Tag Archives: HAT

New Collection of Poetry

olmI am nearly finished with my new collection of poetry, a book entirely containing poems entirely wriiten by me, with input from my Thing and my Son,  This book has abosolutely nothirng to do with Persea, and I know better than to cross steps with that publisher, who actually sued me previously:  because I did something most writers do, I revised some poems and was honest. 

 

 

IMG_2209

 

This is not the first time I have been involved with this poet, as these photos reveal: 

 

 Here is a quote that Writer L Bush made about this performance: “

Writer L Writer Bush’s comments about the reading with Bob Holman in the Hannan:

“Hi Forker Gryle; I did not film it; I shot pics. Had I known you would go OFF like that, I would have filmed it. I was totally unprepared for the Tina/Ike (happy days) vibe you two had going on. It was FUCKING AWESOME! -w.”

 

and here I am wearing his hat:

 

 

and below here I am on a date with him: I was 60 years old in the photo, and now I am 64, and look like this: No weaves, no extensions, never a relaxer in my life, all the hair is  rooted in my head naturally, yes, I am multiracial, but so what? A black moher asshamed of her appearnce and all the non-black stuff, paternal inheritance !I a not going to deny my father and his father:

 

 

 

Her I am on a date with him; I sas 60 years old, and he was 66.  He even carried me on his back afetr dinner at Vermillion restaurant in Chicago..

THYLIAS MOSS - DREAM BABY DATE DRESSAnd here writng a text to him: 

Now, befefore anothe rlawsuit,  wamnto to point out that I am including no poem at all, still under “control” by Persea.  There is no way I would do that, as Persea rejected a blurb this poet had written for my current –and last! book with Persea, Review of Wannbe (1).jpg

 

This is a fine review of “Wannnabe” but has more to do with my writing than with the publisher, and a book supposedly “comprehensive lacks any poems from what might  be my most major collection of all , “Small Congregations” endorsed by Harold Bloom himself on Charlie Rose, published by Ecco Press, I might add, the one volume of my poetry to which I hold al the rights, so its inclusion would hav e required MY PERMISSION! Small Congregations

 Here is the Persea book involved in the  dispute for  which I was served a suboena in my University of Michigan office: 

 

04. Rainbow Remnents in Rock Bottom Ghetto Sky

Winner of the National Poetry series Open Competition

 

 

I am mentioned in Harold Bloom’s Interview on Charlie Rose, concerning “Small Congregations”:

here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9ieF7LVbyI

The highest possible endorsement in American Letters!

I am mentioned at 12:01

 

He is by far, the finest collaborator i have eve r known, amd if any of you think I would dare use any poem over whch Persea has any say, you re dead wrong! I d onot seek trouble where none shoULD BE.

 

When I went there, I didnt even take a copy of “Wannabe ! why insult him even more! 

Even if I didn’t care about him as much as I do I woudl never treat anyone like that.  

een published n line her:

the poem in question I noticed in a tweet, “Ana’s Survivors” that has only been published online  here in the American journal of Poetry  here:

 

http://theamericanjournalofpoetry.com/v5-moss.html

http://theamericanjournalofpoetry.com/v5-moss.html

 

not in anything  associated with Persea.When i know where and when my new collection, whose title I will not disclose, I will announce that, but it WILL NOT BE PERSEA.  

 I can’t say enouh good things about this man! 

 

Just wait for the collection of petry, and that should clarify many things.  He is my literary Executor, my Collaborator, and my Mr. Muse, Literary Advisor, and can he ever Kiss!  — and yeres, I Love him with all my heart!

 

 

 

 

 

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Fedora

Today, I completed a poem about my favorite hat, 

 

A MOST SPECIAL HATFairly ordinary, I guess as far as hats are concerned.  But I tend to wear this hat most days.

 

A gift from a friend of mine, Thomas Robert Higginson; it’s my hat now.

 

Some photos of me in this hat, and more photos of the hat itself:

This is also collaboration with his hat; little bit of him remains in it.  

Golden Coach

by Dobbs

 

 

I have already promised to wear my hat for someone.  Pole-dancing I believe.  

Will say more when there is more to say. 

 

Great Wednesday in these Ann Arbor parts.

 

All about my hat, a gift from Thomas Robert Higginson, Ansted Moss composed and performed the music that I arranged, and I also perform the vocals, derived from poems written by co-learners (members) of a graduate writing encounter, called “class” by others.

 

I am most eager to honor a most special hat, and lucky that a system of co-learners happened to write  poems about a “Fedora“, poems that I compiled into a soundtrack for this little unassuming slideshow.

 

Please enjoy.

Thank you.

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave

Love During Nine Climb

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

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

Tired and impatient.

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

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

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

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

 

VASHTI IN John's lap

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

 

It has been a trying day already

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

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

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

 

THYLIAS MOSS AND BOB HOLMAN on a bridge in Chicago 2014

love in full bloom in Chicago

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

fullsizeoutput_328a

in his hat, of course.

 

I had the best conversation ever with my mother today,

 

wheelchair-mama

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course that means ongoing, and how that works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etc etc —it’s all there, we just don’t know what yet, and that’s the beauty you have given us in this letter. The truth of it.

It means so much
It means everything”

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

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

 

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

 

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

Sending you strength

To which I said this:

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

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

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

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

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

Thylias

 


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

new-kiss-horizon

NEW KISS HORIZON LINKS:

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” on Smashwords:

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

Link to “New Kiss Horizon” paperback on Amazon:

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

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

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

Link to Thylias Moss Amazon writer page:

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

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

Vashti’s blog URL:

https://vashtisblog.wordpress.com/

NEW KISS HORIZON!

 

best-the-one-300dpi-3125x4167HAPPY THOMAS HIGGINSON DAY!

 

I am quite pleased to announce availability of  my new Romance novel!

Please feel free to review this book, AND TO SHARE THIS INFO WIDELY!  

Available now (just in time for the holidays):

 

 

NKH ACQUISITION DETAILS:

NKH acquisition info:

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

other NKH details:

Title: New Kiss Horizon (NKH)

Author: Thylias Moss

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

 price: 7.99  enjoy, An adult erotic book.  

Coming soon to iBooks, Amazon, just about any e-book format you can think of.   

Only a few of you knew that I was working on this, and here is is.  On a Sunday evening.  Thomas knew.  He has always known.  Title of the book comes from kissing THAT MAN! 

ISBN: 9781370811991

COVER OF  BOOK #13:

 

best-the-one-300dpi-3125x4167

About the romance between:

Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higgginson, literary lovers

short description of the romance novel:

“After 25 years, this man and woman meet again, and Thomas is delighted, but Vashti fears that she cannot compete with the fantasy version of herself, and they agree to meet in Chicago, once Thomas is convinced that she will not become involved with the man from online dating, and when they meet, there’s instant attraction, and Thomas makes good on everything he has promised Vashti.  Vashti has the best intimacy, best kisses, best sex of her life.”

 

Long description:

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

And ultimately this child more like Vashti than anyone else in the world causes the dissolution of a marriage that never should have happened, but Vashti’s mother was only too glad to get Vashti married off, and since Wesley was interested, Vashti’s mother agrees to the teenage Vashti marrying a man much too old for her.  Now that Vashti is free, and Thomas Higginson’s wife has died,  Thomas and Vashti become friends on Facebook, and as soon as Vashti changes her relationship status, he contacts Vashti, as he has during those years since the filming of his movie in 1988, as friends not as lovers. Once Vashti finally divorces in 2013, this sexually repressed woman tries online dating and is extremely disappointed, so when Thomas contacts her to begin dating, Vashti is occupied with a man from an online service, and Thomas has to wait a little longer.  But Vashti soon realizes what Thomas wants, and Vashti is fascinated, although this man has gained a lot of weight, at least  thirty pounds. But after 25 years, this man and woman meet, and Thomas is delighted, but Vashti fears that she cannot compete with the fantasy version of herself, and they agree to meet in Chicago, once Thomas is convinced that she will not become involved with the man from online dating, and when they meet, there’s instant attraction, and Thomas makes good on everything he has promised Vashti.  Vashti has the best intimacy, best kisses, best sex of her life.

 

Thank Goodness for Facebook!

Thomas Higginson and Vashti Astapad Warren may not have found each other without Facebook! 

“Thomas Robert Higginson” is:

the same poet friend and collaborator  who appears in Wannabe” (all those Higginson poems) 

 

Wannabe Hoochie Mama Galery of Realties' Red Dress Code

“Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ RedDress Code” –last book from Persea, jacket

the same poet friend who collaborated with me in the making of a chapbook of poems, also available from Amazon right now:

“Aneurysm of the Firmament”

 

aneurysm_of_the_firm_cover_for_kindle

Please feel free to share this info widely.  

Thomas Higginson is first mentioned in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code”, but this poet friend, of course, exists beyond that.  I’ve known him over 30 years.  I am 62 right now… 

 

wannabe_front-4

 

NEW KISS HORIZON” is quite the explicit little book, but good to curl up with, in the cold of this approaching winter.   You can download first 20 pages at Smashwords  <https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/683373> to see what you think, if the description is not enough.  No sex in the first 20 pages, however.  

 

Model for Thomas Higginson; I had to have one, and here he is… I have written so much about him; in fact the moment based on this photo is mentioned in the book; I encourage you to leave comments on this post. It gets rather lonely writing about a man like him, as I would prefer to be with a man like him, truly, with him, but I guess I could try a close substitute,

 

I have to say that there is no other man like him, and if you’re lucky enough to have the chance to go out with this man you must… Do not deny yoursef the pleasure that he can provide.  I had to be 60 years old to find out for myself.  After being married for 40 years.  I am so very glad I now know what it’s like to be kissed… Really, truly thoroughly kissed.  Well, here’s the model, me right beside him; I could not have invented Thomas Higginson entirely.  My friend really helped me understand the man I need, the man I want after being married 40 years.

I have to say it, there is no better lover than Thomas Higginson.

KEEP KISSING!  –no matter what.

I think that we look great tgether, but of course, I would.

Thylias and Bob on Dream Date

Chicago Dream Date 23 October – 26 October 2014 

best-the-one-300dpi-3125x4167

New Romance Novel!

I am extraordinarily pleased to announce immediate availability of that Romance novel I had been talking about!  

 

All about the romance between Vashti Astapad Warren and Thomas Robert Higginson

 

Title is NEW KISS HORIZON, an erotic romance that may be purchased now; perfect holiday gift.

Soem details:

 

NKH location:

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

other NKH details:

Title: New Kiss Horizon (NKH)

Author: Thylias Moss

Publisher: Smashwords, Inc.

price: 7.99  enjoy, An adult erotic book. 

Coming soon to iBooks, Amazon, just about any e-book format you can think of.   

Only a few of you knew that I was working on this, and here is is.  On a Sunday morning.

ISBN: 9781370811991

short description: 

I can’t reach this bar that you’ve set so far above my head… You’ll have to lift me to give me a chance to get it, but I do want it always above me, a fully movable ceiling that is pushed higher with each kiss. A replacement, a new ceiling, new sky of kiss, new kiss horizon…

 

Long description:

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

And ultimately this child more like Vashti than anyone else in the world causes the dissolution of a marriage that never should have happened, but Vashti’s mother was only too glad to get Vashti married off, and since Wesley was interested, Vashti’s mother agrees to the teenage Vashti marrying a man much too old for her. Now that Vashti is free, and Thomas Higginson’s wife has died, Thomas and Vashti become friends on Facebook, and as soon as Vashti changes her relationship status, he contacts Vashti, as he has during those years since the filming of his movie in 1988, as friends not as lovers.. Once Vashti finally divorces in 2013, this sexually repressed woman tries online dating and is extremely disappointed, so when Thomas contacts her to begin dating, Vashti is occupied with a man from an online service, and Thomas has to wait a little longer. But Vashti soon realizes what Thomas wants, and Vashti is fascinated, although this man has gained a lot of weight, at least thirty pounds. But after 25 years, this man and woman meet, and Thomas is delighted, but Vashti fears that she cannot compete with the fantasy version of herself, and they agree to meet in Chicago, once Thomas is convinced that she will become involved with the man from online dating, and when they meet, there’s instant attraction, and Thomas makes good on everything he has promised Vashti. Vashti has the best intimacy, best kisses, best sex of her life.

 

 

 

 

Cover of NKH

NEW CREATE SPACE PROJECTS

Good Sunday morning!

For a change, I do not plan to write about the shambles of my love life; will not be fixed today anyway, and I can’t say when, but it will be and is.

Not much has changed; I am still in love with a wonderful sman; I like everything about him way too much, no one can be as good as he is, but he will have to deal with the man in the mirror.

but too  much is beautful for me to disrupt or destroy that beauty.  That it attained a pinnacle of loving expression will always be true.   Nothing can ever change that.

Enough said.

I have embarked upon, for 2 writing projects quite dear to me, Amazon’s CreateSpace, a self-publishing tool that will allow books made with it to instantly be sold wherever Amazon has a footprint, and where doesn’t that corporate giant tread?

The first project is a group of collaborative poems written with a friend, Aneurysm Of the Firmament (that much I’m sure of); a friend of mine, a lover also, the very best, you will have to take my word on that (or read the book I had to write after beign with him with him! Thoroughly Transforming!

New Kiss Horizon with Book Excellence badge

 

Thomas Robert Higginson (a pseudonymn) , right beside me here, and may it always be this way.

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

That collection is finished; just waiting for the sample of the book to  arrive, and  if I like it, then into production; already has its ISBN number, so this book is real, and I am delighted by that.

Unfortunately, the sample isn’t due to arrive at my Ypsilanti house until the day before my mother’s 87th birthday.  If I do not, as I would like, get to go there, I have already planned to call her and sing to her; she always likes that –mothers you know.  

I am so eager to see that little chapbook, that contains two poems from “Wannabe“, with permission from the publisher (who I would prefer not to name), but…  Yeah, and my so-called comprehensive book with a blurb from Harold Bloom in the most prominent position possible on the jacket, extolling my stature as a writer of significance, except that he is referring to a New & Selected not even in “Wannabe” –I am in Harold Bloom’s “Western Canon” for “Small Congregations” –the only collection of my previously published collections of poetry not included in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” –well, mistakes happen, I know quite well.  

Wannabe & Small Congregation

together these 2 New and Selected collections contain the work needed to b single comprehensive collection

But some mistakes make possible wonders that could not be possible any other way, and for that reason, I am glad for what looking back could be seen as mistakes but I am not looking at mistakes today; I am looking at only opportunities which is what CreateSpace is.

So while I wait for the collection of poems written with my friend Thomas Robert Higginson (I may need to do a drawing of him; I assure you I can, all just from memory–what a great idea; I have never attempted a simple pencil sketch of him… Wonder how the pencil will feel in my hands drawing the man I so want to be with?  –a Thomas Robert Higginson comic book? graphic novel “graphic” as defined in multiple ways –I leap too far ahead; I haven’t even drawn the man, and the idea is forming even as I type this, but obviously the idea really appeals to me…  But to have him form right on the paper in graphite from what will become my favorite pencil after I draw him? and even the two of us together, using illustrations from, I don’t know, the Kama Sutra, as a guide, not that I’ll need one.    Too much heaven!  –and I am a little bit skeptical about him possibly seeing this; after all, we are “just” friends, and I shouldn’t permit myself to think this way  about a friend, should I? 

Leap, leap,  leap (into his arms –I can’t help it)

and wouldn’t you know, the Angel of the Lord returned to visit my mother who just called to warn me to make no decisions at this time; to tell me she was afraid, the spirit told her this, that now is not the time to try to sell a home because the republicans are about to seize power, although she detests Trump, yet doesn’t feel Hillary to be any better because she is a woman; she said for me to follow God, and pray for what I really want, and I did, but it’s not what she thinks it is.  (I prayed to have him, of course).

My mother has no idea how involved I’ve become with a certain man, and when I tried to tell her about him, just his name; he had wanted her to be in a movie about poetry he produced long ago, but she wouldn’t, preferring that no one know she worked as a maid; she has no idea how often I have included that info in my writing, and more recently her puritanical views about sex.  She would be shocked to ever know what I’ve done, and enjoyed with That Most Delightful Man. She told me then that the only man I need is “Jesus”, so when I first wrote about being with him in Chicago, I called him:

“Jésus” and that way, if she ever saw it, I was in fact talking about 

Jesus

Jésus

in the story “Mongongo Drupe” published in Callaloo.

(read most of that story here: “Mongongo Drupe“<https://muse.jhu.edu/article/576194/pdf&gt;

in fact, before I ever went to see him for that unforgettable weekend in Chicago, it was well before these recent events, so I guess that was for the best, as I would be unable to explain what has happened to her, and it is most definitely my life, not hers.  

Mongongo” the name of the only oil I put on my hair, and it seems to be working.

Oh I well remember my son driving me to her house in Cleveland in the pouring rain, rather as it is right now in Ypsilanti, and exchanging texts with that Most Delightful man; how wonderful that was; you don’t realize how wonderful every moment has been…. That Callaloo story only gnaws at a most wonderful surface, and even that hardly accesses what is so amazing and terrific about being  with you/him…

Here’s part of that  email exchange:

-on our way to visit my sick mother –she’ll be 85 next month –and is finally okay with my seeing you –she even told me to visit thrift shops to try to buy back the blue striped dress [of course, she has no idea what I plan to do with you –and you don’t either; hope you’ll be happily surprised –and will surprise me also; I love surprises from the right man.  She’s never seen my parts in that movie about poetry you roduced and asked me to be in, and I plan to play the part with the dress for her once we arrive.
The rain is so intense windshield is completely obscured –hard to type, but wanted to forward this latest communication from the Teresa Nyong Vogel Foundation.

By the way, my ex is not   being  supportive at all of my trip to see you — though I really want to attend, that Teresa Nyong Vogel reunion is a veil, removable veil to see you. He remarked to me that I must really want to see you considering all that I’m doing –inviting you and everything, sharing a hotel room –dressing for you, trying to guess what you’d like to see me wear, but imagining even more how you’ll remove it, and look at me, then touch me –my son isn’t helping with the R&B music he’s playing
–Jaheim– and that music plus what I’m already thinking is dangerous… Now Luther Vandross –“Never Too Much” –“a thousand kisses from you is never too much, a million days in your arms is never too much”

Jaheim

Luther Vandross – “Never Too Much”

to which he replied:

“I worry about your safety and I chortle at yr wildness and I ripsnort with passion and I flagellate with absorption and I tentacleize with tendresse as I undress the emptiness”

I would never want to divest myself of the memories of That Delightful Man for that would be to try to purge my mind of the best memories my heart has ever known, as an adult.

He asked for the dress I wore in his movie he  didn’t just ask for it, but described it completely!   How impressive that is, and I am not going to throw this away… maybe he has revealed himself to be an ordinary man, but that is just fine, I like him, no I love him anyway.  

This is not the first time a woman has loved a man who still thinks so fondly of her, and even still loves her in his way… But asking for the dress, really shows me the depth of the impression I made on him when I was in the movie about poetry for which he was one of the producers and asked me to be in it; make no mistake about that!

The parts in the movie in which I wore the blue striped dress:

and:

“While the blue-striped dress is gone, I did locate two pictures of me wearing it, and those I paste right here (photos taken at my mother’s house in Cleveland, Ohio).
Not sure of the date, but judging from my hair, sometime in the 1990’s —probably early 1990’s as there’s no evidence of graying”Blue striped dress1 (TUSOP).jpegBlue striped dress2(TUSOP).jpeg
Brasiers with JoJo Holman.jpeg

I’m in the back holding Ansted, Dennis is in the front, my aunt Eva who never married, and is mother of midget Mike, and who passed for white (she had some amazing stories until her death); JoJo Holman is right behind her.  The two girls are Bernard’s daughters.  Bernard is a huge lover of jazz and Godzilla.  My cousin Edward  (who lives in Chicago, but whom I won’t see while I’m there with you —as I mentioned, he’s only been to the airport once, and wouldn’t be able to find his way home; he lives on the south side of Chicago) is sitting to the left of Bernard’s daughter who also has MS –her grandmother, Belvia Brasier Hill, as I mentioned, died from a combination of MS and Huntington’s.  JoJo who lives in Tennessee is quite ill, and not expected to live much longer.  Haven’t seen him since this photo was taken.  We’re quite a small family with a terrible amount of distancing.

You asked, so let me tell you a little of how it was for me, flat-chested till I was in ninth grade –my mother and her sisters used to pray for me that I not remain so skinny and flat-chested. Then the miracle; overnight.  I was about 14, nearly 15 –went from a girl who didn’t need a bra (but wanted to wear a training bra anyway) to a 32D, the second most rare size, I was told by the Playtex salesman visiting the downtown May Co. Department store where I would work a few years later.

You can imagine the unwanted attention I attracted.  

I was just a shy little girl, shy little top heavy girl, more like the women on the maternal side of my family; and  thin, raw-boned more like members of my paternal extended family.  Those prayer sessions were rather intense.  And my aunts were (most of them are now deceased) pleased with the outcome.  Then, the most rare size a lingerie buyer told me: 32 DDDD.  Now, a mere 30 DDD or 32 DD depending on manufacturer…   I recall when I had the MRI on Friday  being asked what kind of implants were in my body and I tried to say that I had no breast implants –the expectation now, and I  seem unusual about that, natural, that is… So many operations for augmentation, and I once considered reduction.  Used to keep my arms crossed for a while, and even wore minimizer bras; used to try to hide, but  my ex really liked that about me, and actually I did too, and when I was nearly seventeen was glad to be pushed up.  

To both flaunt and have discretion; I was a most unusual professor.  
Bras were manufactured differently then, more pointed cups and so forth, so hiding was compromised.  I remember distinctly how I looked when my ex met me: a red stretch form fitting turtleneck (long gone) in church –exactly where a damaged 16-year-old girl belonged fresh back from an abortion in NYC (not legal anywhere else at the time).  Ultimately, I became more glad than not of my ability to attract certain forms of attention, but I’m so much older now, and what was once so attractive has changed a bit.  Tits and ass –that’s me, and I hope that you want all of that and will touch all of that –as much as you like, and I will reciprocate –maybe not in the beginning,  but in stages –I need to be introduced to eroticism and intimacy…  Please teach me, Mr. Delightful how to love you… How to receive whatever you want to give me, and how to give you whatever you’ll want from me…   Wish that you could touch me right now.  I really do.
There’s Huntington’s Disease in my paternal family (always fatal if you inherit the gene –are you familiar with that disease?–one death sentence I didn’t  inherit– and why I feel that most of them are deceased, and why I was unable to know my paternal grandfather.  Most of them lived in the south, Cowan, TN, at a time that races were discouraged from mixing). My paternal grandmother was mostly black, and some Indian (she was literate as was her mother in West Virginia, a small town for which Ansted is named), and my paternal grandfather was Native American, Caucasian, some East Indian (how all of that came together in Tennessee is rather strange –he was classified, as “mulatto” — I was raised to not be color conscious.  My paternal cousin in Wisconsin, whose mother died of MS and Huntington’s says his mother raised him as Indian period, Bernard H__.  One of my aunts “passed” for white so that she could work for the government. All my life, degree of pigmentation made differences in where I could go, what I could do, how I was treated, and I was one of the privileged because I wasn’t “too dark”, and had “good hair” (did you see/like Chris Rock’s “Good Hair” movie?).  
A real division in my paternal family because of degree of pigmentation and hair texture; some of the cousins (I actually have two in Chicago [Edward, and his sister Pam]) failed to inherit this hair –not me, and I was criticized for that– sometimes praised, but always considered “different” –and now, even at my age, with weaves, wigs and various hair attachments, and hair relaxer, form of lye, mostly, various hydroxides (I don’t have to use that product), it’s become rather common for black women to have hair that simulates a texture more smooth, and long –“Good Hair” explores so many topics, including “weave sex” –apparently so different from ordinary sex, but my hair isn’t like that; is attached, rooted in my scalp, without relaxer  
— as you can tell,  I’ve learned to flaunt that hair; I rather enjoy tossing it, and, as I said, I look forward to you brushing it, styling it, doing with it whatever you like –if you like that. If you want, you can use  your arms, maybe only one, and I could sit in your lap while you brush it –a turn on for me.  You’ll have to figure out best ways to position me for many things. 
 I’m sorry that I don’t know more, but will enjoy your teaching me, and no one need know.  Between us.  
I expect for everything that you do to be a turn on — I don’t really know what won’t be, but if I don’t like something, I’ll let you know.  Do you want me to be quiet when we touch, when we explore each other’s body? Or will I be encouraged to make noise? Will I be allowed, that is? I don’t want to be quiet; that seems unnatural.  When we actually make love, what if I want to scream? I will probably be shy at first, but I will still yield, and overcome my shyness.  I want this to be an experience unlike any experience you’ve ever had before… I want what happens to surpass anything you’ve imagined…. (I hope that you have indeed imagined us making love).  I want you to want more and more and more of me…. I want us both to explode… I look forward to detonation….
What are turn ons for you?  
I’d like to try to do them; I want you to be happy with me.  I want you to be really glad, even about that Brazilian wax, I got just for you, my first, in wanting you to be  really turned on that we’re together, alone in the hotel –one bed to rest things on, and another bed to use, ostensibly for sleeping (but only a little of that –I plan to have you as a stay-awake caffeine pill). 
Between the meetings that I also look forward to, and being with you, not quite enough hours in the day, but I’ll get by on reduced sleep so that there’s time for everything I hope to do with you.  
For the first time in my life, I don’t want any secrets.  You’re getting the me admitting to her lack of experience despite my age. 
My mother  accused me of loving my father more than her, and  I did –I identified more with him, maybe because he’s deceased, I did so much walking wih him, miles and miles;  my mother knew him only as a husband, a lover, but I knew him as a father, and I was an only child, and she never accompanied us on any of our walks –miles and miles…. Where I learned alternatives to the bible –the purpose of the walks, as soon as I got home from church.
CALVIN THEODORE BRASIER

He bought me a new book in the Golden L ibrary of kKnolwlede at the end of each walk (in this way making for me an alternative bible): 

A while ago you told me that if we’re ever alone the fire will meld us together.  We will be.  Soon.  Melding very soon.

“Weather is a factor, and those anticipated storms have arrived —love how the sky looks, it and the pond have merged.  Love the tapping on the roof, like fingertips, becoming angry at times, and then gentle, now scarcely making contact at all, but in roof-ways, the roof remembers the rain as a splintered lover that talks in thunder, and every now and then, illuminates their way with marvelous flashes of lightning, knife blades, marvelous knife blades….”

To which That Man regaining his sweetness as I remember so much, replied:

Dear Bullet Dodger —

Looks like you is stable eyesed!!!

Great photos of ver sexy you. 

and the family — who took the picture? What stories!!!! 

These photos were taken at my mother’s house, the home my father bought in 1963.  Badly in need of paint, something my mother will try to do herself.

______

We have such a long and complicated story; we have history, and that is just too much to ever give up. I can’t bear the thought of you not in my life… I want to get past this, and reinstate you as the wonderful, tender, caring man you always were, the man to  whom I wrote this:

All I know is that I hope to never lose your friendship (?)—but it’s more than that; I do  not know the proper word for what you are to me, but won’t say it again; nothing has changed, except I do not know the word acceptable to you (and I do not want to know what I am to you —not really [because I may not like it]) —but I am convinced that you care deeply, just as you know that I care deeply about you, no matter how old all manner of official documents say you are.  I like you regardless. I love you regardless, from the first time I told you.   The you, you are now, wherever you are, on a bridge or not.  We stood on something that connects us both literally and metaphorically —always, and that wonderful photo has life of its own.  It does what maybe we can’t, at this time.
Look, today I celebrate so much, being alive for one thing, and your existence.  I’m glad you’re in my world, and that I am in yours.  I’m glad that our story changes, grows [every “whichway”], mutates, but does not end.  I’m glad that we have a story, Mr. Delightful, and it is our story, and no other story is ours.  Only this one.  Always this one.  I’m so glad about this Mr. Delightful, more glad than I am capable of expressing (without some help from my very best friend: YOU):
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 a poem you wrote for me, remember?)
and you wrote this to me:

“Dear T,

What a moving and lovely letter, what a heart you got, a wondrous one, one that I know and 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 this gift of all possibility and the settling of the words’ world into a mutually respectful and fulfilling friendship. Of course that means ongoing, and how that works with collaborating, mutual performances, seeing each other etcetc — 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

Mr. Delightful

A complex story in which I have experienced every emotion possible to feel, and I must thank you for that, for allowing me to feel “everything” (sounds as if I’m quoting my children’s book [and new book, in which you are so involved, all those “Higginson” poems [that come out of really seeing you, hearing you —discovering you as if for the first time, [[I so want us to write more poems together, of course —I so like connecting with you that way]] –listening to everything you say in so many locations, and I know you recognize them, as honored as you are in my writing —what man can claim such honor? — that I really feel, and as smart as you are —even “smart enough” to see me – and really understanding [[parts —of you, never the whole ‘enigmatic’ Mr. Delightful] —a good thing; hope I’m never able to figure you out completely, and  I am quoting two of my books): 
“I want to be [‘wannabe’] eyes  looking, looking everywhere [and seeing you: that is a forking  everywhere].
I want to be  [‘wannabe’] ears hearing , hearing everything [you say, and that is a forking everything]
I want to be [‘wannabe’] hands touching, touching everything [all of you, and that is a forking everything]
I want to be [‘wannabe’] mouth tasting, tasting everything [all of you, and that is a forking everything [romance novel]]
I want to be [‘wannabe’] heart feeling, feeling everything [for you, and this  is (or rather: could be the most forking  ‘everything’ of all were it not for what follows:]
I want to be [‘wannabe’] life doing, doing everything [for you, with you, because of you, through you –the most everything, for your birthday and everyday [[on which you are endlessly reborn in my heart]]] —That’s all.  And that is a forking everything forking [some Midhudson Taffy also, which also must fork and fork and fork as it’s ‘eaten with a fork’]”
68! —way to go!  

You also said this to me, Lord knows you always know  what to say:

“making poems is making life”

and you said this to me:

“I have all yr books, I think, Mz Moss. I do love A Man (if she’s A Woman)”

and you wrote this to me, so much more than this,

 

Skippity,

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

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

Pretty crazy, I’d say!

BUT certainly it is a continuously reviving poem

A fantasy dream and reality scream

You are a Go For It All woman finally free

You constantly inspire, and I wish to too

Standing off to the side and cheering you on

Hey! Watch out for that banana!

The Mnemonic of Yr Palindrome

TMnOYP

—- and when you woke this to me, Mr. Delightful, 

“I should be working

Instead of smiling at you

Smiling at you”

photo 2.JPG

to which I replied:

Isn’t smiling at me a form of work?

to which your reply was

“Lol!”

And how everything started with this:

“Hey, this won’t be a business call!

I’d be calling to reestablish contact, Ms Moss, that is all.”

Peace,

Mr. D

 

Surely you will recall that one stumbling block in the way of our love taking off; you called him “PSOG” (Previous Suitor Other Guy” although he had a name.   When you first contacted me after waiting 25 years, you had to wait an additional  two weeks, because of PSOG,  and when I contacted you two weeks later, just two weeks later, to tell you that PSOG was completely gone from my life (what I want you to say now about a certain nameless GF, you know what I mean); well to convince you that PSOG was gone, I sent him and BCC’d you on the breakup email of break up emails, this one:

Break up email of break up emails:

PSOG,

This isn’t as difficult as it may seem,

but under the circumstances,  I think it’s best to not be involved on even a  minimal level.  I appreciate — I really do— your continued concern, but I must try to achieve whatever I can on my own (or via members of family).  I appreciate your fondness and will remember it.  I agree that intimacy is not for us. Never was.  I can’t say that it will be with my new old-friend, but as I once told you, worth pursuing.  I like how for many years he’s cared for me —on any level.  Sorry, but I can’t do a blog or even go for walks, even if that leaves me out of shape.  I won’t forget my medicine, and I’ll find a way to get to that dreaded MRI on Sunday.  I’ll get there somehow, of that  have no doubt —even my ex has agreed to take me —I just don’t think it should be you.

You’re free to write responses to my writing —as any reader would be; I maintain a partnership in that sense with all of my readers (who are also forms of “collaborators”), most of whom never connect with me directly.  And yes; you may send your responses to me, and I’ll answer them as timely as I can, but won’t be preoccupied with responding (it’s not as if I have nothing else to do).  As long as such contact doesn’t suggest a sustained relationship with a possibility of growing into something else.  I don’t want such growth, and such growth didn’t happen naturally..  Send me anything you like via email.  Nothing wrong with that.  I just won’t go anywhere with you.  I can’t —would seem that I have no self-respect, and I do.  I guess I can blame all of this on match dot com, a service I no longer use, and won’t use again… If I hadn’t used it, wouldn’t have to write this message.  I’m quite disappointed with the service. 

It’s fine with me that we don’t attempt to pursue any romance ever—some things are just present, and no need to force what obviously isn’t there to kindle.  There is no fire to burn or extinguish.  No fire at all.  No attraction (other than my own —temporary— delusion).  

I’ll also be able to get to he airport; my ex has agreed to take me if necessary.  He’s also agreed to pick me up when I return to Detroit if necessary.  He has accepted that there won’t be any romance between us ever again –and he’s accepted that; he and I will be talking tomorrow, and he’s taking me to lunch, and will pay for all of it! —his and mine; he won’t ask me or demand that I pay for half! (as you did).  —Nor is there any romance between us, you and I, and I’m opposed to doing anything that might seem to open that door.  I’m closing that door for good- -something I thought I already did.  More than once.  We can’t be involved in that way for many, many reasons.  We’re so wrong for each other —in just about any way that I can imagine or construct a couple. There’s nothing right between us —and I can’t make it seem that way… I’m through pretending that we had something we didn’t.  I did that for too long, and I’m not going to dredge up past incidents —want to leave everything buried, and bury anything that remains above ground —all must be subterranean —coffin nailed shut.  Sprigs of garlic around, and a set of silver nails, wooden stakes

I’m trying to make this clear again: NO US!  —NOT EVER! —even if things fail abysmally with my new old-friend, I won’t be seeking to resume anything like that between us.  Just a casual friendship at best, right now (that includes Facebook). Whatever we almost or sort of had, is dead and buried, and I don’t rob graves to have some form of man in my life.  I don’t feel desperate.  Just divorced and available —for the right man, and that will never be you. He must ask have something to offer to me, intimacy of course, and you have none of that for me… Intellectual and emotional closeness; bonds of heart and mind —we’ll be able to connect on multiple levels —and we can’t, pure and simple.

Haven’t tried building my own Frankenstein’s monster, and I don’t want to form  closeness with a monster anyway.  No zombie for me either; I want a flesh and blood man who is confident of himself and seems to value me as something special —we’ll be special for each other —that can’t be you.  I want the man ultimately in my life to value me as much as I value him —nothing forced; completely natural, and its not natural for you to be involved with a woman on this level, a woman like me, I mean.  I’m well aware how that Teresa Nyong Vogel Prize was something you could use to a form of advantage, especially at Cottage Inn —but not to my advantage, only to yours…

We are no more! and I’m completely okay with that.  I’m shedding no tears.  Just moving forward, without you

—all I have holding me back is that MS-related optic neuritis (simulating blindness in my left eye) and my loss of directional skills  (aneurysm related) —I can get lost so easily; remember all the trouble I had when we walked and I had trouble knowing which way to go?  This is a problem I have.  Perhaps it’s permanent. I hope that the man who becomes the man in my life won’t mind, that it won’t be an encumbrance for him; we’ll find ways to navigate around this glitch, I’ll call it —just who I’ve become physiologically we all change with age, by the way, something that I know you know, and won’t mention again (would require a little grave-robbing, your impotence that you tried to blame on me, grave-robbing, so I guess I do  leave on a vindictive note, but I am sure you know your own impotence that you tried to blame it on me).  Causing my friend to allow me to see him nude from the waist down, asking only that I take no photos; i didn’t but kind of wish I had, as I had never seen anythingn so huge and entirely tempting that would very soon —if I could accommodate all of him–be inside me

It wasn’t just the porn vignette.  Many things…. There is no path to romance for you to me.  Not ever. And I don’t want a path from me to you.  Not ever.  

My mother commented last night that I have no need to tell anyone even that I have MS, since my disease is so invisible, and she’s particularly upset with you as it looks as if I was a prize that you couldn’t recognize for what it is.  Obviously you weren’t ready to pursue a relationship with me or perhaps with any woman (you did tell me about your involvement —brief— you said, liaison  with another man) —but that may be too accusatory to say.  I’m not writing to solicit a response, just to finish closing a door, that I thought was closed anyway, and maybe would still be had I not mistakenly invited you as a possibility for getting me to and from the airport —Sorry for the invitation.  I’m withdrawing it now, and will be sure not to invite you further to anything.

Just to make this as clear as possible:

No us.  Not now.  Not ever. No matter what happens.

Thylias

and after this you were fine , and we could begin… one of my favorite parts was when PSOG tried to blame his impotence on me, and also said he refused to use condoms, and you told me that you  would drive an 18-wheeler full of condoms down my street, and talking on FaceTime, you showed me and told me that if I could see you right then, and I could, everything, I would know that impotence around me was hardly your problem.  And it certainly wasn’t. Not then, and definitely not in person.  I must confess, that I really liked seeing this.  Really gave me something tangible to dream about.

 

But in the hotel I was offered an upgrade on the room, a single king bed instead of the 2 queen beds reserved, and you answered, so, so eagerly, your arm tightly and tightening even more around me; you were determined never to let me go, now that I was yours.  “we’ll take the single king” and we did, Room 304 –I will never forget that.  

 

Oh well: Delight after Delight Mr. Delightful

Don’t you remember this?

 

Soon after that, you sent me this:

“Baby
I can’t wait
To taste your kiss
Kiss kissing kisses
Slow you lead your
Beautiful tender lips
Just to rest there
So quiveringly touching
The moment itself
Kissing”

Don’t you want to remember this?

Aren’t you glad that I do?  Aren’t you?

Oh Mr. D, I hope you  also remember writing this to me:

Don’t be nervous, except a little, in a good way! and don’t worry about Sat — you can play by ear, and you should enjoy the Geniuses as much as you can. We’ll have plenty of time — and will probably be wanting a bit of rest…  !!!

Mr. D
 Mr. Delightful, I don’t want you to be able to forget a single second of what we have shared! including this:
“You are beautiful

3,766. I  am looking forward to reading your letter and viewing the attachments

Mr. D” 

You are still this man, aren’t you? Aren’t you still the man with whom I fell in love?  Aren’t you?  Don’t you want to be this man?  Don’t you want me to love you, even t  –Something I have never done with you is lie.    Please don’t make me regret all the poetry (including the poetry of our bodies; I know it looked divine, just the way you made me feel –that photo that I will not post out of respect for your “decision”  [now that really is a “glitch“]– we’ve shared and even written together… Please don’t make me feel that I meant nothing to you…

The absolutely delightful  man who also said this: ” You have always inspired me, Forkergurl”

–and of course, Mr. Delightful has always inspired me… 

You just don’t know all that we have shared; Mr. Delightful, can you possibly understand the complexity of what you might be  throwing away? rocking the eery foundation of everything we’ve shared over the years, causing  me to have to question everything that transpired between us?  –transforming all of it, and there has been so much, into lies.  
Just really try to understand what this is doing to me, because I want you to be as delightful as you always had been, delightful and honest… 
How can I be so replaceable, when there will never be anyone else like you, I know that, and as I’ve always done, I want to celebrate you! I gave myself to you fully, and all I ever wanted was for you to give yourself to me just as fully, just as completely.  I have been willing to work on the terrible distance between us that didn’t drive me to  lies! –Not once did I try to deceive you.  Not once.  Think about it.  Love like mine is rare Mr. D, and it is all yours.  All yours.  Forever.
Very recently, on 3  August, you wrote this and lit up my heart, Mr. Delightful:
Thylias,  It is Love & that is all, it is kin and Life itself. 
To which I replied:

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

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

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

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

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

Thylias

And now?  I still love you, 
 
 
I shouldn’t love you if and while you are involved with your GF who should be me, and who was.  Only me.  I did that for you.  I never lied to you, Mr. D; not once.
You are worth it,  and
and I am still worth it. Mr. Delightful.
and, Mr. Delightful, I remember all, all of it so damned good

Even more recently, in September, last month, he said, “Relax –it takes time”

after I sent him a text in which I told him how I really want to see him, and how I really hope he likes my selfies.  

Relax – it takes time” he said

and “why so choosy picky? They are all great as usual”

to which I said, “All great as usual? Nice of you to say that before you’ve been see them,  I guess you do notice me and I am glad.  Very glad actually.”

I have always worried that he likes how I look; I have always wanted to appeal to him physically.  You see for he 44 years I was with my ex, beginning when I was 16, he never, not once, called me pretty or beautiful of anything like that.  He said my head would swell, and over the years, I thought of myself as unattractive, not to mention when a grade school teacher said when I returned to visit her when I was in ninth grade, “Thylias! –you’re beautiful! you were such an ugly child!”   I was.  I know that.

I’ve seen this man in Chicago, Minneapolis and Detroit., and he made it a point to always call me beautiful or pretty; he had no idea how badly I needed to hear this until I told him what I never heard.  And then he said it all the time, and I learned to think myself pretty, and now I have a problem with vanity…  Anyway, one day Mr. Delightful sent me a text,

“Thylias, you are one gorgeous woman”

I have loved having dinner with him so much. I had my first real dates with this man.

I learned how to kiss with this man, and he can really kiss.   I was touched in ways I’d never been touched before, with his fingers, tongue and, well, not an x-rated blog. but you get the idea.  

In Minneapolis, when we were about to go to dinner, he said he’d come to my hotel room at 5:30 pm, and asked “U r ready for dinner?”

to which I replied, “Sure. Don’t look my best, however.”

to which he replied, “LOL”

and I had another wonderful meal with him.  Sommetimes, I forget all about context.  My sense of time gets out of whack.  And then I accuse him of things he did not do.  This doesn’t mean that he  handled this current “situation” properly, because he didn’t. But when everything is added up, the list of pluses is substantially longer, and besides, what human being does not deserve forgiveness?  He needs forgiveness; we all do, and this way, I get to have some peace, and continue the best friendship I have ever had in my life.  

There has been enough hurt, and if he is able to love anyone, that is a good thing.  

May we all be so lucky as to find someone to love.

Still Foolish

What is is for  me is the death of trust.

I can accept other things; I can forgive just about anything,  But when TRUST itself has been murdered, disregarded, when at some point the lies became too much for him, the mask peeled right off,  and revealed what’s underneath.

It’s just that I was completely honest; telling him things he never would have known unless I told him, things I told no one else.  He seemed a perfect confidante, and turns out he was no different from any other man,  

I wanted him to be different. And in many ways he was.  I would need to go back to the beginning to make you understand… And I can’t, because I am loyal and honest, and I promised to never reveal his identity, so I won’t.  That would just be wrong.

 

I made excuses for things I shouldn’t have because I love him purely in a way no other woman will ever love him; I am more sure of that now  than ever, and he knows that too.  Mr.  Delightful, for you are that.  I won’t pretend you’re not. You know what you are giving up… And you also know that all you would have to do is kiss me to get me back, and at this point if you tried to kiss me, you know I would.   That’s part of what has infected him with this honesty.   Guilty conscience.  

 

I hated when he knocked himself off the pedestral I put him on, when all along he knew he didn’t belong there.  But he finally slipped into an abyss of his own making.

I realize that I am always going to love him.  

He will continue to invade my heart, and those memories will fill in for him…  My new book of poetry is even dedicated to the character him.  Even the dedication, and a full half of the new poems in “Wannabe Hoochie Mama Gallery of Realities’ Red Dress Code” are about him, are tributes to the love we shared.  

 

So many tributes, so many excellent kisses.  

 

And would I kiss him again?  Damn straight I would!

A kiss like his?  There are no words.  His kiss illuminated me.  His kisses in that taxi after 25 years!  Guess I should have been warned off by something he finally admitted that when we met in person when I was in his movie about poetry, he told me it was all he could do not to take me in his arms right then, although he was married, so he was willing to think about cheating although he didn’t do it. And what I know about his arms, the way they could hold me, and I am so small, the things he could do so easily, at least a foot taller than me, and about a hundred pounds heavier than my 98 pounds.  Imagine the enjoyment in the bedroom (or anywhere) with a woman almost doll size.  I was so little  for him, a brown doll.  The way he could lift me, as he did several times, the incomparabale sex.  The man loved me; he reallly did, and probably still does in his deceitful ways.  

To know more about his techniques of love, you wll have to wait for the novel about the Thomas Higginson in my life.  The poems also, many of which are in “Wannabe” –available now!  

 

What’s good about him is exceptional.  

Pity that he is also a liar.  A real shame.  Because of what has happened to trust.  

But does not make that weekend less splendid.  Not at all.  I told him that I just don’t want to see anything about his getting married, and he laughed (I love his laugh!), and said he isn’t marrying again.  

I am not ready to see that or even try to process that in my mind.

a photo of me in his hat

(and yes, that is my real hair rooted in my scalp):

me in Bob's hat 1

 

Guess I haven’t learned not to be trusting.  

I expect honesty because honesty is so natural to me, and I have forgiven him so much.  He realizes that now.  

That I am not like most women.  I don’t even look like them.

VASHTI-RAIN-WALK-06 

All those dreams of which he was part.  I grieve over that future that will not happen as planned, and he was part of that, “all in” he said.  

He was afraid that on Facebook, I would write terrible things about him on his wall, and that tells me that he really doesn’t know me at all.  And if he doesn’t know me by now, after more than 30 years, can he ever really know me?

 

“Love Makes Me Do Foolish Things” lyrics (they sound as if I had written them; photos of him still affect me way too much; I have sung this song to death):

 

Love, love, love makes me do foolish things
Sit alone by the phone, a phone that never rings
Hoping to hear you say you love me still
Knowing you never will
Love, love, love has made a fool of me
Got me doin’ things, things that shouldn’t be
Listening for the sound of your knock on my door
Knowing that sweet sound will be no more

Funny how precious memories linger on
So long after you’ve gone
Oh precious memories that only make me cry
But I keep holdin’ on, oh why do I? Oh, because…

Love, love, love makes me do these things
Speak your name softly each night, or holding your picture tight
When you took my heart, you took my soul
& it’s far beyond control

Funny how precious memories linger on
So long after you’ve gone
Oh precious memories that only make me cry
But I keep holdin’ on, oh why do I? Oh, because…

Love, love, love makes me do these things
Love, love, love sadness it brings

Written by Lamont Dozier, Lamont Herbert Dozier, Brian Holland, Edward Holland, Edward, Jr. Holland • Copyright © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group

 

from: <https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tkxxqjhe6envdqpqehilohkhu5u?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics>

 

Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes right here:

“If You Don’t Know Me By Now”

 

To think that I woud stoop to such childishness beyond calling him every  pattern of D-Word I  could think of.  Nice D-Words. And if he thought that, then despite over thirty years of involvement with him, then he doessn’t really know me at all, and probably never can.  Which is a shame, for he doesn’t know what he is giving up by being dishonest.  What his dishonesty is costing him.  What he is willing to lose by being dishonest.  At least honesty caught up with him; better late than never, I suppose. 

There would be no point in trying to lambaste him when I recall him with that same love I always gave him, ignoring attention I would get from other random men, and I got lots of it, at age 62, with a nearly perfect honest figure, 100 % natural mixed race hair, waist-length, butt-kissing hair, with no weave, never a relaxer and no extensions which I do not need, that was his, all of me was his, and look what he did with this gift that honored him above all men, because that is what he was, who he was… he deserved such honor, and I would honor him again.  

Everything about me is natural! No breast augmentation, natural DD cups, as he found out, surprised, and what he discovered when he got to unwrap me for the very first time after waiting 25 years to do this.  “I can’t wait for the unwrapping” he said, and meant it;

 

I think it bothers him to have to admit the truth.  

 

The “why” he never showed up on my doorstep, or filled my mailbox with stuff he could have although he knew where I live and could have come to Michigan anytime he wanted to, if I really meant anything to him.  There are planes, and it is a short flight from NYC to Detroit.  We had a whole weekend together in Chicago, (a reunion city for us, where I went to be in his movie in the nineties) and he even referred to such things as “Our USness” and it was worth every minite of waiting; it was the way he kissed me that made me willing to do everything I did.  And all the talk that preceded the actual reunion –details in the novel to come.  Insist on it.  It is written and just looking for a publisher.

I will not post a photo of him because that would reveal his identity and a while ago, I promised him I wouldn’t do that, and I honor my promises even if he doesn’t deserve such honor.  Anymore.

I AM GOOD FOR MY WORD.  ALWAYS.

But who am I to say who deserves what?  Believe me, I want to post the photo; it is so wonderful, but that photo also is now part of the most wonderful memory ever, almost like a fairy tale, but one that doesn’t quite end happily ever after.

 

I will post it later, when it is safer to do so.  I am not out for revenge or to hurt him? Why? What would that accomplish?  I still love that man.  I want the best for him, which he has rejected, me, the next best then.  I want that for him.  I really do. 

May be difficult for many to understand, but I honestly hold nothing against him.

That ordinary man.  

I would never try to hurt him for that would be a betrayal of what I feel, even feeling like a fool… And I definitely want the best for myself, which seems that it can’t be him.   I’ll leave that for next year when I might see him, and I hope that he will still be single.  Not that I can accurately predict how I will react to him. 

The first song he sent me is appropriate here: “Because You Loved Me”

You know, in preparing my new book, I didn’t want the poems that implied my ex-husband, opting instead for poems (and there are many) about this man, and I was asked if I would be okay with these versions even if things did not work out, and I said yes, because these were newer truths, and that is what happened, but this  love with him was  so beautiful, some of it in ways I can’t tell you, so magical and perfect it really was too good to last

 

but if you get a chance to be with this man as I was, take it; there is nothing else like it.  His extraordinaty kisses.  The ways he touched me. His hands, his tongue, and what he could do with these.  His, well, private parts (this is not an x-rated blog) —and what he did to mine… I will never be the same, and that’s good.  

 

There are no adequate words.  

 

He had been waiting just to kiss me for so long, 25 years.  Imagine that.   I was eager to experience that although at the time I was 60 years old.  Every secret of romance is not a secret to him. He may have written them; he certainly could have.  He could write handbooks on kissing and how to make a woman feel certain things.  Just from his kiss… Just wait till you read my romance novel all about him, in character form… All about our weekend and more.  I know he loved me for a while, that is clear.  He really did, and one day he will be filled with regret that what was mapped out, together; we both mapped out these things as we prepared for something he wrecked, isn’t going to happen because of how he lied.   I just wanted him to be as truthful as I was.  

A dishonest man proves himself the best possible lover. That’s how it is.

“Well, Love Makes me do Foolish Things” (and How!)

 

A few more pics of what he is giving up: 

 

 

At first he told me “distance” was the killer, but it’s not.  Love can survive distance.  Love can survive ravages of the body.  Love can do this.  My love for him did this.  Yes; I physically wanted a man, but not just any man: Him.  I was willing to endure all manner of physical frustration for want of him and had the dildo he gave me and named after himself, telling me that when I used it, it would be him,  but the flesh and blood him is much, much better. There is no proxy that compares to him. None.  

I still can’t let him go.  I can’t.  I don’t want to yet.  Although I now know the truth of him. But you don’t know how he claimed my heart.

 

I am HIS FOOL.

 

I hope no other woman will be as deceived as I was by his charm, and it is extensive.  Just let him kiss you and it will be all over…  That’s how it was for me; I let that man kiss me and the floodgates of desire opened as I didn’t know they could.  Then I wanted to kiss him, and I did, holding back nothing; even in the taxi, I was willing to go all the way… I couldn’t wait to actually check in the hotel and really be alone with him.  Showing off the Brzilian wax I got just for him, my first ever, and the “Dream Baby” (his name for me, that I took from his poem) dress as in this photo:smaller_Thylias in Cushnie et Ochs dress; photo by Ansted Moss copy

 

 

Well a couple of songs for the occasion:

 

“Love Makes me Do Foolish Things”

“If You Don’t Know Me By Now”

and my healing playlist from YouTube:

 

I will never give up on Love.   Capital “L” that’s how he spelled it in one of his last and most beautiful, like all of them, letters to me.