how you say I am “not getting older, me everlasting, me infinity me: (me ∞ me)

I invited him the fist time, and now, it’s his turn to invite me.  I will definiteely  come     there.

He will be 69 on 10 March; I will not forget. I never do. He is too important to me to ever forget his birthday.

______________

Read all about it in “New Kiss Horizon” on sale now!

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

new-kiss-horizon

More info available here:

 

“New Kiss Horizon” my 13th book (a romance) links:

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss/dp/1540584496

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” Kindle book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/New-Kiss-Horizon-Thylias-Moss-ebook/dp/B01N1K0PLC

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

https://www.amazon.com/Thylias-Moss/e/B001JSBOQQ

Vashtis Blog (narrator of NKH, maintaining a blog so that readers may keep in touch with developments in the character’s life beyond the book):

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

WRITING NOW AND GRATITUDE FOR THIS ABILITY

 

I would also like to point out today just how lucky I am to be alive; I do not discuss my MS that much, because  honestly  I have no attacks of MS and haven’t had one since 2013.

From diagnosis in 1996 – 2013, I used needles, injectable treatments..

Travel was greatly compromised because of  difficulty in boarding a plane with needles.  And those were  injectable drugs, Avonex, the first, intramuscular, huge needles no matter your size, same for me at 96 pounds and for someone 200 pounds.  A side-effect was flu-like symptoms, and that is what I had flu, redness, and scarring, and injection scars on my thighs…. 1996-1998, then Rebif, a three times a week, subcutaneous injection, now flu three times a week, redness and scars, I still have scar tissue, lumps under my skin on my thighs.  I lost an inch of hip on each side, by the way.

Then in 2013, a capsule twice a day every day, no holiday exclusion.  But let me tell you what a difference the capsule Tecfidera has made.  My neurologist Dr. Tiffany Braley, has even remarked that my level of function is as if I do not have MS. 

I walk quite a bit, five miles last Friday. Please understand how remarkable that is.  Not only that I can walk, but at age 62, I can do this and even went skipping down the hospital corridor when I last saw Dr. Braley.  My friend started calling me “Skipper”.  Little things like that made me glow inside.

The last thing I will point out is my nearly impossible survival of an aneurysm rupture.  I want into the hospital in July 2011, same night Amy Winehouse died, and did not not come home until 9 October 2011.  The actual rupture occurred when I was in the ER; had I not been  there, I surely would be dead.  I had to learn how to walk again, how to talk again  –it was assumed and predicted  that these were things I’d never do again, but the emergency brain surgery was performed by Dr. Neeraj Chaudary who says another MRI for the aneurysm is not necessary until 2019.  He too is amazed…. I have not had a single headache; of course, my head was shaved for the cranial surgery. 

After that, a great love of my life, but surely not the last, just hope I don’t miss it, refuse to sleep through my life, and I  have written a couple of books, no one thought I could do that, a man who dared to call me pretty, beautiful, and gorgeous

–please understand that no other man had ever called me that, just unsolicited catcalls  when I walked by…. I was married for 40 years to a man who never called me that, not even at the wedding.  And not even for my senior prom from high school, because he took me to that also, but did not dance with me.  He told me that he could not dance, and that my head would swell if he acknowledged my appearance positively.   


Prom Thylias, age 17


bride-thylias

Bride Thylias 1973

 

Thomas Robert Higginson did not care what size my head was.  I will always love him just for that, but there are so many more reasons.

Had the rupture of the aneurysm not happened, I  never would have seen him, because when I did not die, I realized it was my last chance to try to have MY life, so a divorce happened for a marriage that should not have happened; I was a teenager, and entered marriage blindly. 

post emergency surgery photos of Thylias Moss, following repair of a ruptured cranial aneurysm

July 2011, University of Michigan Hospital

 

chicago-taxi 

(Chicago taxi photo from: https://goo.gl/images/dztwNq)

This wonderful man had been waiting for me all this time.  And he really talked to me, and I really talked to him, it was so easy to trust him and tell him everything, the TRUTH! –that’s all I told him: the truth.  He listened to me and he loved my  poetry. It wasn’t about him then, but so   much of it is now.  I hope he’s not  embarrassed by the praise, but when  someone has done as much for you as he’s done, it is right to acknowledge that and express gratitude.  Even when he stops doing it. What he did remains true even if he never does it again in that season of doing impossible things, and that may be the problem, the things he did were impossible in a world  that depended on “possible” spines to hold the fragile together, that Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higginson bubble wavering in Chicago light and stretching thinner and thinner until it has to break for nothing that thin gets to last, it promises to last then has to confront its own, his own weak humanity moseys out in spectacular  crash and burn, the world has never seen such fireworks as those spines themselves spit and sputter in otherwise impossible heat of blazing love that will have to burn out for what can   sustain anything like that? Even Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego would have trouble despite their experience with a fiery furnace which is just what the Chicago taxi became: a blazing yellow spine navigating Chicago streets, seen best from an aerial view to better determine the exceptional impossibility that anything like that, such love in ordinary Chicago, the spininess of the yellow spine of dream best seen from above with the rest of heaven: it really was like that.

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN - DREAM DATE

Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robet Higginson in Chicago  

And then, then, wow! He kissed me in Chicago! And from that moment, my life has not been the same.  I owe him  my glimpse of a beautiful world; I could always  see it in my mind, but now I know it’s real, and that world is much better with him beside me.  Even if he lands elsewhere changing his mind and his heart which he gave to me for just a little while, life goes on doesn’t it?

I  like how he looked in that Chicago fire, my red lips, Kiss burned into them; I do not believe that any man could look better, even if he does not believe that, but I assure you that it’s true. 

When Thomas and I first seriously connected , I had pink hair.  This was when Facebook allowed me to be called “Forker Gryle” and Thomas always spelled “Gryle” “Gyrl”

pink-hair-forker-gyrl

But then the rules changed, the Facebook world was fragile also.  Such delicate dancing around and tiptoeing also so as not to disrupt anything trying to reach a  stage of doneness to be able to fight its way into the most unlikely birth, somehow succeeding for a time, best time, to be honest, as I must, of my life (I won’t be 63 until 27 February, 2017, and no, I do not expect to hear from Thomas anymore.  That would require a miracle best associated with that severed spine of dream, those bones stitching themselves back together as they refuse to die, strength of their  belief in their own existence and the Love that Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higginson, shared and will forever share.  (Bases for the characters in the novel)

No, he’s not perfect as conventional knowledge defines “perfect”, but Thomas Robert Higginson is perfect for Vashti just as Vashti Astapad Warren is perfect for him.

Thank you for everything, Thomas Robert Higginson that you did in the Higginson season, when Hurricane Vash  (a prose poam coming soon to Outlook Springs) also sometimes emerged with her fragile kiss of spine of dream. Some cookies crumble even inside a Dream Baby Tienda, and do not require those inevitable power failures in order to crumble and rock the flimsy house that somhow manage to stand until the wrecking ball of urban renewal that changes the neighborhood into something for the most part unrecognizable even to the man in the mirror.

I hope that you read this, but it’s true even if you never see it.  Truth has a way of lasting when nothing else prevails.  In the end  it will be truth that is the last thing standing: a true pillar of truth will be there.  And only a lucky and honest few will be able to see it, that Entrance to the “Dream Baby Tienda” (major part of New Kiss Horizon, Thomas Robert Higinson’s own supermercado)

Cover of NKH

Only for you, Thomas Robert Higginson  have I been, will I be “Dream Baby” my name taken from the poem you wrote to me, as was your name “Higginson” for the Higgs boson, also in your poem, my poem, our poem:

A Trip to the Tienda

       by Thomas Higginson

           — for Vashti

You are my rent-a-poem

 

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

 

You are my closing costs

 

My plasma vibrator my single malt

 

You? You are my Tampa manatee

 

You are my Occupy

 

You are an eucalyptus octopus

 

And a haircut on an autumn day

 

You are firecracker, salt, oil, vinegar

 

Things not supposed to mix

 

yet do.

 

You are jellyfish tentacles elongating my back,

 

dreaming of medusans all of which become you,

 

YOU, You.

 

Also submarine. Surreality check.

 

You you…! You YOU you!

 

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

 

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

 

The complete works. The leftovers.

 

Strangler fig, tiny seeds starting out on branches,

 

tines, grow to surround, encase the host,

 

leaving only figs

 

to take over

 

You surround me just that way, take over,

 

connect with me, to me: your host

 

You are what I’ve been waiting for

 

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

 

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

 

That, too. And you are the cream in my coffee,

 

And you are the one, and you are my everything,

 

And you are everything I could hope for.

 

And still you are more, and still you keep coming,

 

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

 

Like an all day-lollipop where every day is today.

 

You are the Castle of Doubt on the Plain of Forgetfulness.

 

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

 

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

 

A rocking chair and a band-aid. Violin castanets.

 

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

 

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

 

I can do is list, name, and hand out passports.

 

Because you are who you are in a way that is all

 

Your way and which, as a poet trying to set it down,

 

Failure, I am a failure in that you will always be

 

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

 

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

 

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

 

Tested. The Higgs boson, that’s it exactly. A gluon.

 

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

 

Never happened and when all is said and done,

 

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

 

That’s why I keep writing endlessly penning, because that’s

 

Who you are and when I stop, Surprise, you are

 

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

 

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

 

Gate to the Fields of the Lord. I sing you praises and

 

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

 

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

 

to birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

 

Some nectar in a tube, a pillow. Like the new language you

 

Are, if I could write that I would, you in a race car,

 

A pendulum, a fire tower, a blimp. A pothole, narcissus,

 

An a capella cantabile, a big bucket of milk. I can run alongside

 

You but can’t keep up with you, your tapdancing

 

Shadow, your clothing made of earth and spit. But I know you

 

And when you wish me Happy Birthday I trade it for yours,

 

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you.

(from New Kiss Horizon:

copyright © 2016 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.)

 

Read all about them in my romance novel: “New Kiss Horizon” The book can last forever even if the romance in real life doesn’t, for that couple is in a world that seldom exists in reality, but I made such a world for them: in Chicago: “Let there be love” I told the pen and there was love in real life too for as long as it could last. I really am a better person for learning how to give love, how to receive love, and how to kiss in a taxi, #howtokiss #thomasroberthigginsonisthebestcarnalteacher

and now to commemortes the warmth and heat of those forever precious days: “Warm Water ” by Banks: