Goodnight, Year 52.

It’s been a good year for me. Welcome to my early to mid 50s. Seems like I need to consider expanding my creative voice a bit more and truly publish it much more, as well as complete what I need to send out into the academic ocean of voices. Love woke me from the slumber of despair, and it fuels my drive to continue my work. “Love is the law, love under will.”


Who is the “you” and “I” in my poetry?

So, if you happen to know me, you may be wondering if I’m talking about you, or someone close to me or you. The answer is no. Yes. Maybe. Maybe not. Who gives a fuck? I’m writing about human experience and what we endure while living on this planet. I do include my twisted imagination and twisted reality and twisted feelings. I’m pretty strange in my flesh n blood world, so if my writing makes you feel a bit uncomfortable, welcome to my world. I might write about you one day. Let the world beware, said Catherine Tramell.

The Month is almost up. Not sure I feel like doing this in June. Holla at me and tell me.

Oh, and I’ve been holding back a bit. Look for me to just get straight up weird these last days.

Losing Time #30days #30days2018 by Cherie Ann Turpin


My blanket was soaked with urine when I finally woke up on my couch.

The kitchen was filled with smoke from sausage I was boiling earlier; all the water had evaporated out the pan, and the meat was burnt black.

Both sides of my tongue felt like they had been stabbed with pins.  My legs and arms ached as if I had run a marathon.  I cancelled my classes and collapsed on my bed, still dizzy.

When I awoke again it was early evening, and my cell phone was out of power.  My limbs were still sore, my tongue was swollen, and my lower back felt oddly sore, as if I had been punctured in the same spot where I received a lumbar puncture ten years ago.  I had assumed I had a mild seizure from the new blood pressure medication, a sort of reset to get my body readjusted to a slower rhythm.  Now I was not so sure about that.  I was losing time again.

But that was twenty years ago when I had my first encounter with an extraterrestrial.  It was worse then, almost impossible to fathom:  I lost an entire week of time, and because we didn’t have cell phones, no one knew I was missing.  My cat did, and she never really recovered from encountering the visitors.  I was also several states away from my first and last encounter before that day.

I was losing time again, and I realized then that they had not only returned, but that they never really left.
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Ideas from my dreams coming through #30days #30days2018

quick note: I just had the craziest dream I’ve GOT to get down in one of my stories or two actually: floating metal that’s weaponized to cling to you like glue or like you are a magnet with sudden motion;flying through the air with a rocket propelled gun battling these robot like sentinels who think I’m worth capturing for a rogue billionaire with plans for building a bigger army of invading robot soldiers; I even saw another Independence Day like alien invasion movie set in this dream. Guys—when I’m done writing about my feelings I’m going to get back to my fav topic—space aliens, kickass weaponry never seen on this planet before, and ships I think we might see if we can impeach that idiot trump and get back to scientific innovation. Nice bit of dream work in less than two hours!

2016-06-25 20.12.02-1

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honeysuckle #30days #30days2018 by Cherie Ann Turpin


I would swallow my contraception pills faithfully each morning with my cereal or applesauce, but I could not seem to completely mask the metallic oddness over my tongue, nor could I shake the feeling that it remained in the back of my throat.  Over the course of ten years I walked around coughing and swallowing half the morning away to dislodge a phantom pill.

After I stopped taking the Pill I thought I was free, and indeed I was free until I was diagnosed with high blood pressure ten years later.

My bp pill was large, oblong and chalk-colored and thankfully tasteless.  I swallowed it with fruit and coffee and gave it no more thought.

Ten more years passed, and one more pill was added.  I began having dreams of pills spilling from my mouth in a flood of phlegm and bile.  My blood pressure quietly rose as I forgot to take them or just refused to remember.

My eyes began to flutter like hummingbirds.  Blood rushed behind my ears like rivers.  A stroke was imminent, said a spirit guide.  After running back to my doctor who forgot my first name I was now taking three pills.

I dream of honeysuckle now.

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May 2018 #30days #30Days2018 Flash Fiction 30 Day Marathon Begins Today #CherieAnnTurpin


Expect me today.  Rules? Look for the hashtag #30days #30Days2018, and help support me in my push to write 30 stories (200 words or more) in the month of May. I will make the entire month this year!  Look for recurring themes and returning/continuing fictional universes, look for sex in lit, lit that shocks, lit from tweets, lit from odd places like messages, hashtags, dreams, fantasies, masturbatory fixations, and yes, lit from headlines.  I promise to not censor and at some point have you fixated on who or what is making a guest appearance.  Please comment, and if you really like what you are reading, please leave a tip in my PayPal Donate link on the left sideline.

Selfie #30days #ww470

01765891-E8C4-402A-B3F7-FED89750D6C8It borrowed my phone while I slept and took a selfie.

“It” started visiting my farmhouse five years ago, not long after I retired from teaching college and relocated to Kent, Vermont.  My cats would become more skittish than usual right before the appearance of bright lights, and I’d smell an odd metallic odor in the night air when I dared to peek outside my front door. As with previous visitations, I would lose about six hours of time between the metallic smell and waking up on my living room couch as the sun came up.

This was the first time “It” left evidence of a visitation, however.  The selfie itself was oddly familiar:

”It” had my facial features, save for the huge black eyes that seemed to be reflecting stars and the absence of a nose bridge.  Studying the face and grayish brown skin, I realized that “It” was more than just familar, and the visits had not been just a part of my new life in Vermont.  Indeed, “It” was a manifestation of an earlier series of visits from nearly 30 years ago when I last lived in New England in yet another rural small town.

As tears began to run down my cheeks, I clasped my phone and whispered “I love you,” to my daughter’s image.

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