Possible themes?

sky space dark galaxy

According to the Washington Post, UFOs are a reality for our military pilots and have been for some time. Why do I get the sense that we are about to learn that we are not the only ones watching our planet become a trash bin for greedy politicians and billionaires?  At least one of my flash fiction stories and at least one poem will dip into ideas about ufos, humanity, and care of our planet Gaia aka Earth.  I like spinning reality into fiction, so look for a flash fiction story to be posted on this site describing a strange object appearing in the summer night sky on I-384 (Connecticut) late at night…….we are not alone.

earth space cosmos

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Oops for May 2019

My 30 day writing stunt was a bust–grades, meetings, and health got in the way. So I will relaunch in June for 2019, and I will start off with a couple of podcasts, one of which will be focused on poetry coming from me and a guest who has a poetic voice not often heard or seen.  My tongue is still healing but it’s no longer as swollen, thank you very much. The bruise on my thigh is fading quickly.  No, not healing from bike riding issue–just gave away my bike–just a fainting spell from perimenopause.

Yeah…….ever kind of feel like this is the now, as in now is the time to get your best work out there, to do your best while you can still do it, while your mind, spirit, and body are still allowing you to say it do it be it in that moment or those moments? This is what 50-something feels like to me. Time to get those books floating in my head out of me, those brilliant crazy courses planned out and launched, dreams becoming reality. So I keep running into these essays about people losing it, getting it back, etc.etc., and I’m like, what the fuck am I waiting for?

So……some may say I skipped the motherhood part from maiden and went straight to crone, but I say I am a Mother in my classroom and to the collective. I could say that I am not quite ready to say I am crone for a couple of reasons, but then again, could it be that one can be maid, lover, mother, and crone in one space? Sometimes we occupy these roles as needed. Some of us didn’t become mothers for whatever reason–our magick remains potent, our poetry far reaching.

Watch this space in June.  Support my brand:  https://cash.app/$drcat

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A note about writing and a welcome to #30days2019 #30days

Couldn’t decide whether to land on love, lust, magic, or on Saturn for that first story.

Results?

I did a hybrid with a healthy dose of THC. Won’t blow your back out, but it will make you wonder if this is part of a longer tale. Could be.  Go read it and tell me if it turned you on or if it turned you off.

Or if it turned you out.

Meanwhile, we will return to the Girlfriend Experience AI, vampires, werewolves, and witches. We might even see a few aliens show up in a sex dungeon looking for love. I really do want to write about a woman who sees everyone on the planet completely nude.

If you stay still long enough, you can see everything.

 

Look for new stories and poetry to show up tomorrow.  Meanwhile, go support my brand here –> $drcat

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There are no spells for love or evolution

Does not feel right in this moment to go back to the routine.

…not quite Phorzhicoan anymore, am I?  Something else… 

Just feeling a bit faint, a bit warm in a hot flash sense.  So different in my youth when it really was more of a singularity in my approach, feed, and departure. I like drifting among groups of happy people and casually drawing out the essence of human fun–dancing, laughing, chatting, sweetness of joyful living.  Phorzhicoa feeding need not be in dark, lonely spaces, but can be in the midst of the action, as long as some semblance of an exchange is met to dampen suspicions of most, save for those few humans gifted with discernment.

As I slowly matured the hunt ceased to be a hunt for many and emerged as a search for one.

Doesn’t seem to feel right tonight to just jump in and feast. Phorzhicoan spells work like anesthesia on the conscious mind, and from what I can see through my Phorzhicoan eyes, our spells tend to bend towards imposing a coma-like state on the targeted object of focus.  Communion remains elusive and distant, and upon awakening, the object departs.  The feeding process itself ends and we move on.  My search for one turned me from this path.

There are no spells or works for this feeling here, and as such, this must be a true exchange that begins with the meeting of eyes.

Given what I’ve sensed, it seems more satisfying to engage in an exchange.  In other words, connect.  Something that could feel mutually consensual and aware as the energy and fluids pass back and forth in those moments before the room melts in hallucinogenic glory of all the Gods passing through you like a flock of birds.  At the departure of the initial wave of pleasure comes the recognition and welcoming of two spirits in communion.  Humans who have not crossed into Phorzhicoan space call this love.  Phorzhicoans like me who progress beyond the feeding dance call this evolution.

There are no spells for love or evolution.

First wave is like a tongue caress.

Friday night. Late. 20 years ago I’d be in Hartford, New Haven, Providence, Boston, or NYC. A bit thinner then. Minidress, blond dreds, 3-inch heels, commando–you know it! And you asked me why I don’t have a husband or kids? My 30s was a time to enjoy grad school and late night clubbing–though if I was still up to it, I could do that now in DC. It’s different, though, the whole scene, my age, my attitude. I like fun–dancing, laughing, chatting. Doesn’t seem to feel right here. But far be it from me to suggest that one should not laugh, dance, sing, or chat during a time of war. And yes, my friends, we are at war. We were born into it. Party for your life, Muffins.  This #30Days aka #30storiesin30days will carry some of these idea strings into fictional landscapes, along with a few revisits to landscapes discovered during previous 30 day journeys.  The erotic never left, but you already know this truth.

Watch this spot.

#30days

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