Category Archives: NKH – New Kiss Horizon

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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New Kiss Horizon Review

It really pleases me that one of my books, New Kiss Horizon” has received such a great review:

 

 

Link to a great review of “New Kiss Horizon”

4CC5B7BC-B54C-4A36-9EED-FD17BE50E041.JPG

Here: http://mythicalbooks.blogspot.com/2017/05/loving-her-in-his-dreams-new-kiss.html?spref=tw&m=1

 

 

Saturday, May 13, 2017

loving her in his dreams – New Kiss Horizon: A Romance by Thylias Moss

18++ 

This book sizzles. […] And the language of poetry is beautiful, reminiscent of Song of Solomon.” A. Customer, Amazon

Description:

Published: November 2016

Vashti, a sexually repressed 60-year-old female poet finally finds the courage to divorce a man she married as a teenager, a man jealous of her looks, of the very equipment that makes her so appealing and this freedom allows 66-year-old poet Thomas Robert Higginson to act upon the fantasy he’s had for thirty years of loving Vashti, actually holding her, making love to her, a fantasy he acts out by visiting a store of Vashti, his fantasy come to life, and of course, entering that store is really a sexual act, for he’s entering Vashti, even if just in his head that somehow Vashti seems to control for she has awareness of all of these Dream Baby Tienda events.

Novel begins with Vashti revealing her past to her friend Thomas Robert Higginson who continues to enjoy his fantasy at the Dream Baby Tienda; he’s been interested in Vashti and loving her in his dreams, in his fantasies for 25 years. Every aisle has forms of Vashti on the shelf. He feels a little guilty because he’s married, but Vashti is thoroughly irresistible to him. He tries not to give in to his fantasy’s demands, but he fails, realizing the attraction he feels is much too powerful to deny.

He invites Vashti to be in a movie, and he wants to begin making love to her right then, but he doesn’t, as both of them are married, but he wants to anyway; he finds Vashti to be the most beautiful woman in the world. He comes to the university where she teaches, and Vashti is in the audience, and Vashti loves how Thomas Robert Higginson performs, but Vashti is married to a non-poet spouse, because beautiful Vashti was raped and became pregnant from that when she was fifteen. Then Vashti meets the man she marries three weeks after the abortion… He is not sensitive to what has happened to her; she is 16 when they meet, Wesley is 23, not a good match at all. Thomas is a much better man for Vashti; he always knew this, but takes a little longer for Thomas to charm Vashti twenty-five years later when his weight gain worries him that he will not be attractive to his fantasy woman.

During the twenty-five years since they meet in person for Thomas’s movie, Vashti marries an infertile man, and almost doesn’t get to have a child of her own. Vashti’s spouse cannot accept his infertility, and refuses to accept a sperm donor, but Vashti insists on having a child.

And ultimately this child more like Vashti than anyone else in the world causes the dissolution of a marriage that never should have happened, but Vashti’s mother was only too glad to get Vashti married off, and since Wesley was interested, Vashti’s mother agrees to the teenage Vashti marrying a man much too old for her. Now that Vashti is free, and Thomas Robert Higginson’s wife has died, Thomas and Vashti become friends on Facebook, and as soon as Vashti changes her relationship status, he contacts Vashti, as he has during those years since the filming of his movie in 1988, as friends not as lovers.

Once Vashti finally divorces in 2013, this sexually repressed woman tries online dating and is extremely disappointed, so when Thomas contacts her to begin dating, Vashti is occupied with a man from an online service, and Thomas has to wait a little longer. But Vashti soon realizes what Thomas wants, and Vashti is fascinated, although this man has gained a lot of weight, at least thirty pounds. But after 25 years, this man and woman meet, and Thomas is delighted, but Vashti fears that she cannot compete with the fantasy version of herself, and they agree to meet in Chicago, once Thomas is convinced that she will become not involved with the man from online dating, and when they meet, there’s instant attraction, and Thomas makes good on everything he has promised Vashti. Vashti has the best intimacy, best kisses, best sex of her life.

IMG_3739
About the author:
Thylias Moss is a multiracial maker, an award-wining poet, recipient of a MacArthur “Genius” grant, and was twice nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award in poetry.

And here:

http://mythicalbooks.blogspot.com/2017/05/loving-her-in-his-dreams-new-kiss.html?spref=tw&m=1

 

What Amazon Customer says about Nw Kiss Horizon on Amazon:

This review is from: New Kiss Horizon (Kindle Edition)” On Amazon.com:

This book sizzles. A must read for anyone who has ever been in love. The anticipation, longing, writing to the beloved then meeting face to face keeps the reader enthralled and wanting more. But Moss doesn’t leave you hanging, oh no, she carries the story to fulfillment and happiness that only two people who love can find in each other. And the language of poetry is beautiful, reminiscent of “Song of Solomon.” (by Toni Morrison)

SongOfSolomon-1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Facebook response to this review:

“This is incredible to me; a comparison of “New Kiss Horizon” a book I love for so many reasons with “Song of Solomon” by Toni Morrison, a book I also love.

To get to Oberlin College from Cleveland, I had to drive through Lorain, Ohio where Toni Morrison was born and I had the pleasure of meeting her at Oberlin, even adapted “Song of Solomon” into a play I titled “The Third Beer” (I have not a single copy of that play),

but to be told that my little book is reminiscent of “Song of Solomon”, a book I admire so much!

and that was was so crucial to a well, workshop I was asked to convene at the University of New Hampshire (in the early 1980s) when black females had no dates, rejected by the black males who were athletes and had their pick of multiple white women, so I shared the passage where Hagar dies for want of silky, wavy hair color of a penny, the right clothes and creamy skin; the black males all laughed and the black females cried, including a biracial young woman with a barely brown complexion, but she had short, kinky nappy hair and was rejected.

Not me however.

(I had the hair Milkman would have liked):

 

TUESDAY AFTER MATH-04

There was nothing I could do as the workshop made clear that these intelligent females, most of whom were majoring in hotel management as UNH was the hub for that major in New England,

and for my book to be compared with a book that has meant so much to me is the icing on every cake.

There are no words for how deeply I am gratified.”

 

And maybe Thomas Robert Higginson likes this also.

 

 

I hope so, considering how much Vashti has been falling in love with  him,

and I like the real man on whom Thomas Robert Higginson is based; well, (I believe ) I love him.

 

Well, Love Song #1 says it all and then some.

Love Song #1 MeShell NDegéocello”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVU0f6h2Puo

How about twice to double the pleasure?

Love Song #1 MeShell NDegéocello”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVU0f6h2Puo

 

 

Online Dating and New Kiss Horizon

 

For this post, I use my former match dot com photo, and my former ok cupid photos.  

They caused quite a stir.  More than I was hoping for actually.  More than I really wanted?  No;

I wanted more; I wanted to see if it was true that I can attract attention.  I really did.  I really do.  All the time.  

“Only dating explained image from this URL: )

Online dating explained

 

My photos from online dating, (by the way, I am 63 years old, have never dieted in my life, have never had any reconstructive surgery, no cosmetic work of any kind.  I do not even wear make-up, no hair weave, extensions or wigs, WSIWYG –all the way.  I have never lied about my appearance): 

 

I self-identity as mixed race, because that is what I am, and I am not ashamed of this at all.  To be honest, I would not mind if more races mixed; for that is true interaction as long as all participating parties agree to interact; all interacting parties leave something behind, and all interacting parties take something different away, do not interact if you are not willing to change, if you must cling to what you were previously, before interacting for interacting will change you if you let it.    

 

a definition of “interaction” states: “:  mutual or reciprocal action or influence” –all interacting parties  change!  

(so stated right here: https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/interaction

 

–Sure changed me, and I am still changing.  Among the many things Thomas Robert told me, all of them wonderful, by the way, he said: “If ever I change my mind, I will tell you” –an he has said nothing to that effect.  So I believe when he say din August 2016, that he loves me–

 

(I do not feel right about online dating; maybe I will in time, but I cannot rush… I have to take my time.  I do not want to make any mistakes; I do not want to feel any pressure, especially just to have  a man not so far away as  Thomas Robert Higginson is.   I also want to be fair to all involved, especially to my own heart. I feel guilty just a bit. I do not want to feel this way, but I am also involved in the promotion of New Kiss Horizon, my most recent book to date, and I want to do justice ti that unbelievable love, and that will take time.  I have a feeling that  will still be pretty; Thomas Robert was the first man to call me that and mean it.  Not just those catcalls I often heard.  He spoke from his heart, and I am not at liberty to say right here all that Thomas Robert said to me –over many, many years –as the real man behind that name, to the real woman behind the character’s name. )

What I have come to believe via “Limited Fork Theory (and life experience, to be sure), is that much racial discrimination can and will cease when there is more acceptance of mixture.  I do not go back five or six generations, no further than my own father, and his father, both pictured here:

 

 

 

Two of the few photos with my father, I was a teenage bride; I never met my paternal  grandfather while he was alive:

 

 

Here is some info about these men and my experience with train whistles: (courtesy questions Bracken Hamlet asked me on Facebook):  

“My father, those long low moans, my father coming back to me… sounds dissolving in the air, night calls, his bounce becoming a sky. He has a long way to travel, from death and its tucking of things inside itself, called burial, but only him curling his tongue into semblance of an ichneumon fly, and that sound is the curl, chalk writing on the night sky. My father once cooked for the railroad, making slaw, his own recipe under handle of the Big Dipper, making a prayer come true, that is what I hear, my father calling me, and I answer, another train, car of his train switching onto another track, and we speak to each other in those whistles, and train treadles of heart traffic…

Warm, loved, a track itself so the trains could enter the station of my heart and join all other memories of him, whippoorwills answering me, duets and trios with scent of dogwood racing along the tracks, the frogs too, a thick froggy carpet that squishy road between homes of my southern grandmothers, one black and the other something else, oh, those platforms where I would wait for the train. My father often whistled and could sound like a train, like President Kennedy too with a yodel stuck in his throat, that’s what he said, the sound of him cutting cabbage for his slaw with the rim of a tin can as shiny as the rails themselves; that my father was rail-thin was often said, he was traveling the best way he could, those special trains, Nickel Plate and Ollie’s; one even said Saskatchewan

You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t hit, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station“:

 

— Some of this deserves, warrants repeating, and some of this will pear in slightly different form in a book I am at long last writing about my father, including a scene I will have to completely  imagine since my father’s death in 1980; he got to see not one  of my books while he was alive; he never got to see his only biological grandson; he never got to see me truly happy with a man, the way I was with Thomas Robert Higginson, and I wish my father could have seen that photo of me standing beside Thomas Robert on a bridge, happiest weekend off my life so far;  (even my son who never met my father, commented that he had never seen me happy with a man before, and I know with all my heart that  true.  

 

–Must sidetrack for just a bit right here, because I was married  for forty years, and did not know the pleasure I found with Thomas Robert —  says a lot about Thomas Robert, I know, and it is not my intention to embarrass him; but when a man has achieved something as special as this, you just do not keep it to yourself, 

 

(If you want to know more, and I hope you do, then by all means read, New Kiss Horizon!

new-kiss-horizon

 

 

 

end of sidetracking, but not the end, probably never will be, of feelings for Thomas Robert Higginson)

 

 

(find out more about New Kiss Horizon here :

 

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/)

 

 

Dear Thomas, I sure hope that you do not mind my posting in this blog a photo that said to me was pure “delight’ –that’s what I felt, also; I am standing right beside you where I belong, and you are standing right beside me where you belong, always:

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN on a bridge in Chicago 2014

Vashti Astapad Warren with Thomas Robert Higginson: love in full bloom

and I am writing a scene in which my father is holding his usual study, his brothers-in-law sitting at the dining room table , table my mother still has, by the way, his lectures on the composition and location of the human soul, a bottle  of Old Mr. Boston nearby, pale in the glasses, like my skin when it sparkles (as it did when I was with Thomas, especially whenever he kissed me and I kissed him); Thomas Robert is a drinker too; they would have enjoyed each other very much, and my father would have been joyous indeed to see that I had loved someone like Thomas Robert Higginson.

 

mr-boston-brandy-logo

 

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

 

 

Back to the business of reverie, and repetition, for all of this is true, nothing truer has ever existed:

 

You know, I will always miss my father. Always. I was never spanked because of him; he did not believe in hitting; if something can be loved, you don’t h it, you love it. That is how he raised me , so unlike my mother; how different they were. I don’t think she ever hard the trains. Maybe just a screech of metal on metal, trains encountering obstruction on the tracks, circles in her mind, constricting it. Oh I also recall the magic of being in Terminal Tower when the locomotives chugged into Higbees underground, and the magicians’ smoke filled the space, overlaid more drawings on the luscious artwork, murals (that never should have been destroyed, work sewer rats could do, but I would think that even they would gag on such colorful profundity and drop like tubes of oil paint, potential usefulness squeezed out, fat gray gloves decorating the scene); smoke gushing out of the front silver plate, folded with the fold pointing out like a collar cradled in silvery recollections; this is what irons wanted to be, but not even that Rowenta came close, the steam irons would slobber on the clothes when they weren’t working properly; they wanted to be flattened for usefulness on the railroads, my paternal grandfather built them, hammer and pickaxe, Native American, Caucasian and immigrant from India, dry-land stevedore, oh, oh, oh, these memories….those murals in Terminal Tower railroad station

 

copyright © 2017 by Thylias Moss. Published by arrangement with the author.  All rights reserved.

 

Love During Nine Climb

Walked up and down the three staircases in my building nine times today.

And these selfies are the outcome.
Hiding nothing, not even my bad teeth.
I am so very tired.

Tired and impatient.

I want my life to begin; I want the closing on my house so that I have only one address. I want to be loved just a tenth of the amount that I love. Surely I don’t want impossible things.

I live in Ann Arbor, not Ypsilanti, and I can’t even get facebook to understand that.

my ex called me this morning to say I obviously “love” the wrong man, if he can hurt me and not care that he is hurting me, saying noting, and that may be true. I do not care anymore;

and my ex is the last one to tell me how to get a man, since he is a man who couldn’t keep me.

 

VASHTI IN John's lap

I was 17, sitting in the lap of my ex.  He was nearly 24. I made the pink skirt.

 

It has been a trying day already

So many people tell me not to love him (see below), but it is too late for that, because I do, and it is my heart to break, not yours. Because as I have said, once I give my heart, I give it, and if he chooses to abuse my heart, that is his choice, but tells me things about him.

I gave it, foolishly perhaps, as if I planned this, I didn’t.

If he wants to be just another in the string of men who have hurt me, starting when I was sixteen; I will be 63 in two weeks; if that’s what he wants to be, I guess he gets what he wants; I sure don’t since I –ouch!– still want him.

 

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN on a bridge in Chicago 2014

love in full bloom in Chicago

I don’t think I look unlovable. I have been completely honest. This is simply how I look, how I woke up, bad teeth and all, yet I smile anyway. At the end of the world, I will be smiling.

fullsizeoutput_328a

in his hat, of course.

 

I had the best conversation ever with my mother today,

 

wheelchair-mama

 

and I will be posting a transcription on my Facebook page shortly, after I say this: You know I love you, and if you don’t want me to love you, that’s my problem isn’t it? I fell in love with you. You loved me also, I know you did. Everything you said you did, everything you said, every kiss, every caress, everything you wrote, including this:

“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’s 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.”

and in answer to a letter I wrote you, you said:

“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”

I am naive enough, trusting enough to believe you –have you really never been loved like this? The love is still yours for as long as I feel it. Please treat it with respect.

You asked me to respect something, and I do. But, Sir, you also have to respect me.

 

On 3 Auguset 2016, you told me that you love me.  Has the cat got your tongue now?  Specifically, you said this:

 

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

Sending you strength

To which I said this:

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

 


For more of this fascinating love story, read “New Kiss Horizon” by Thylias Moss. Wannt to know what I say to him? Read the book.  I say it all.

new-kiss-horizon

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/

Relocation

The time has come.  Goodbye Ypsilanti, hello again Ann Arbor.

Tomorrow is the official day!  Dream Baby is coming back to town! 

Moved to Ann Arbor, Michigan from Massachusetts, became very ill, rupture of a cranial aneurysm , 2011, survived, against all expectations, and my life was forver changed for the better, improved I mean,  divorced after 40 years of marrage, a change I really needed, having married as a teenager who knew nothing, not really; I thought I knew a few thngs, but I really didn’t.  

Mostly, although I was married for such a long time, wedding in 1973, turns out that I knew nothing about love,  not really.   But a friend of mine (Thomas Robert Higgginson)  did, and we got together for the best weekend of my life, became the basis of a romance novel, I was finally able to write, my favorite book of all my thirteen books: 

new-kiss-horizon

New Kiss Horizon

details on acquisition of this book:

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/

Presently working on a book about my father; a book I have needed to write for many years. He and my son (I was finally able to have) are the people most like me in the world.  My father was the most soft-hearted man –and I am soft-hearted too. My     son may be soft-hearted also, but life itself and the world not fully hospitable to such nature has tried to crush this, has tried to hammer it out of us, but my heart, agaist all reason, defiant in its softness had not curled up and died, the ventricles useless, chambers unvisited and exploited.

This too is legacy.  

A softer legacy to be sure.  I wish he had lived to know any of this for himself. 

My father - main portrait

This Heart will survive. 

Of course I like memories, but I prefer things of substance, the physics of what  can held in my hands, hot or cold, even if it burns, I want the marks of  living well, of knowing these feelings; there is a cost of knowledge, and for those who maintain the story of origins involving Adam and Eve,  the cost of knowledge was the loss of paradise, but I suggest  that the knowledge gained perhaps was worth that loss; for they gained a physicality that is very much enjoyed around the world, among all species the propagate –he way it’s  done: interaction and connection of bodies:

the actual paradise of pleasure.

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: