I Pray I’m Not the Bull

Tonight I’ll dream. I’ll dream of reading Hemingway by a whispering fire in the middle of January, as the aroma of spiced apple cider drifts in from the kitchen.

Tonight I’ll dream – a dream within a dream - of strolling down rue de Fleurus – manuscript tucked inside my overcoat to guard it from the rain – and knocking on flat 27 where Gertrude Stein will tell me what she really thinks.

Tonight I’ll dream of talking to unique strangers with exciting accents and curious expressions, and I’ll learn french and how to write about my interesting life that seems boring in my head.

Tonight I’ll dream and pray I’m not the bull, charging for the prize before getting distracted by that red cape, flicked to the side as the matador spins on his heels at the last moment.

A Moveable Feast

“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”

~Ernest Heminway

This marks the beginning of my adventure into Hemingway’s memoir of Paris. I’ve been on a classics kick, and I imagine there’s much more Hemingway in my future. If you have a recommendation, let me know.

Coffee, With a Tear in it

He sat with legs crossed, swirling the drink with his right hand, and listened to the ice clink like thunder. He eyed his companion’s coffee, wondering if she’d ever drink it.

He could feel her watching him – waiting. He finished his drink in one, swift gulp and placed it gently on the table.

“I said I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said. “You insisted as much as me.”

In the depths of winter…

…I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer

~Albert Camus

Ounces of Courage

By not doing what I’m afraid of,

I give power to fear,

and it will reign over me as long as I let it.

Even an ounce of courage can topple it,

however,

and in a single instance,

wind back the thread that fear unraveled.

Too Little, Too Late

Your eyes and lips teamed up to smile, and your face was lined with joy, slightly bronzed by the Austrian star with a radiance of equal warmth. 

Stan’s Pants

Stan wore slim fitting pants. The first pair was olive green. They girded his legs in khaki glory and accentuated his V-like frame. His wardrobe was already drab in color, so his shirts and jackets complimented the olive.

The first time he went out with them he walked with swagger, smiled at strangers, and snapped at waitresses. These pants would be a new era in his life, he thought – the catalyst that would thrust him into a new world of style, where he’d rub shoulders with hipster comrades and independent artists.

I don’t play chess, when it comes to love

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I don’t play chess, when it comes to love

that I explain my strategy, before a piece has left the board
that my patience is frail for this methodical game
that my intentions are clear, like Colorado air, and you can see miles away.

I came out with my queen and met you after dark beneath the moon. Those silver streams of light danced upon your face as we two-stepped to twang, and I held you in my arms until our arms fell apart and we were no longer a single rhythm.

In music’s wake, your laugh remained, echoing off mountains, capsizing my heart in a tumultuous sea of emotion.

In laughter’s wake, your gaze remained – passionate and full-bodied – and our eyes engaged, crackling like electric heat on a late summer’s night. Your eyes, begging the question. Your lips, asking something else – something leading – breadcrumbs.

“You’re so beautiful,” I coo, without speaking a word.
“Kiss me,” you shout in amorous frustration.
“No,” I express, as I turn my back and look out over the valley – the inferior beauty. “I’m too wise, too arrogant, too foolish. I’d rather let you leave breadcrumbs. I’d rather torture myself.”

I am sorry.
I’m sorry I played chess without knowing how.

©  2013 Mike Tannian
*This is my response to Coco’s “i’m sorry I saw you and told you i loved you.”

Laughing on Social Networks

There’s two types of laughter on social networks.

Some people represent their laugh with the classic lol. Common variations of this are LOL – capitalized to portray an abrupt and hearty laugh – and lololol – used for continuous laughter or, perhaps, incessant giggling. On rare occasions the hybrid LOLOL is used, which signifies hearty laughter lasting longer than 5 seconds (duration may vary from person to person). Regardless, LOLOL should not be used unless certain symptoms are present after the laughing fit is over, like strained abs and heavy breathing.

There are others who represent their laugh with the more recent, but still classic, “haha.” Common variations are HAHA – suitably compared to LOL – and hehe, which connotes cutesy giggling and, sometimes, coyness. The most notable difference between these representations is the literal meaning. LOL is an acronym for “laugh out loud,” while haha is merely a crude catchword to express laughter. Just like dogs go “ruff” and cows go “moo,” humans go “haha.”

How do you laugh?

Spring

It’s not just gold

it’s green

It’s not just green

it’s gold

it’s the sun

setting through the trees

illuminating leaves with glory