Category Archives: poetry

Mexico Poetry Encounter

On Wednesday I go to Mexico, for the poetry encounter!

 

This is the website;

 

http://data.cultura.cdmx.gob.mx/diverso2017/

 

I will be sharing a number of video poems, among them:

 

 

1. “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”

 

 

 

 

2. In Your Face

 

 

3. LFMK (Looking for my Killer), a video poam that corresponds with a collection of prose poams  of the same title :

 

 

 

expected to be published in some form, likely in 2018, by Jamii

4. The Glory Prelude

 

5. Bubbling 

 

 

How I would like for these events to unfold, a basic plan, not a script:

 

 

I would like to project “LFMK (Looking For My Killer) in the Math of Emotion” 
In thinking now, although once there , I may realize that a different sequence is better; how flexible may this be?
I shall conclude with “LFMK (Looking for my Killer) —on Sunday.  
I would like to open with “Hypnosis at the Bird Factory”, on Saturday.  As I like for work  to respond to the moment, how much flexibility and deviation is allowed with this plan? Once I am there, interactions themselves may demand something different from this plan, and how responsive can I be with the environment, etc.  Are not plans made to change?   It is fine with me whatever happens, equipment failure and the like.   Flexibility is a huge part of my work, responsiveness to whatever presents itself, and combining  these events into some form of new-near—coherence, as my website: 
“The Midhudson Taffy Company”  <http://www.midhudsontaffy.com/>
is supposed to exemplify, a pinnacle of interaction and collaboration, in my opinion,  of “limited forking” 
.
An awareness of life happening and a need to participate and engage in events wherever and whatever  they are around  the globe. 
A goal is connection.   
One prop I will need is a fork of any sort, plastic is fine, and this object will be a necessary part of discussing and sharing my poetic sensibilities,  and I would like to talk about the purpose of the website a little bit, in  my poetic performance and it would be helpful to be able to refer to the website. An object is necessary, so perhaps a plastic fork for all participants? (tenedor de plástico) in addition to the fork(s) that those with hands or feet of any sort already have access to.
PINK-HAIR FORKER GRYLE
I will be able to explain.  
Will there be sign language translation, someone to  help include those with such sensory deficits?  Part of the reason that I need to re-define purposes of making, a need to embrace and make meaningful to those whose senses tend to prohibit certain engagements, and often  a better way to address this is via ideas about making itself.  If I must self-define, I prefer to be called a “maker” so that what I make is less-expected… Unfettered creativity that is responsive to the many forms and varieties of existence.  This is really what I do and is at the core of of reasons that I make stuff.  The seat of my beliefs.  Sometimes I make stuff that others find  easier to call poems.  
A poam for me can just be releasing a handful of water, sand, watching how something moves or doesn’t  as interaction with environment demands, responsiveness to situations, awareness, being part of events and not merely  an observer. 
No one and nothing makes alone.
“Bubbling” on Sunday, due to its shorter length, “2:53 minutes”.
I would love for “The Glory Prelude” to be part of my presentation, but at 7:04 minutes, it would need to be part of Saturday as there is more time.  
I fear that my response could be lacking, but I am not one for whom what is planned cannot or should not deviate.  I am a maker, indeed a person, of deviation as you will see very soon now.  I cannot wait to meet all of you.
——–

 

The main poem I will be sharing is my extension of  poem written by another poet,  friend of mine for  a number of years, about 40, Bob Holman,

 

“If You See Something, Say Something,”

If You see something, say someything

Postcard of Bob’s famous poem , to which I added an amazing addition

 

 

a little poem that packs a wallop.

 

My extension of  this poem as published in “The Fiddlehead” (under the pseudonym Thomas Robert Higginson):

 

–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 will post plenty of photos and updates as soon as I arrive in Mexico City!

Forecast is for rain the entire time the I am there, and impact from  Hurricane Dora:

 

https://weather.com/storms/hurricane/video/hurricane-dora-forms

https://weather.com/storms/hurricane/video/hurricane-dora-forms

 

Going to be wet and maybe wild while I am gone!

 

and about a week after I return will be performing at the Bowery Poetry Center in Manhattan!

 

Title of BPC Event:

LFMK (Looking for my Killer)

Description:

Looking for My Killer (in the math of emotion)

I will be sharing

—decadent, malicious little vignettes as delectable as string cheese, refreshingly irreverent as you digest it, perhaps also blissfully irrelevant

—pure indulgent naughtiness

—splendid, if only for the wickedness

—ghastly!  bereft of redeeming values; mocks our most esteemed institutions, even life itself

—written by the light of hellfire; dazzling touches base with the base

LFMK  is a collection of  prose poams that may see publication in 2018 at the earliest from Jamii; what a fine bit of service to the community.

Here is a photo of me:

 

 PINK-HAIR FORKER GRYLE

 

Forker Gyrl

(the one and only)

 

 

most delicious beads     I have ever sucked.

 

Somewhat reminiscent of an episode of “Designing Women”:

 

THE WOMEN OF ATLANTA -May 1, 1989
Written by: Linda Bloodworth-Thomason 
Directed by: Harry Thomason

The ladies agree to be involved in a pictorial essay on the women of Atlanta, but are soon suspicious when the photographer requests poses that are purely sexual, including putting a strand of pearls in Julia’s mouth and asking her to “ever-so-slightly suck on them” — a big mistake.

 

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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.

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.

new poem published: “Almost 63”

Very pleased to announce this morning that my poem “Almost 63”  

has been published in “The Account”

 

and may be experienced here:

 

“Almost 63” 

Poem by Thylias Moss

in “The Account”

at this URL:

http://theaccountmagazine.com/article/moss-almost-63-17

 

Please enjoy.

 

Yes; it is yet another Higginson poem (how can it not be? I will be writing such “Thomas Robert Higginson” poems for the rest of my life 

 

–if I am lucky. 

Mexico City invitation!

Opportunity for my Spanish-speaking self!  Limits! –can do; indeed, I have been addressign “limits” for quite some time, ergo, “Limited Fork” –migration! Duh! cultue, amalgamation of so much; talk about me and you have to  also talk about  migration, and transit systems –talking about those in the book about my father and in my daily life, think Jodie Foster in “Contact”:

 

and my favorite part, an intergalactic reunion with her father! What I wouldn’t give to have that! 

 

 

 

Thylias Moss.jpgI am already looking forward to this!  –Maybe I will get to be Alita Oso again; as I became in grad school in New Hampshire when I realized that my Master’s degree in “American Literature” curriculum contained only lit for the United States, and my response was not to complain, but to write a letter apologizing for my failure not to include literature of  the rest of the Americas, since “US” was not specified in the degree requirements.  

 

And the response was that I could include literature of the rest of the Americas; but these classes had to be at the graduate level, and such classes were offered only in Spanish, so my first year of grad studies, I enrolled in undergrad Spanish course, and was able to enroll in four Latin American Lit courses my  second year, one of my favorite poems was “El descrubrimeiento de vidrio” — I still have that poem, writen by “Alita Oso”

 

who also wrote an essay I have been looking for; hope I find it before I go to Mexico City, an essay about “Alice in Wonderland Through the Looking Glass in which the Looking Glass is a Gravitational Lens” –writen in Spanish; I received an A+ on it.  Guess I can write something similar again; Alita Oso wrote poems in Spaish, and I translated them into English.  I “found” her lost poems; had a goood time finding them.

 

I could not have enjoyed myself more!  The Spanish professor lived in Maine, and I would often visit her there; I recall walking on campus and those catcalls, “esos blujeannes!”esos blujeannes!”  (Those bluejeans!  Those blue jeans!)

 

REDWOOD THYLIASI didn’t have time to learn enough Portugese also, so no Brazilian lit for me; Too bad.  Welcome back, Alita Oso! (Little Winged Bear)

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: