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BPC reading

I now have my round-trip tickets for  my flight to LaGuardia for my performance at the Bowery Poetry Club, 9 July 2017, 3:00 pm – 5:00 pm, a week after my reading in Mexico City

 

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. 

 

https://soundcloud.com/forker-gryle/olivia-pig-falling-zone-take-three-1

MY OLIVIA PIG

My very own Olivia Pig, sitting by my printer and an extermal hard drive.

I am eager for this but l am also terrified, and there are many reasons for my fear; I cannot express them.  Whatever happens happens.

 

I have purchased my ticket.  So it is definite now.

I will do my best, and Olivia Pig will help me.

Fb event page for BPC reading: LFMK (Looking for My Killer)

At my BPC (Bowery Poetry Club) reading / performance on 9 July  at 3:30 pm, my LFMK event (Looking for My Killer in the math of emotion) in which I will share;

–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; touches base with the base

You can hear one of the prose poems I plan to share, “Olivia Pig Falling Zone” from my LFMK collection of prose poems that could be published in 2018 at the earliest, by Jamii, right here (of course the version to be performed aloud at the BPC will differ from this version, a sneak peek as it were):

location of “Olivia Pig Falling Zone

(https://soundcloud.com/forker-gryle/olivia-pig-falling-zone-take-three-1)

From the author of “New Kiss Horizon” [a dense parcel of Genius] and twelve other books)

$10.00 in advance / $15.00 at the door.

Tickets at: <http://www.brownpapertickets.com/ event/3014365

<https://www.facebook.com/events/1020049661463350/

 

An episode of Olivia Pig from Youtube:

and:

 

My LFMK  (Looking for my Killer) video Music composed and performed by Ansted Moss, all vocals written and performed by Thylias Moss who also made the film, captured all footage and is responsible for the text choreography):

 

 

 

Thylias Moss -BPC

 

Well, here I am, apparently ready for anything!

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.

Olivia Pig Falling Zone

Please listen to this recording go “Olivia Pig Falling Zone” to be part of my LFMK collection of Prose-poems”

 

LFMK Olivia Pig Falling Zone 

 

This is where you can hear all about Olivia, the girl I knew who I was 8 years old, living on Linn Drive in Cleveland, Ohio.  

 

Olivia was just thirteen and about to be raped.  Her apartment building was also on fire, burning, burning, burning, and I was the reluctant witness.  

 

There was nothing I could do; no 911 then.  1962.

No cell phone either.  But Olivia jumped from that porch and cracked her head on the concrete.  I had never seen anyone die before.  This was how saints were made.  Dying  

to preserve chastity.  

I was there, just my family neighborhood.  I could never forget this.  Not sure what I learned.  All vocals by me, the writing also. Music composed and performed by Ansted, perhaps still of Strexx; he was at the time of the recording.  But things change, even things supposedly solid and stable.  The stability is, of course, change itself.

This one is for Olivia herself.  

 

“Olivia” by the Whispers:

 

Wonderful World

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

But  Thomas Robert does not love me.  

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

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

I felt this even just from kissing him.

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

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

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

And I like art anyway.

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

Then he laughed.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

He is strong the way that I prefer a man, 

 

but he can also be quite gentle and attentive.  

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

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

I have never seen a more good-looking man

 

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

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

Thomas Robert said this:

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

—Thomas

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

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

Here is the poem:

You are the corner of my eye

            Thomas Robert Higginson

                (for THYlias Moss)

You are my rent-a-poem

You are love jungle — Yoyo, hula hoop!

You are my closing costs

My plasma vibrator my single malt

You? You are my Tampa manatee 

You are my Occupy

You are an eucalyptus octopus

And a haircut on an autumn day

Also submarine. Surreality check. 

You you…! You YOU you!

That’s who. The Temple of Shenanigans,

AKA Shenanigan Temple.

The complete works. The leftovers.

You are what I’ve been waiting for

And now I’ll never wait anymore.

Dream baby, you are, and indefatigable,

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

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

And you are everything I could hope for.

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

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

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

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

You are one more and able to laugh it off.

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

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

An elusive perfume. You are all history. You are

Breakfast and you are on your way and all

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

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

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

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

Something to me both bedrock and ineluctable,

A passion of opposition and an unchecked probity

Of Probability and yet a chemical formula not to be

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

A ramshackle melody. A forgotten memory that

Never happened and when all is said and done,

Actually nothing was said and nothing was done.

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

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

The surprise, you are the inching to the summit,

The chocolate razor, the tadpole’s pole and the

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

The answer is more like a light fog saxophone, a

Kingdom Come revelation, a hunch that blossoms

To birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You not growing old, you everlasting, you infinity you

————

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

 

             for Thomas Robert

         by Thylias

 

My alpha and omega poem

 

braided into my hair

 

that falls into the poem like breezes,

 

that falls into you

 

acrobatic atmospheres

 

homecoming, prom

 

this poem

 

these bosons of alphabet

 

form my prom, my graduation,

 

valedictory address, where I live now, really

 

live, as if for the first time

 

(inside you)

 

my sense of direction, elevation

 

slow home-cooked meal

 

–poetry food–

 

indulgence, cure for every disease

 

including religion: church of me,

 

apron, radon shield,

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

Solid, solid,

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

And these are my favorite letters from him:

Dear T,

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

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

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

It means so much

It means everything

T R

Thomas Robert

Dear Thylias.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Thomas Robert

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

The last text I will ever receive from him:

Dear Thylias,

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

Please do not write me any more. 

I wish you all the best in your life. 

Thomas Robert

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

But I was the one who transcribed his Alaska podcasts.

I was the one who vetted his book.

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

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

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

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

To which I replied:

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

 

me in his hat

Thylias in BFF's hat

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

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

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

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

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

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

You write like a gun arrow lightning bolt.”

I had on this dress:

THYLIAS IN HIGGINSON DRESS

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

 

And another image he loved of me:

 

Yhylias Rebecca Brasier Moss -forst dangerous selfie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our Usness!

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

And my response:

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

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

 

He wrote this he really did:

Best of the messages of love from THR:

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

Sending you strength and Love

THR“

3 August 20

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

Thomas Robert,,

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

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

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

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

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

Thylias

 

 

Truth always comes out.

Such as the truth of how I feel about him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just a few of today’s selfies now:

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

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

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

 Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords: 

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

 Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon: 

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

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

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

 Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page: 

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

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

Vashti’s blog URL:

 https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

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

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

Manhattan Rain poncho

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

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

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

The text of the poem:

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

                                       –Thomas Robert Higginson

      

“If you See something, Say Something

Banana”

                    

white shadow

crescent moon

Wax (ing)

Wax banana

Wax grapes, apples

in bowls

On my mother’s dining room table

lunch

kitchen sink

I see this also

my father washing dishes

scalding water

his skin

down the drain

plates clean, heavenly,

full of banana water spots

we eat the shadows.

two of which

are my father’s

diseased lungs

yet I float on clouds

into such a clean, pure kingdom

that nothing else matters

just a banana which I eat the moment I arrive.

Buddha

in suds.

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

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

A Trip to the Tienda:

A Trip to the Tienda

by Thomas Higginson

— for Vashti

 

You are my rent-a-poem

 

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

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

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

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

yet do.

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

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

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

The complete works. The leftovers.

 

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

leaving only figs to take over

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

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

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

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

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

You are coming like a river, like a torrent,

 

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

 

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

My sunshine, that’s what you are.

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

to birth a new species. An appointment for lunch.

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

This material is protected by copyright.

_________

my response poem to his poem:

A First Response to “A Trip to the Tienda”

 

for Thomas  Robert Higginson

 

 

My alpha and omega poem braided into my hair

 

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

acrobatic atmospheres homecoming, prom this poem

these bosons of alphabet

 

form my prom, my graduation,

 

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

(inside you)

 

my sense of direction, elevation slow home-cooked meal

—poetry food —

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

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

 

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

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

for me, my doppelgänger —

 

my poetry food,

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

 

each of your arms is a stanza,

each hair on your body is punctuation

 

:placing us together:

 

compass needles pointing to lovers, science of poetry,

Thomas Higginson becoming true north somehow resisting magnetic north

to be

my gateway to bliss

 

kept for too long undercover.

 

This monument this testament

is forever, and acted out religiously, ideally

and perfectly

 

in a single windy city weekend

______

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

This material is protected by copyright.

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

Cover of NKHIMG_3739

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

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

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

You write like a gun arrow lightning bolt.”

Mexico City Invite

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

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

a photo of my son and my son and I 

I am truly blessed! 

nonfiction book about my father completed!

Just wanted to announce that I have completed a non-fiction memoir, “Resurrection”  of sorts, a 210-page  book about my most unusual father, who died in 1980.

 

I also informed some publishers who recently expressed interest in my work of the existence of it.  Once accepted, this will be book #15.  Imagine that!