Category Archives: INSPIRED

Podcast Transcriptions for Thomas Robert

Since Thomas Robert and I are no longer speaking (I hope this isn’t permanent) and I am not sure whether or not he has my transcriptions of his podcasts, so I thought I would place them here, so at least access is possible.

Given that these transcription are of time spent in Alaska, I thought that my picture should be a bit more wintry, although it is well into June 2017, also indicative of the coldness between Thomas Robert and I right now,  I sure hope that it isn’t lasting;  I’ve known him so very long.  Well, these transcriptions were a gift and I give them again.

 

It was a pleasure to transcribe them, and here is one offering of a transcription of Episode one.

 

Well, it’s my last night in New York

I had a poem I wrote a while ago, “Last Nights”

–last nights are very important to me, because I’ve had a lot of them.

I love last nights because you always have, “well, that happened last night” but when it happens on your last night, then you know that you’re ready

for whatever comes next, the molecules lining up

in preparation for departure.

I can’t believe all of this is not even off the beaten path; it’s

off the highway here in Juneau.

That’s the sound of the waterfall coming down

–just one hole through the ice sheet

through the glacier; glaciers move back

and it turns into a waterfall

The green is the definition of green

which of course is a multihued “green”,

the “moss” popping, the leaves looking primordial

and the fir trees getting dark, dark, dark

and the sun filtering through with gold.

 

Everybody’s a bear.

Counting eagles from the front porch:

 

1. one just flew over, and then slowly

straight into the clouds

across the bay

 

2. two surprised me:  At a diagonal so close

I could hear the wind in the wings

 

3. three sailed so high up in a spiral,

I didn’t know it disappeared…


___________

It was a pleasure to try to transcribe them as they are all poetry, at least to me.  I did not transcribe all of them, but I did my best from close listening at the time, so these are for you Thomas Robert, the best I could do at the time that I transcribed them.

I had more difficulty with episode two and there are two versions; here is one of them:

I saw the bear a half hour after I landed in Juneau.

The crow has welcomed me, and three eagles;

pretty much the clans have given me the omen of omens.:

You really feel who owns the place

–and it sure ain’t me.

 

Gray.

 

Pick a gray that pours into Auke Bay

like a glacier, and what is true

for a cloud in Juneau is to be born rain

in a gray garment handed down from seals,

that gray, that other gray, that gray over there.

 

Mountain continues ocean

Language continues continues

Story continues language

Mother continues child

Child continues memory

Memory continues whale

Whale continues sea

Boat continues life

 

Twitter continues Twitter

 

Waves continue ice

Milk continues poem

Laughter continues dance

Mountain continues ocean

continues contains continues

rain continues continues continues

continues language

__________

(I believe this to be the other version, sorry if they’re identical; every time, I tried to open Microsoft Word, I couldn’t, and these are transcriptions I found in other places and copied them into Apple’s Pages word processor which has never given me a problem):

I saw the bear a half hour after I landed in Juneau.

The crow has welcomed me, and three eagles;

pretty much the clans have given me the omen of omens.

You really feel who owns the place

–and it sure ain’t me.

 

Gray.

 

Pick a gray that pours into Auke Bay

like a glacier, and what is true

for a cloud in Juneau is to be born rain

in a gray garment handed down from seals,

that gray, that other gray, that gray over there.

[some of the prose interlude]:

I’m looking out over Auke Bay in juneau; it’s not “awe”, but “auke” the “ka”

is a diminutive, so it’s little “ah” –just a little “awe” [ah] in the air

along with all the grays that are there.

–a lot of these clouds aren’t clouds;

they’re the moisture

off the mountains;

I know they’re there; I’ve seen them when the sun decides

to set fire to the sky.

A sea lion crossing:

 

In Kotzebue, you’re never too far from the tundra

In Kotzebue, you’re never too far from the sea.

The sun and moon dancing with the Northern Lights

–that’s about it here in Kotzebue.

Over the Arctic Circle, 60 miles from Russia

–unbelievable!– what they call the “Beringia Region”

–where the continents of Asia and North America

connected, where the Wooly Mammoth crossed,

and it still fels like wooly mammoth territory…

I read about how today was the last day of summer

in New York; it’s 70 degrees, but here,

it’s right at freezing, and you gotta bundle up!

 

Mountain continues ocean

Language continues continues continues

Story continues language

Mother continues child

Child continues memory

Memory continues whale

Whale continues sea

Boat continues life

 

Twitter continues Twitter

 

Waves continue ice

Milk continues poem

Laughter continues dance

Mountain continues ocean

continues contains continues

rain continues continues continues

continues language


_________

 

-“and it sure ain’t me” anymore, but it used to be me, Thomas Robert; it used to be me.  

A few more images of winter, not in Alaska, but right in Michigan:

This used to be my own back yard; I like to think of the world as my own back yard.  I am connected to so much, and all of it moves through me, all of it “continues” to use Thomas Robert’s language.  

 

Who can say what will be the lucky entity to continue something?  I will continue being myself; I have little choice in that anyway.  

I am not a bear per se, but I did write something about a bear that I will transcribe as soon as I can.  You see, Thomas Robert said,  at least that’s the way that I transcribed it.  As Thomas Robert said in episode one, “Everybody’s a bear”… 

 

Indeed, long before I knew Thomas Robert at all, I knew that everyone is a bear, and called my father “Teddy” out of that knowledge,

and not that you need confirmtion of your statement from me, Thomas Robert, but you  have it anyway.

Let there be peace for the universe, for the world, and also between us, that “US”-ness you named and used to speak about, that very “US”-ness I will always love,

 

Even that “US”-ness of humanity; I give that back to you, my friend.  Always.

Mexico City here I come!

I am a good chica, I think.  

I m a good chica, I hope.

More details now about the trip:

 

DETAILS FOR MEXICO CITY:

Dear Thylias,

allow me please to comment that this will be the second edition of this poetry encounter, that last year gathered 22 poets from the five continents and more than 120 from the Mexico City and other regions of Mexico. This is a link:

http://data.cultura.cdmx.gob.mx/diverso/index.php/participantes-internacionales/

This year we’ve invited some 30 international poets, and it is our desire to approach the urgent issues as the frontiers (not only the geopoliticals, but also between media, genres).

So we ‘d like to propose you’d do a reading accompanied by your video poems. We’re interested in the experimental aspects of your work, though of course we’re open to your suggestions and we’d like to comply to your wishes.

About the hotels, very soon we’ll let you know.

The events will take place at several locations in Mexico City, like the Mexican Library and some other cultural centers. Our staff will accompany you to your planned activities so that you can be sure to arrive there.

About your books, could you please inform us if your have a publisher in Spanish, and in that case, give us their contact?

In order to start planning your participation, we’d kindly ask you to send us the following information:

– a short paragraph (10 – 15 lines) in order to present you to Mexican public (biography data, titles published, languages that  your work has been translated into )

– high-resolution photo portrait  (with the photographer’s credit, if any)

– a poem and also a translation into Spanish (if there’s one) . Please indicate whether is an inedit piece or, if it has been already published, please provide info. about the publication source.

– links to social media (facebook, instagram, twitter, …)

 II) TRIP and HOTEL

–  City / airport of departure:

–  Food preference (vegetarian…):

–  Please attach scanned copy of passport :

Should you have any questions or comments, please don’t hesitate to write to us.

Warm regards,

Marianna

They want my video poems! I am even more delighted knowing this! 

For instance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IHZdiXmNghQ&index=6&list=PLndg3mxeIxFyIegs9xYRfurlhcVBmigqk

3 poams from LFMK coming to Outlook Springs!

Three prose poams from my LFMK collection of Prose poams: “Looking For My Killer: Where Controversy Breeds” currently being considered by Jamii, a publisher (I am hoping for the best possible outcome, and for women taking back the night; what sacrfice this woman is.  

 

 

Let those of us who live thank her every day);

 

These three prose poams from that collection, will appear in Outlook Springs:

 

(Personnel of Outlook Springs)

  1. “Earthquake Vash (Predicted by the Seismograph in the Heart)”
  2. “Small Virtue And Gimme Some A+Bliss
  3. “Status Report on Slinky Lust “and the video poam that reveals the public service that the narrator provides in this video poam: “Looking for My Killer, Where Controversy Breeds”

 

Words written by, sung by, text cheorography by Thylias Moss in an attempt to save other woman from such assaults and slayings.  I also made the film itself, filmed myself walking streets of Saline, Michigan.

 

Why not there? Isn’t that the point? Women may be brutalized anywhere, even in their homes.  

 

Music composed and performed by Ansted Moss; I arranged the music for this video poam and for the book itself.  

 

and now some of the tortured ad brutalized women:

 

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/trans-women-of-color-face-an-epidemic-of-violence-and-murder-673

 

The incoherent response by cops is just making the problem worse.

Photo via Eisha Love’s Model Mayhem page

Between October 2013 and the end of this September, according to international reports gathered by the European group Transrespect versus Transphobia (TvT), 226 transgender people were murdered around the world. Most were trans women of color. Those numbers were gathered by painstakingly raking through news articles and by reports submitted through partner organizations in places like Honduras and Thailand.

The website for Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoF) has its own list of names of the dead, featuring some 700 trans people—mostly women of color, again—brutally murdered in recent years. TDoF’s list goes back all the way to 1970, but the bulk of the homicides took place between 2000 and 2012.

Both lists offer a horrifying record of hate. No murder is pleasant, but the killings of trans women tend to be particularly sick. Victims are dragged behind a car, burned alive, stoned to death, skinned, or—far too often—beaten to death in the middle of a crowded street or party.

It’s clear from the descriptions of these homicides that transgender women, especially low-income trans women of color, face an epidemic of violence and murder.

When two black trans women were murdered just six weeks apart in Baltimore this summer, trans women in the community told reporters they were terrified to go outside for fear of both the usual police harassment, and what appeared to them to be a targeted attack on their identities.

“It’s scary trusting anyone,” Baltimore’s LaSia Wade told the Guardian in August. “That bus driver, he could be the killer; that taxi man, he could be looking at me and thinking: ‘That’s a transgender woman, I’m going to knock her off.'”

So why do police keep arresting trans women of color who defend themselves during violent attacks? And why do so many murders of trans women not only go unsolved and remain under-investigated, but not even tagged by law enforcement as hate crimes?

“Usually what we see is homicides of low income trans women of color are the ones where police don’t respond as fast as they should with the forcefulness that they should. It’s not just a trans issue, then, but an issue of income and color,” Osman Ahmed, research and education coordinator for the National Coalition of Anti-Violence Programs (NCAVP), said in an interview with VICE today.

NCAVP tracks violence data through 54 member organizations in 24 US states and Canada. Because the Department of Justice doesn’t currently track data on gender and sexual orientation, it can be frustrating to try and gather homicide statistics through law enforcement agencies.

In addition, the FBI’s annual Hate Crimes report is inherently flawed due to low participation. Critics cried foul in 2011 when the state of Mississippi reported only one hate crime, while cities like New York that have entire divisions devoted to tracking and investigating hate crimes consistently report more.

“In terms of the hate crimes stats the FBI publishes every year, it’s not a complete national picture,” said Ahmed, whose organization works directly with law enforcement agencies to increase both sensitivity and accountability when dealing with LGBTQ victims. “Whatever they are reporting is lower than what’s really going on. Especially with low-income trans women of color: they go missing and there’s no follow up, there’s no investigation.”

Ahmed told VICE that law enforcement doesn’t arbitrarily decide not to care about the homicides of transgender women. Instead, this is a deeply layered problem that has just as much to do with a history of police violence and community mistrust.

“Trans women of color are very much more likely to experience police violence after reporting hate violence,” said Ahmed. “Friends and family members of victims are less likely to approach police because of this kind of victim blaming as well as mis-gendering and transphobia.”

In fact, when transgender women of color go to police to report a violent attack, they are often themselves charged with a crime and jailed.

Take the case of CeCe McDonald, a young, black trans fashion design student who went to jail for manslaughter. Her crime? While in the midst of being attacked by a homophobic Neo-Nazi amped up on meth in Minneapolis, McDonald took a pair of fabric scissors out of her purse and held them in front of her. Her attacker ran toward her anyway, and later died from the stab wound.

McDonald was finally freed after 19 months of a 41-month sentence in a men’s prison, a place she never should have gone in the first place regardless of her conviction. Her release was on terms of good behavior, but the international protests and support of Orange Is The New Black actress Laverne Cox certainly didn’t hurt.

If only Eisha Love could be so lucky.

Love and friend Tiffany Gooden stopped to get gas at a station in Chicago when men began yelling slurs at the two black transgender women. One of the men punched Love in the face, and after realizing they were under attack, the two women got in the car and attempted to drive away, only to be pinned from behind by one of the men’s cars while the other tried to open the driver’s side door. Terrified, Love maneuvered the car around and hit one of the attackers, severely injuring his leg.

The two women escaped with their lives. But when Love went to file a police report detailing the attack, she was arrested.

Love is still in jail, charged with first-degree attempted murder. Her passenger Tiffany Gooden had no such luck—two months after the attack, she was murdered in the very neighborhood where the attack occurred.

Gooden’s mother has since told reporters that threats were made against her daughter. “They were saying they was going to kill her. They were saying they were going to get ‘his’ ass because ‘he’ was riding in the car.”

Chicago police are severely fucking this up. If law enforcement had investigated the attack on Love and Gooden instead of bizarrely throwing Love in jail, Gooden might be alive today.

Likewise, Orange County police fucked up Zoraida Reyes’ murder probe this June, at first claiming there were no signs of foul play even though her body was found in a dumpster behind a dairy queen. After regular community protests, OC cops later ‘fessed up that Reyes had been choked to death, and her killer was found in October. But even then, police refused to acknowledge the death was most likely a hate crime.

“For many, the lives of transgender people don’t matter and they’re viewed as disposable,” Reyes’ friend Jorge Gutierrez told the Los Angeles Times. “We know that her identity as a trans woman was a huge factor, whether the police want to acknowledge it or not.”

After four trans women were murdered over a 20-month period in Ohio, community members became frustrated with what they said was a refusal on the part of police to view the murders as even potential hate crimes.

“We hear from police departments that there is no reason to believe a crime is hate-motivated,” Aaron Eckhardt of the Buckeye Region Anti-Violence Organization (BRAVO) told Buzzfeed. “For us in the community, that sounds like an affront. Prior to any real investigation happening, it is used to deflect conversation. We would like to hear that they are investigating all possibilities.”

When law enforcement agencies refuse to take murders of transgender women seriously enough to recognize them as hate crimes, it perpetuates a community mistrust that comes full circle when and if police do seek answers in murder investigations.

“Very often, from the beginning of investigations into the deaths of trans women, there is a lot of transphobia coming in to play, and that translates into the alienation of community members who would otherwise be able to help,” Ahmed told VICE.

Follow Mary Emily O’Hara on Twitter.

from https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/trans-women-of-color-face-an-epidemic-of-violence-and-murder-673

 

and this article:

http://www.express.co.uk/news/world/746797/Fort-Worth-Texas-Racism-attack-woman-daughters-arrested-police

Fort Worth arrestSTAR TELEGRAM

The woman was arrested by the officer after the confrontation

The officer asks Craig: “Why don’t you teach your son not to litter?”“He can’t prove to me that my son littered,” she responded. “But it doesn’t matter if he did or didn’t, it doesn’t give him the right to put his hands on him.”

The officer replied: “Why not?”

Next, Craig is seen getting closer to the officer and angrily shouting at him before her 15-year-old daughter attempts to stand between them.

The officer next wrestles Craig to the floor and handcuffs her before pointing his Taser at the daughter forcing her to lay on the ground. 

Craig’s 19-year-old daughter Brea Hymond, who is thought to have filmed the incident, was also arrested. 

Fort Worth arrest

STAR TELEGRAM

One of the daughters got in the way of the officer and her mother before she was pushed out the way

Craig’s 15-year-old daughter was also taken into custody but was later released.The Fort Worth police department released a statement which said: “The investigators worked throughout the night and into the morning interviewing witnesses and reviewing video evidence; including video from a body own camera that was active during the incident.

“The involved officer has been placed on restricted duty status by the Chief of Police pending the outcome of the internal investigation.

Fort Worth young daughter arrestedSTAR TELEGRAM

The young daughter had a taser pointed at her before she was arrested by police

“As this is an internal investigation, state law limits the information that may be released, including the officer’s body cam footage.”About 100 protesters are thought to have gathered outside the old Tarrant Country Courthouse on Thursday night calling for the officer to be fired.

At a news conference earlier on Thursday evening, Star Telegram report that Lee Merritt, an attorney representing the family, said: “It’s not a situation where someone used a racial slur, but racism is still all over it.”

“If a white mother had called police about their son being choked, I guarantee that the officer would not have bypassed the suspect and arrested the mother.”

The man accused of assaulting the seven-year-old boy has not been arrested however police are still investigating the incident.

from: http://www.express.co.uk/news/world/746797/Fort-Worth-Texas-Racism-attack-woman-daughters-arrested-police

and this:

Woman brutally beaten in Santa Ana nightclub attack

Police are still searching for five people who beat a 23-year-old woman unconscious early Saturday outside a downtown Santa Ana nightclub.
Copyright © 2017, Los Angeles Times
______________
Time TO “TAKE BACK THE NIGHT!”
(JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE)
AND FINALLY, RANDY CRAWFORD, “GIVE ME THE NIGHT”:

Book about my father

At long last, I begin a book about my father,  a book I have long needed to write.

 

It is a distinct pleasure to recall the man whe invented my first name for me, and had ideas about love  well ahead of anything you hear about now.

He  never tried to force upon me traditional views of women, and was glad anytime I excelled.  He always thought I could, encouraged that. And most of all, he was against spanking.  He sadid that something worthy of love should not be hit.  I was never spanked.  Did not make sense to him.  To punish is not to show love, and on that we agree.  I grew up seeking alternates, always; I still believe that, is an intrinsic part of me, my core.  This belief is my foundaation on which the rest of me is built.  This is the part of me that does not waver, no matter what I face; if it is wroth loving, don’t hit it, don’t bully it into obdeience; let it decide that kindness and compassion are better ways, but unless the individual comes to such decisions on her own, she has been bullied into it, and that won’t succeed  for long, perpetuated “bullying” as a strategy, instead of someone realizing the advantages, the respect  for all, the envionment included, if we love it, we don’t hit it with pollutants etc.   

 

Just how I grew up, the predicate for all of me.

 

I knew my father until my mid-twenties… He died the year before I graduated from Oberlin, something he would have loved to see… He never met my son born in 1991 ANSTED WITH IPOD TORONTO.jpg

 

Ansted with iPod in Toronto.jpg

–all I can try to give him are my memories. As my father died before the height of the digital age, unlike those of us in it now, I have no recordings of his voice except for an old Webcor tape recorder that I had until I was about ten; at my mother’s house now, somewhere, and if any of the old tapes remain, and we can get them to a facility that can extract material from old reel-to-reel tapes, then we’d have what I most want: to hear his voice again…

Not a problem for those born more recently where even phones take movies and record voice –and of course I’ve written extensively about my father, but are I need to do it more… Yes, a memoir! –I was 26 when he died… I knew him very well is my point, but my son, his only grandchild actually connected to him genetically never knew him… and that’s such a shame, as in so many ways, body type, etc, and certain habits, they are so alike, interests; my father would have loved talking to my son, and as my son has a sperm donor Bangladeshi biological father, he didn’t have a certain closeness and bonding with a man in his life, other than my ex-spouse no relation to my son, and the way I had to become pregnant is an exceedingly ugly story, but it is my story, a story in which my time with my father is nestled. He was a drinker, especially Mr. Boston, and I would go with him to the State Store where such alcohol had to be purchased… Never in the supermarkets, from which we had to use jitneys to bring the groceries home –he always did the grocery shopping, not my mother, and he preferred washing dishes as no one else could get them clean enough, etc.. and so much that I remember, but my son has no memories of him of his own, and there are only a few pictures, and none of them can talk, none of them can move, no holograms for instance… No way to go back to capture anything. My father was a huge fan of the Space program and of scifi movies; he and I would watch them every weekend, especially on a show hosted by Ghoulardi –my mother hated such shows as they eschewed religion…

 

–of course I knew him, but not long enough… He was truly an ideal father! –and I guess many would say that I was a spoiled daughter…–“spoiled” –as in unrefrigerated meat, produce, milk spoiled as in well past an expiration, or “sell-by”, “use-by” date; rancid odor, that type of thing, but drenched in love is hardly spoiled in my mind….but I wasn’t at all… In a memoir supposedly about my life, “Tale of a Sky Blue Dress“, I have an opening chapter about being a little girl growing up with my parents, but the memoir veers into what happened to me when I was fifteen, rape, pregnancy, abortion in NYC, and my father riding in the car my uncle drove to take me to NY, the only state in the country where abortions were legal in 1970 –I was in the third trimester –such abortions are discouraged, sometimes through violent means, now –that pregnancy especially mars the memory, but life cannot mar “life” –rape and ensuing pregnancy “spoiled me”, ruined me in a way… so this is what to me must have stood out in his mind about me upon his death! –education was so important to him; he was a reader, yet saw none of my books, the first of which “Hosiery Seams on a Bowlegged Woman” was published in 1983, three years after his death… I wish he at least could have seen me graduate from Oberlin first in my class, and Phi Beta Kappa! –what an honor for a woman, a Black and Native woman! –this is what I mean; he never knew such truths of me.  And now so many books I have written, he would have loved all of them. 

 

 

He was responsible for getting me books to read beyond my mother’s only choice:  the bible:

 

 

High time he had his own book.  I can’t believe I have waited so long to write it.

Because my father was such a drinker, and that was what my mother most despised about him, I will have to mention my friend Thomas Robert Higginson who would have liked my father as he is, well was.

They are both drinkers, and Thomas Robert would have really liked him.   I may have a scene in the book, where these men meet.  I can bring the two men who have meant the most of me together.  They will meet in the pages.

 

My father loved baseball, basketball also. football, the superbowl, that is.  We will see how much I remember.  

Calvin Theodore Brasier, my father

My father with one of the cigarettes, combined with inhalation of rubber dust (he worked as a recapper, mostly of semi tires)  that killed him.  I never knew him with a mustache, unless I simply have forgotten.  

 

My father - main portrait

mr-boston-brandy-logo

 

image of Mr. Boston from http://www.liquor.com/brands/mr-boston/

PALL MALL 

 

 

My father smoked these exclusively.

When I was two years old, ate one of the cigarette butts from his ashtray aand had to return to the hospital where I was born during a blizzard (I’m told  snow covered cars), to have my stomach pumped.

LFMK (“Looking for My Killer)

I  am very pleased to announce that my collection of prose poams, Looking For My Killer” is now being read by a possible publisher,   and this pleases me greatly, as I have learned that some prose poams for the collection are going to appear in an online journal, Outlook Springs:

These prose poams:

 

1.”Earthquake Vash” –yes related to my romance novel: New Kiss Horizon Cover of NKH

2. “Status Report on Slinky Lust” and

3. “Small virtue and gimme some A+ Bliss

 

The video context for this collection, really an extended PSA announcement come from a video I made with the same name (music composed and performed by Ansted Moss,  who also captured the still images at the beginning of the video poam all vocals by Thylias Moss, also the arranger of the music:  

 

That’s all for now; more very soon.

Significant New Kiss Horizon links!

Here are significant links to “New Kiss Horizon” web locations:

Cover of NKH

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

Link to Vashti’s Blog:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

Buy and read this sensual little number please…

Truth of DELIGHT at last

A Very long Post about Love:

Despite those who have advised me to drop or forget Mr. Delightful.

It is not as simple as you may perceived, because I really do love this man, whether or not it seems to make logical sense, even if you want to call me a fool, I still love him, and I do not love him today and stop loving him tomorrow. Maybe I will meet someone else, but until I do, this Hopeless Romantic really loves THAT MAN.

This love is deep and real, and he must decide what to do with it; I gave it to him, and all of it is his. If I am a fool, I am not the first. Maybe I will stop loving him, but it will have to its natural time; if he is indeed scum, then maybe I just happen to like scum. But he is better than scum. How do you know that he isn’t filled with regret?

How do I know that for sure either?

Maybe this makes me the most foolish woman in the world, but until I do not love him, I am not giving up on love.

Lord knows, I am not sure at all what this means. Nor am I asking you. Whether I am called “Dream Baby” or “Eucalyptus Octopus” or “Trauma to Quotidian” –all of these names came from Mr. Deightful’s poem to me, the poem I still believe is about me.

I like these names. I like that they came from poetry. I like when I started calling him my “Muse” and he corrected that to “Mr. Muse”

At first I was concerned that so much poetry in my new book, “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” was either written about or with “Thomas Higginson”, but now I am at peace with that, because I still love the man, and as long as that is true, I’m not turning my back on loving him.

I am not sure how he feels about that but it is my love to give him, and since I have given it, I am not taking it back.

Cover of “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery Of Realities’ Red Dress Code

You were not with him; but I know a tender side of Mr. Delightful and maybe he did tell some lies. Maybe he did allow me to believe one thing when he had made other –temporary– (one can never be sure with him). I know what makes him delightful.

No; he is not perfect, but then again, neither am I.

A entire chapbook of poetry that Thylias Moss wrote with Thomas Higginson is available right now at Amazon as a book for Kindle, and you may also be able to get this chapbook as a softcover book (I will check again this week), but if you would like a collection of collaborations between Thomas Higginson and Myself, “Aneurysm of the Firmament” (spelled correctly in the chapbook, ad actually not on the table of contents in “Wannabe“), then please acquire this chapbook containing only poems of our collaboration which has been long lived.

aneurysm_of_the_firm_cover_for_kindle

(buy the chapbook and Wannabe at Amazon here)

You just do not throw such things away. I hope the chpbook lives on after I do.

I kissed Mr. Delightful, well, he kissed me first, and then I really kissed him as I have never kissed a man before. That kiss told me everything worth knowing, and the kiss was real, so until and unless I find someone else… He is not easily replaceable. He is not toothpaste or only the flavor of the day, but he is mighty tasty –you wll need to read the romance novel for more details of my inspiration.

You weren’t there. You do not know.

It is not as if one day I decided, “hm, I think that maybe I’ll fall in love with him” –happened naturally, and if I fall out of love with him, that will happen naturally too, and for the moment I haven’t.

Maybe this is a man I will always love. I’m not going into all the details now. And whether or not Mr. Delightful ever knows of this, I am stating for the record, that I simply have never lied to him, and I am not starting to lie right now. When I told Mr Delightful that I love him, that was /is the TRUTH, and I am also saying it now, because it is the truth, that I still love that man, and no advice can change my heart; if an when it changes, I will say so. I am not vindictive; I just love that man as I have never loved a man.

I gave my love t0 him, and it is up to him what to do with it. It is his. I do not withdraw it. That is how serious my heart is. It is his decision what to do with my love. If and when I stop loving him, I will tell him first. But it will not be today and not likely that it will be tomorrow; sorry if I disappoint any of you. Sorry if this only seems to prove that I am fool; I would rather be a fool for love than for anything else.

I have a precious connection with this man, and maybe there are not many women who would love him as completely as I do, just as he is, flawed and everything, but this one does.

I told him once that when he becomes 70, not that long, 2018, he may find a need to settle down his very active life, and guess who will be waiting for him? His “Dream Baby“, his “Eucalyptus Octopus” [which he corrected to “An” Eucalyptus Octopus” as written in the poem], his “Trauma to Quotidian” will be there as long as I still love him. Love is like that, and can be stable, and not trusting him does not mean that I don’t love him.

Among many things, no way that you can ever know all of them, he wrote this to me:

“It’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 life —my family, my job, my grief — consume 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 that I an here for you, always will be, in a way for us still to find.

Love,
Mr. D

and he wrote this to me:

“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 you 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 this 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 the 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

D”

You are not aware at all (well, maybe you are also so lucky); but you are probably not aware at all of what it can mean to kiss this man, but one real kiss from him, not the sweet peck in the airport, but that extended foreplay kissing in the back seat of the taxi all the way from O’Hare to the hotel, completely erased 40 years of marriage, 44 years with my ex-spouse; it was as if no other man had ever kissed me –please try to understand the power and promise of that kiss.. and helped me understand desire and expression of love as I have never understood it before. Forever transformed me in the most “delightful” way.

That kiss will forever be fresh in my mind. I even have a bottle of his cologne that I spray n my sheets to get into a bed of him, recalling instantly what it’s like being in his arms. I play the music we exchanged with each other; you can’t hear it, but it’s playing right now in the background. I listen to a playlist of it when I, this woman with MS go walking my 5-8 miles, and also on the playlist, because I love the sound of his voice, is a recording of the support he sent me so that I could listen to it, as I was writing about the two of us –I would listen t ohs voice all day, inspiring me to produce my best writing, in my opinion, ever, and in response to some of that writing, also in the chapbook, by the way, but not in “Wannabe” from which the poem, “If You See Something, Say Something” by Thomas Higginson’ with my addition / extension was rejected for “Wannabe” but was a poem published by “The Fiddlehead of Canada,” by the way, but Mr. Delightful wrote this to me after I completed that poem, before the Fiddlehead publication:

“”Skippity,

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!

BUT certainly it is a continuously reviving poem
A fantasy dream and reality scream
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”

I can’t say what is going to happen. It is not my job to predict the future, just live it as long as I can, the best that I can and if I live it loving him, so be it.

I really do love THAT MAN. And this is a fact. Sorry if I disappoint you, but I am not disappointing myself. I really do lovehim, and it was not a choice. My heart did this. I do not involve myself with multiple men. Good for you if you are able to do that. I can’t and I don’t want to. I once told him that I would rather not have a man, if it can’t be him, as long as I love him, and since I do love him, I guess it’s many manless nights, a lot of tears, a lot of loneliness, but a lot of love for him to try to keep me warm in the coming winter, when I will be living somewhere else — he wrote ” Of course that means ongoing, and how the 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.”

Mr. D, as delightful as he really can be, also wrote this to me, when I really needed it:

“Thylias, I feel from your letter that you need an immediate response to help ease you into that house, into yr mother’s dementia, into Mr Moss’s inflexibility.

Somehow it seems the fork of love will give you strength. That is strength I want you to have. Because this fork moves poetry and heaven and earth and hell and all history and muse push and language rush and Amstead and so so so much else, the All of It, I want to simplify my response to: I give you a life of strength and support in our friendship, and let you define the love for you.

My own personal life is not part of that equation. That is for me to live. This is a privacy issue and not important to that house you are going into. Please accept this as the eternal strength and support, or as long as you need or want it.

Godspeed.
D”

(By the way, I need it forever  I want it forever)

And after a discussion on, “letting me define the love for me”,
Mr. D sent me this on 3 August 2016, not that long ago at all, :

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

D “

to which I replied:

“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”

(we even have a poem about this “Wild Ride” of ours,

and here is some of it, (should have been in the chapbook also, my mistake, well, for the next chapter f the next book, because there will be one, of that I’m sure; Love demands this, and even if for mow it seems that it is only me loving you, so be it… As long as I love you, it must be this way):

Higginson The Thrill Ride

Every emotion possible to feel,
I have felt with you –highest highs
of my life
(also the lowest lows)

I once thought the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
was a tremendous roller coaster,
but you surpass that by far! –as
“Higginson-Higgs-Mr. Muse-Mr. D”
any of your personae—
I have been everywhere with you
yet nowhere

(and I wouldn’t trade this ride for anything).

You Are
The Wild Ride

(Higginson)

Loving it

“Higginson The Thrill Ride”

Every emotion
sighest mighty riotous highs
belowest lows)

the Blue Streak at Cedar Point
roller coaster blasts past
my past into your past passed
but you surpass t
“HigginsonHiggsMrmuse-Mr.D”
everywhere with you
butt nowhere

(and I wouldn’t trade this wild ride for anything).

Remember when I wrote a poem, and you couldn’t respond w=exactly as you would have liked, you wrote this to me:
“Thylias, wow, si o non

sionon

Great word

I am honored beyond beyond

But my plate is so big of full right now I can only make a new word and push on-words

Sionon it is on my part

You have my permission to use everything but I must beg your forgivenness in being unable to come out with the resounding affirmative the Soul cries for because I just do not have the time to do that. My film work, Ford Fdn work, poetry work, the Club, plain ol work, on and on —

I just want to ask for yr understanding on this.

OK, BFF?”

and this led to a poem in “Wannabe”
“Sionon Epoch” also in the chapbook

The primary point Mr. D, always so damn delightful to me, is that my Soul still cries out for you, and I may be a fool, but I am your fool; it is entirely up to you what you do with your fool,

and for a time you were foolish with me,

and I just want to remind you, that very few men, maybe no other man, is or has been or will be loved the way that I love you, and though I will not use you name, you know who you are, just as in that recording of the poem you wrote for me, and I can prove it if necessary, after I rejected a poem you gave me when I found you reading it online and complained that it wasn’t written specifically for me, and then you wrote a poem that I knew was specifically for me, with the references to particle physics; you know me Mr D, better than anyone, and when I hear d you reading it you saud, “It;s for somebody who knows who she is” amd she dies, she is me, your “Dream Baby“, your “Eucalyptus Octopus“, your “Trauma to Quotidian” your Thylias, apparently always yours, for the long haul

me in the “Dream Baby” dress :

Thylias in Cushnie dress 2 copy

and speaking of long hauls, surely you remember when you said you would “drive an 18-wheeler full of condoms down my street”? –really might need that many for the next time I get to be alone with you.

It’s not just sex, but loving him, melting every time his breath was on any part of me, his hands,  the weight of his palms, his exquisite tongue, his lips, sex became sublime.  

I will see, won’t I? –he said it, he wrote it, and the “written word” is just as sacred to him as it is to me –no there’s no “ring” on it, but there is something that maybe even better, the rings of love around my Saturned heart.

I just don’t know what yet. But maybe something, and just as I am worth waiting for, with all this love I have for him, he is worth waiting for also. And so I do, committed to the love itself for as long as I feel it.

I am getting so much closer to what I really need, for a future as uncertain as futures must be if they are unwritten, and they are.

I do not live a pre-determined life; I know what I want, and I am determined to have it, whatever that means.

I am 62, no longer middle aged, and since it isn’t likely that I will live to be 124, it is necessary that I act on whatever I can, and living in my own place, on my social security, and yes, loving a man, taking a chance on what I feel, because what I feel is real,

and I know I might sound crazy, and I know you know, or think you know who I love, but my feelings are real, and I have already given them to him, so they are his, and he knows this, and what he decides to do with his gift is up to him.

I do not give something to him and then withdraw it. That is not who or what I am, a so-called or proverbial “indian-giver” (and me personally, as a member of this heritage, have not known such phony-givers, and knowing myself, I am not about to be one now).

This is my only life, and I want to live it truly and honestly. I am the one who must face myself in the mirror, and I want to like what I see. (I know you like what you see in those photos of me, Mr. D; you already told me that, many times). That’s all this is: my chance to live the life I need; the life I want, preferably with Mr. Delightful, and that “terrific life” he told me I would have, and not just because he told me; I will have it regardless, but so much better with him than without him, which is what he meant, as I interpreted it anyway.

Terrific life” with or without him, but much better with him… He also said to me: “Relax. It takes time”

And that is exactly what I have for you: Time.

Just as you waited 25 years just to kiss me, I know that you also understand time, but, please, not another 25years. Neither you (aren’t you already 68?) nor I at 62 have another 25 years.

But I will keep waiting. And while I wait, I will work on rebuilding trust. I know you didn’t want to have to tell me what you told me, but even that did not destroy the love I feel for you. Dampened it, because you evidently could not wait for me as I waited for you, and still wait; Dampened, but did not, could not Destroy.

I can’t promise you that I will still be beautiful when I am 70
and you will be 76 (!)

–I can’t believe that I am saying and thinking such things about a man as old as that, but you yourself told me that love doesn’t care about age when you carried me on your back in downtown Chicago, and it was obvious to anyone who saw this woman in the short form-fitting skirt, even shorter for being elevated on your back, and where your hands were (under the skirt) as you carried me, and where my hands were on you and you know that the form is also real, and unaltered (like your banana, if I may say so:

“Hey! Watch out for that banana!” 

The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome

TMnOYP”)

 –unaltered

like my love for you;

it was obvious what this aging couple had done, just as it was obvious to that taxi-driver seeing that aging couple making out in the back seat of his cab what we were going to do as soon as we were alone in that hotel he drove us to; everyone knew, what we had done and were going to do again and again…

The way the registration clerk chuckled. Such a terrific moment.

All of them. All of them Mr D.

I have to be willing to accept the bad moments with the good, –love demands this–true love does, that is, but when I list them, the good is ten times longer than the bad.

Face it Mr. D, I love you plain and simple.

no matter who or what you love. or think you love.

My love for you is certain
–and if or when it isn’t, I will tell you.

I cannot offer you more than that.

And I would not want to offer you less.

whoever you are, sweet mystery man, my sweet mystery man, standing bside me on a bridge in Chicago, bridge to a terrific life: 

This “terrific” photo has its own life, as does this “terrific couple

They have met in the center of the bridge… Desn’t matter how they got here, but here they are. And here they belong together. Everyine can see this, as you sad yourself: “That time was Delight” –you said that becase it was,it is.  

The photo never dies, and nor does the love, Mr. D.

I love you, just as I  loved you yesterday, just as Iwill love you tomorrow.  Whenever you’re ready, you know where I am.   

“Higginson”: The Thrill Ride”

(another poem for Mr Delightful [it should have been in the chapbook, and I will add it to the chapbook]. Hard to say who wrote which line; lines meant to be together just like Mr. Delightul and I. 

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

Higginson The Thrill Ride

Every emotion possible to feel,

I have felt with you –highest highs

of my life

(also the lowest lows)

I once thought the Blue Streak at Cedar Point

was a tremendous roller coaster,

but you surpass that by far! –as

“Higginson-Higgs-Mr. Muse-Delighful”

any of your personae—

I have been everywhere with you

yet nowhere

(and I wouldn’t trade this ride for anything).

You Are

The Wild Ride

(Higginson)

Loving it

“Higginson The Thrill Ride”

Every emotion

sighest mighty riotous highs

belowest lows)

the Blue Streak at Cedar Point

roller coaster blasts past

my past into your past passed

but you surpass t

“HigginsonHiggsMrmuse-Delightful”

everywhere with you

butt nowhere

(and I wouldn’t trade this wild ride for anything).

Our Usness!

My favorite picture of Mr. D  and myself; nothing would make me happier than being in  his arms again, arms meant to hold me, look at them; look at us.