LE FEU AUX YEUX

“LE FEU AUX YEUX”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

 There’s a silence in the rain that helps heal the pain. There’s a story in her head that’s brewing like a storm. There’s thunder outside their window and a firecracker of light bleeding down the wall and across the room in a chair sits the wreckage of it all. The arms of this nightmare are wrapped up in an empty bottle of wine and the dog on the couch is his only friend that comes to mind. She places her hand against the window so the bass moves through her cry and shakes the tears free into the storm of the night. The fire crackles but, goes unheard it’s the ice in his scotch glass that recites his slurred thoughts into words. Their stares are moving toward never, and the house shakes as nature’s cannons roar yet unstilted they both remain, so much rain yet they both claim to be the drain.  There was a beggar boy standing outside looking in at them and he must have felt so lonesome while sipping the last of his gin. He stood there in the pouring rain so statuesque holding up his chin as god’s wrath pounded down upon him; and then the lighting cracked once more as he tossed his bottle and inside a wine glass crashed to the floor, and a dainty fist smashed through a window pain, and God sang out with more rain; and there I was across the street standing in a puddle that was more than ankle deep. Insanity I thought insanity in deed, but how pleasant the rain.

THE ONCE CAFE

“The Once Café”

By Sheb Schebella

 The crunch of ice beneath my feet, a blast of wind in my face as I turn up Main Street to make my way to the café and all the while I can’t help think what became of my youth and then I remember, I got older, but thank god not old. A frozen smile is chiseled and finds its way beneath my happy eyes as I trudge on thinking I am going to treat myself to a pastry as well today. I look down at my trusted hound that carries his own leash in his mouth and remind him that he too will be getting his usual jelly doughnut and he perks up. As harsh as the weather is it is still a very fine day to be in love and to know the other one is mad for me. There’s a brilliant sense of security in the knowing that when the sun goes down that a blanket of kindness shall shelter you through the night. It is spring today but one would never know by the weather, only by name is it present for this time of year. I sit alone inside the café and watch people punch away at their Blackberries with vein protruding foreheads, I have never owned a blackberry and I don’t think I ever will; I never allowed my world to become that complex, that fast, that in personable. The romance of it all eludes me much like a wild pitch from a spoiled child. I fold over my newspaper and pullout my pencil to attempt the New York crossword puzzle and a young lady from a neighboring table with a pleasant smile informs me that there is an ad for that and it’s free, perhaps I think but the 400 dollar phone and the two year contract is not. I nod and smile with a thank you and leave it at that. Society has become so fast passed that there are games now I see where people can grow electronically simulated gardens, cringe goes I at the very thought of such a preposterous oddity. It seems the definition of passion has changed and is only kept alive by a small lithium battery at best by most it seems to me. The old café where once people shared greetings, conversations on small town politics and the weather has become an isolation tank for the patrons and is about as personable as an airport bar in Bangkok. My hound gives a hardy bark through the front window of the café letting me know he is ready to make haste and I don’t blame him. I purchase three doughnut holes for him to fetch on the stroll home before leaving. My hound Japhy heels next to me as we round our mark once again down main street, heading back to warmth back to our reality where the world is a kinder place and there are more than enough hours in a day to find time to say “I love you.”

WHY I STAY

“WHY I STAY”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Well the good news has been scratched away from the lenses of my eyes and even through the years of tears and countless beers I still can’t see why through the shallow conversations of my fellow man why do I still want to stay and play. It just seems to me most people these days don’t have stories but merely incidents in their humdrum days of self-containment  while allowing themselves to be force fed by the Christian hand of gluttony, oh how they all want a label of their own and a title to bestow. All I really want to hear is a soft whisper of a twelve string guitar and feel the warmth of another body that knows how to tell a story and color it to with echoes of laughter while a puppy dog’s tail is strumming the ground. When did a camp fire become a place to go and text and other hand held electronics are used to describe to another how strangely bright the stars are on a particular night? The world has become hollow and thoughts without action outline what little response most have. As I watch them pass around the Xanax and pour out some more boxed white, and just prior to their livers shutting down as they approach blackout close to midnight I may find them enjoyable just enough to stay for just one more round; but really it is not until they all leave and I sit there alone and wait for that friend and lover to get back home do I find my vision begin to restore and the canvas of my thoughts is wiped clear at the sense of them approaching near, this is my good news; I no longer keep track of the calendar only the blossoms on the trees, this is why I stay…

SOMETHING

“SOMETHING”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Something, something take a little step back, I don’t mind waiting, just have to fill the time in-between. Standing on a rock in the middle of the river waiting for the ice to melt, sometimes it’s safe, sometimes it can be dangerous. Standing in the heartland staring at a factory that makes canned spam and then I notice something is missing and then it dawns on me; a statue of a big sleeve of saltine crackers out in the parking lot, if only life at times could be that simple; but it never will be, someone will say “Hey, what about the hot mustard?” and then complexity takes back over presenting an ill rehearsed juggling act and one just knows something is going to fumble, something is going to come crashing down and all one can hope for is that someone is there to catch it before it shatters. Something is better than nothing they say, who actually says this I don’t really know, but most times I assume it is someone that gets exactly what they want all of the time. It is always going to be something I suppose…

TO SPIN TILL EMPTY TO THE SOUL

“TO SPIN TILL EMPTY TO THE SOUL”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

So maybe I am spinning a little too close to my soul where the fire burns till empty, beyond the point of no return but, it really does not matter to me. I just fill up the tank and drive it till it’s gone, then hike through and to the edge of the forest and if need be crawl  across the hot sand to the sea for no other reason than it’s just the way I like to be. So pack a lunch that will fit in your back pocket and come away with me and maybe if we are lucky we will find a cheap café along the way. Don’t wear your Birkenstocks there useless when we order drinks on the rocks. Don’t take too long to think about it, just say “maybe” and start spinning in that direction. You don’t have to worry about thinking that my way is crazy, we will be in such a whirlwind you will never see the eyes of those strange faces of passerby’s, just you and I spinning a little too close to our souls knowing we can run on empty; and “why?” you say, because boom, boom, boom there goes the time, there goes someone kicking the can over and out spills your life and you can’t just sponge it up like that and put it back. So think of a wish and then try to think of something better than this and then spin a little closer to our souls. There are so many people that are staring at empty but, they have never filled their cup. So come on what do you say let’s start spinning in that direction a little bit closer to our souls.

TRAVEL TO LIVE

“TRAVEL TO LIVE”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Took a little trip to see a friend but by the time I got there he had already died and they said he wont be coming back again in this life, so I hopped a train to Mexico lived in Rossarita for over a year until I got fed up drinking Pacifico Beer. Bought a T-shirt at the airport and a travel book I will never read, and hopped a plain to Bangladesh, just because it’s there I guess, met a Hindu in a pin stripe suit that drove a cherry red Cadillac, I did not care for his music so I made my own way to Bombay, met an Irish girl and rented a car but, we never really planned on going that far, had a great time even though she was gay but, for some damn reason she shagged me anyway. I ended up in Michigan to see my gramps, all he talked about was belly cramps; so I caught a train to L.A. even though it was a little out of the way, but it was worth it because I met a hooker on vacation from France and for 7 days I was in her pant's, now I’m back home all alone with my feet up on the couch watching boring ass TV wondering how to get out, I guess I will try to make my way to Spain ain’t never been there they tell me it’s nice, before I go I will have a slice of rhubarb pie then grab a ticket for the sky, because if I sit here much longer I will go insane, better keep moving and stay a head of the pain don’t want anything more to infect my brain, ok I guess here I come Spain.

THE GLANCE

“THE GLANCE”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

I was near the old once general store now turned discount hair salon watching fat women lumber out with dated hairstyles dyed in some glow in the dark burgundy type colors even crayola could not define, only to cross the street to enter an ice cream parlor named Tiny’s. I would then glance back down at my magazine and find it impossible to read with such bizarre confusion going on around me. I am at a place in my life where I know longer can define the world, but the more I think about it the less I truly care to. Sometimes if we are unlucky enough we get a vulgar glimpse of creation and the people that are because of it and trust me the haunting sticks with you a long time.

THE ODD WAIT

“THE ODD WAIT”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

 I was waiting at the train station at this little outdoor café, when an older man walked up to me and asked me the time of day. I smiled politely and checked my watch twice to make sure my time zone was correct as I often do and then I replied 12:55. He pulled a vacant chair from the table and invited himself to sit down all the while wearing a rather displeasing frown. There was a pause and stillness in the air until the 12:55 blew it’s whistle & pulled out going somewhere. He said son that is where you’re wrong. I then told him then I am not sure what he meant, but if he was asking for the time of my life I guess it is 43 years and some change. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand and replied to me that that answer was a start. Then he told me that I could be sitting anywhere, but for some odd reason I choose to be sitting here. Well if it were up to me I would choose to be sitting on the train, but it had not pulled into the station just yet and was not expected to for another 2 hours, and that is when I thought that this could be a long odd wait. He then introduced himself as Francis McKilacutty. All I could think was great a pissed of Irishman too afraid to fight. Then he told me he was the Director of Human Necessities at the Hilton Hotel in Washington D.C. on vacation here in Europe. After Francis broke his job title down for me a little I was able to determine that he was the guy in the restroom that handed you a towel or comb or even perhaps a splash of cologne, and then you rewarded him with some loose change or a fiver if you had been drinking the spirits. The world is filled with odd ducks, I hope to meet all of them, there's no space on my plate for much else I suppose.

LIFE HAS ME WELL

“LIFE HAS ME WELL”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

There once was a man from Nantucket, well never mind we all know that one and if you don’t then I can only assume your friends are as unimaginative and just as poorly culturally seasoned as yourself. You see an education that is valuable is a well rounded education which can grasp both ends of the spectrum; anything else is just one-sided bullshit, hardly worthy of debate if one was hoping to hold substance for more then thirty seconds in a simple conversation.
It serves really no purpose to only be familiar with the works of Van Gough or Picasso if you know nothing about someone like Walter Tenseptein. Walt was Manhattan sidewalk artist that drew in chalk on side walks, whom also happen to be an off the chain schizophrenic of the most brilliant order. He was not well known globally, his mother knew him, I knew him only because I took the time, but everyone that walked by his work enjoyed him. Many people tried to compliment him with cannibalized ill formed and tortured clichés which they believed they did not try to borrow from their art appreciation course book 101. These people may just as well shook a coffee can filled with gravel in front of Walt’s face to convey there spirited delight, but all Walt really wanted was some loose change tossed in his cigar box so he could at the end of the day purchase Chesterfield cigarettes and soda pops. If you wanted to communicate with Walt you would have to ask him a question in the form of a chalk drawing, and he would give you a rather definite and plausibly intellectual answer in the same media. If you wanted Mr. Tenseptein to answer you quickly you had to draw in blue, I have no Idea why this was, and it was just something I observed one particular day...
Sitting up in a chair 32,000 feet above sea level traveling at 654 miles an hour I begin to notice in this overly crude elongated cylinder of an illume most refer to as an Air Bus; one thing I notice is the men to women ratio in Business Class, its about 12 to 1, the other thing is the ratio to attractive looking women to homely women is about 10 to 1; and the only attractive women in Business Class today are between the ages of about 40 to 45. In Economy Class the men to women ration is 2 to 1. The amount of attractive looking women in economy class versus unattractive women is about 3 to 1, and all the attractive women are under the age of 30 except for 2. There ages are some where between 35 and 42, and they are smoking porn star hot. I don’t know why these ratios configure the way they do, it was just something I observed on this particular day.

SOMETHING MAGNIFICENT

“SOMETHING MAGNIFICENT”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

The wind roars, the mighty trees bend and piles of snow fall free from their branches, like a mini avalanche above me, the canopy is closing in. There was not much of a trail to guide me before now even a less of one. Somewhere on my desk at home is a $400.00 GPS sitting there still in the box. There is no sun present to give hint of the time of day or what direction I am facing. The only thing I know for sure is that the wind is coming from the North West, so that will have to do. I am never truly lost in the forest, I only lack a complete understanding at times as to where it is I am actually in the woods. Hiking in the woods is much like life in general, one hopes there heading in the right direction but one can never be sure until they get there. Once a destination is fulfilled there is a sigh of relief but, the celebration is short lived; so we scribble them down into memoirs and through time we hope they will mature to a deeper understanding of ourselves and life, well this is what most of us hope for anyway. In truth I think we keep memoirs for those that keep memoirs is because when we sit alone in our own private thoughts whether they be good experiences or nightmarish events of the worst definable kind we can still find a cozy solstice in our private world. At least this is how it works for me and the precious few that have shared their thoughts with me. Yes the precious few, a small black book of friends and lovers drawn together in the beginning by some type of energy we can not define or ever saw coming. Yes, the mysteries of life and thank the gods for them and don’t spend all day trying to figure them all out or the magician just becomes another annoying schmuck in the 12 items or less checkout line. There’s something magnificent in being a little not sure, a little be bewildered, a little lost off the beaten trail, standing at the bow of a sailboat and seeing nothing but big blue and a horizon line and just as your heart begins to race a bit and your palms are a little more moist than usual, you notice something, something you have never seen before, a glimpse of something beautiful from within. You witness true magic, true love, true friendship, true self, and trust in something you never thought existed. You become witness to anomalies, miracles, events and moments you never could have dreamed about and a type of courage you never thought you had. Smile, smile till it hurts, until your eyes begin to ache from squinting and never feel obligated to explain yourself to anyone; and never let anyone dictate how you live, love and laugh…Get a little lost in yourself.

CRISP

“CRISP”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Crisp and dry, my breath drifts gently frozen, but carries no words. The snow upon the lake shines like diamonds as it filters the moonlight, it has no value, but yet priceless in the eyes of the beholder. Clouds, broken and passing by and grouping at the south end of the valley; a storm is surely on its way. The barometer is dropping and the air temperature tries my joints and dates their age. My smile drifts in and out like a clear windscreen gathering pressing snow as the wiper clears the glass. My heartbeat can be heard beneath my eardrums and begins to lull me into a hypnotic trance. The barbwire of my mind loosens and my thoughts run free searching in every direction for a god that will listen. A pack of silhouetted coyotes cross the north end of the lake, I am then brought back to real time; they halt and pause for a moment. I can see their breath as well, they sniff the air and then bolt for the tree line. I have done nothing to them, but yet they fear me and that’s not the way I want to be remembered. The flag on my tip-up triggers, I raise a healthy sized walleye from beneath the ice and remove the hook from it‘s mouth. I twist the fish back and forth letting the light of the moon dance upon it bringing out it’s magnificent colors which resemble mother of pearl. I am not hungry tonight and to sleepy to take time to gut the walleye; so I name it Pearl and return it back beneath the ice and give thanks to the gods, to whichever one is listening. I stand and stretch my back, collect my gear and sled and walk back into the woods guided only by love and moonlight, this is my night, this is my peace, this is my reward.

BEFORE WE STARTED LAUGHING

“WHAT I WAS TRYING TO SAY WAS“

“BEFORE WE STARTED LAUGHING”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

If I had to pick one woman to travel around the world with and leave today it would be you. And I would like to start where neither of us has ever been. And we would make love in every city, every town, and every village. On every river bank we walked, in every rain swept alley we fond are selves. We would share every meal together. Every lunch we ate would be at an outdoor café, never more than inches or a hands reach away. Every breakfast we ate we would use only one fork and one spoon , feeding each other. And 90% percent of are day when walking would be while we were holding hands. And every night we would share the day’s last bath, every night we would share the days last laugh, Every night we would share the days last kiss, every night we would share the nights last smile, every night we would share the days last embrace. And the last people we touched would only be each other. And every moment we would share each other. And after are journeys end I would have hoped we found away to say “I LOVE YOU” in a hundred tongues. I know It got all twisted up. But we meant well, hahahahahahaa!

YES, STRANGE

“YES, STRANGE”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

A woman in a crimson dress road her bike across the frozen lake today wearing green ear muffs and yellow moon boots as well. I was sitting on a bucket ice fishing when I noticed this apparition or insomnia fueled hallucination, I am not sure what term makes me feel more secure in my what I feel to be a sane existence, but then again no true crazy person has ever admitted to being mentally ill. She pulled up gently on her bike and placed down one boot for balance it was then I noticed she was wearing Spiderman leotards, clever I thought. Her bike was of poor quality but she did have expensive spiked tires for such an occasion, it is strange I thought what we spend it on. She had a pleasant smile or perhaps it was merely a frozen grimace, but either way she wore it well. Her mittens where from another time, something one may wear to compliment the rest of their ensemble more so than for warmth in the 19^th century; somehow though she made it all flow together nicely. Sometimes we meet people in life whom are able to carry themselves in the most precarious ways yet balance with great ease. I raised my sunglasses to be polite, I was taught that action was proper as a boy. It was so bright out though after a quick hello and then asked with a smile if that she was lost I let them slide back on to the bridge of my nose. She quickly complimented my humor with a snort and a bashful nod as if she regretted letting it slip out. I find snorts to have a pleasantry about them it shows a true color; an approachable nature about someone. She asked me how the fishing was and so I stood and lifted the bucket on which I was sitting and showed her. She lent in as if she was peaking over a dangerous cliff which was marked by a sign telling everyone to stand back. I had 7 crappies strung on a line and she told me that she really enjoyed crappies and on that note I handed them to her. With no hesitation what so ever she took them from me and told me thank you. She harnessed the fish around her neck and shoulder as if it where a bandoleer. She thanked me one more time and then bid me good day as I watched her peddle away as soft as any slow Russian ballet. I glanced over my shoulder one more time an watched her disappear into the falling snow. Shortly after that small encounter I packed up my gear onto my sled and headed back home. I passed another fisherman just setting up on the ice and he asked me if I had caught anything and I told him no but, I did greet a north woods mermaid. The fisherman chuckled and then told me a fine day it was then; I wished him good fishing and walked away pulling my sleigh behind me while thinking to myself “Yes, strange what we spend it on, and this is a life being well spent in deed.”

TIS NOT WHAT YOU THINK?

 "TIS NOT WHAT YOU THINK?"

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

Tis not the questions in my head that I or others have placed there that I fear to answer. Tis not the words around me that I choose to not listen to because they are not wisely formulated. Tis not the rush of the winter's icy wind when I open the front door that keeps me inside. Tis not the beautiful music that rains down upon me that puts a gentle smile upon my face. Tis not little puppy in in the room chasing a prism of light around the floor that keeps me still. Tis not my believe system in God that keeps me honest when no one is looking. Tis not the spot on the wall where I focus when I ponder on pontification. Tis not the uncut watermelon sitting on the breakfast nook in January that makes me wonder odd. Tis not wine in my cellar that heals my ills. Tis not the metal taste in my mouth that keeps me in the woods when I choose to go out. Tis not rainbows that make me think of a place such as heaven.  Tis not the spider in the kitchen sink that keeps me from doing dishes. I will tell you now though what it is that has me a little ticked off as I sit here at the breakfast nook looking into a bowl of dry cereal, and that is; what kind of lazy son of bitch puts an empty jug of milk back in the fridge? Well I don't know but, I am not moving until they walk back through my front door and when they do there's going to be all kinds of fucking furniture moving around this place...

IN THOSE MOMENTS

“IN THOSE MOMENTS”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

The loose shutter beat against the house like the mad hammer of Thor as a brutal wind was ripping through the wooded valley at thirty plus miles an hour and gusting heavy. I suppose I thought I should go outside and fix it while at least my electricity was still working. I raised myself from a 2am vodka bender off the carpet in the living room, I would like to say this has not happened often but I would be exaggerating. One thing that does make this episode different from the others is that I know how I got here this time. I sat up slow and smiled at my clothing, at least I am fashioned in wool pajamas and socks. My boots are right next to me and that’s a plus except minus one pair of laces my pup has chewed off sometime between 11pm and now I am guessing. I just smile at my pup and pet him, it’s not his fault, I don’t like tying my boots anyway. I pull myself up to the sofa and twist my eyes a few more times and slug back of what’s left of my cranberry and vodka drink. Christ, I think I was making them a little stiff last night. I pan my coffee table which is an old travel trunk in hopes for at least one more loose cigarette laying about and I score. I decide to go ahead and light the candle sitting there just in case. The television is broadcasting some old Shirley Temple movie, I never could stand that freak, just something creepy about her dancing with all those black men and singing about lollipops. I switch the programming over to the weather channel and turn the sound off, I am just interested in the numbers, I have no desire to listen to some painted up douche bag sporting a spray on tan with grotesque overly white teeth, while dressed in over priced foul weather gear telling me how bad things are as he dodges up rooted stop signs; while everyone knows he would have been just as convincing if the dumb shit stayed in his van with the other flunky interns. I raise from my throne of debauchery and snatch up my jacket from the kitchen table and think the pup probably has to pee anyway. I don’t worry about his leash it’s to miserable out tonight for even a crack head to want to wonder off in hopes of a score. I turn on the front porch light and open the door and it smashes back a foot into my left boot just missing my face, nice save I think. The pup jumped back two feet in horror and pissed himself silly for a slow five count; well we tried I thought, it’s not his fault. As I looked out the door and down there was a knee high snow drift blocking my path and looking just as assured as any true young spirited hovis’witness under any door frame, so I kicked it a couple of times and then my pup leaped out into the weather as if he had a better plan. Now when I say I am going to fix the flapping shutter at 2am what I really mean is that I am going to rip it off it’s hinges and then worry about proper repairs in the spring. We do have a home owners association even this far north tucked up in this little town but, the last time they paid me a visit about my lawn not being manicured to there liking it involved 3 cop cars, several bystanders going to the hospital for butterfly stitches and two of us spending the weekend in jail. So truth be told I don’t hear from them anymore, so fuck the shutter it’s a cosmetic nothing at best.
I stand on my porch looking out at my street and think one day I am going to be mayor of this burg and then have a good laugh shortly followed by a good bugle blast from ass that could be heard over the roaring wind; loud enough even for my pup out in the yard to turn and face me with his ears raised with an expression that let me know he was impressed. I turned and walked toward the loose shutter and it was slapping back and forth with the speed and ferocity of a well oiled stamping machine. I decided at that time to go inside and get on a pair of work gloves to keep safety in the top five, as well make myself a fresh drink. I called for pup to follow me inside but he declined; fuck’m I thought he’s having fun and if not he will get it right next time or maybe the time after that and if he doesn’t he will just freeze to death it’s all quite simple really. While I am mixing my 3am cocktail which I feel are underrated by the general public I begin thinking to myself that I do enjoy repairing things its just that at this point I am in no mood to be looking for my hammer or digging knuckle deep into an old glass pickle jar of assorted screws and nails for something that will hold that shutter in a fixed position. I think at that time the shutter is rotten anyway to try and justify my actions to come, much like this 3am vodka and cranberry. I use the cranberry in the vodka mix to work as a kidney cleanser time will tell. I head back out front and on my way I notice my crowbar propped next to the fireplace, lucky find says I to me. So I take time to stoke the fire and throw on a few needed pieces of hardwood, oh how I love the smell of oak. The wind is just as evil as it was when I made my first pass outside but I didn’t let the door catch me this time. I just let the door swing wide and free, a little to free actually because the door handle ended up burring itself into the drywall and stayed stuck there, just as well I thought at least the repair is indoor work. Once back out on the porch I noticed pup was well and not only that he managed to find himself some frozen road kill, a rather large grey squirrel to be exact. I was going to tell him not to play in the street, but one could not tell where the yard ended and the street began in such conditions, so I just opted for a good boy pat and a swill of my frozen hurricane theme drink. I turned my attention now to the shutter which at this point was causing other porch lights to come on, which in fact made me feel like doing nothing about it at all., however instead of being a prick I rolled up my sleeves figuratively speaking, actually I just sat my drink down. The nice thing about having two feet of snow on the porch was that it made for one fantastic big chilled cup holder. Without to much further ado I slowly moved toward the shutter of death. I needed to trap the shutter in a cocked position so I could pry it loose and this raised the stakes. I looked back at pup and asked him to wish me luck, his frozen drool engulfed the squirrels midsection as he held it in his jowls with his tail a wagging as quickly as my flapping shutter, happy he is god-bless’m. Well with one nicely placed misguided lunge into the shutter I felt my shoulder dislodge from joint which in turn caused my teeth to shutter and then I yelled something vulgar in Croatian, I don’t know what I yelled because at that time I did not speak Croatian nor later in life would I go on to learn any; perhaps someday I will set aside a little time to learn a few catch phrases, but I have seen Croatian porn and in truth it just sounds god-awful even in the softest of tones. As I pressed up against the shutter I practiced a few labored breathing techniques perhaps the same a dwarf would exercise during giving birth to a future Samoan pro football player. I just knew that if I fell unconscious on this porch in this weather I would be know better off then that trophy pup was holding. I was impressed how much perspiration was forming over my brow when knowing clear well it was 27 below zero outside. Once I felt as if I would no longer pass out face first into the snow I set down my crowbar and opted for one more long cool swallow from my drink, to help settle the demons which have momentarily possessed my right shoulder. However thankfully enough I am ambidextrous and have great strength in my left arm and grip, for that matter I am always the go to guy when the jam jar lid is unbreachable. I lent back over and drew up the crowbar and in one swift handsome motion placed it between the shutter and the house. There in keeping in Zen format I collected a few more controlled breaths and a few more swigs of my cocktail before I implemented a few good rips on the crowbar. I told pup to put me on a three count but he was not listening so I just went ahead and yanked. I blacked out but only for a short period as I was collapsing to the ground and next to me the shutter lay free from its hinged jaws of death, I was victor and was rewarded by a slop nasty kiss from pup whose breath smelt of dead rodent, but that’s not his fault so I gave him a few laps from my drink. Once pup the dead squirrel and me made it back inside I stoked the fire one more time and made myself another stiff drink and carried over to the sofa and kicked off my boots. About 3 minutes after I sat down I looked up at the television and witnessed the weatherman being hit but some enormous debris which appeared to be made out of some jagged heavy gauged aluminum and just like that he was gone from viewer and then the station broke to a commercial about life insurance I couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Moments later there was this amazing earth shaking thunderous roar and wood splitting crackle. As I looked over to the kitchen while feeling the house shake, an enormous amount of tree section came crashing through the roof. Pup peed on the sofa a little but it wasn’t his fault I did to I think. Seconds later the power went out and the house was lit only by my roaring fire and little candle on my travel trunk. The tree all but filled the kitchen leaving a five by five foot void in the ceiling, sparing the breakfast nook and my vodka bottle. The wind seemed to have stopped and the snow fell in my kitchen straight down in billowy bulbous size flakes. I lent over and petted pup with a smile as he held old grey in his mouth looking over at the anomaly before him, it wasn’t his fault; yep its in those moments I find life so complete.

STRIGA

“STRIGA”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

It swept down from the west from behind me with great speed, it was difficult to follow in the night sky but as it glided a meter just above the frozen lake, snow twirled beneath her in duplicated but, apposing swirls which tailed of like smoke streams. It was a Striga I said to me as I watched it cut and jive from North to South which is the longest distance of the lake. It finally came to an abrupt halt and settled gracefully upon the ice. I myself was struck in aw as I have not seen the likes of one of these creatures sense I left Romania and even then it was only a stone statute at that time and I had been on the wine. Tonight I am sober and only consumed with the early symptoms of insomnia and a quizzical mind. As I squinted through the cold harsh air to bring my eyes into focus I could not help but notice even in her masking silhouette she was a tattered and wretched creature. From beneath her cloak she drew a staff of sorts and with one piercing smash she had sunk it right through 10 inches of solid ice all the while letting out a curdling cackle that made the temperature feel to my already goose bumped buddy another 5 degrees less. She began to stir her staff until it burned red and the ice hissed like a bed of boxed snakes. Then as one possessed from starvation she lunged her arm shoulder deep into the icy water and just as quickly retrieving a large Northern Pike. I watched the ice form almost instantly on her ratty hair as she took her staff and skewered the fish from mouth to ass. Then with both hands as she remained squatted she twirled the staff like a spit as once again it burned red. I could smell the ungutted fish cook from the inside out and actually it didn’t smell half bad. Without notice Her face was right in mine, I could see her mad golden eyes dead into mine and her foul breath freezing on to my cheeks; and then slice! I feel the whip of her hot forked tongue stab my left eye and before I could move I could feel it go from my lower chin up past my nose and into my right eye. Oh my god I thought I have been blinded by some acid slime. Her next move will be her burning staff through the center of my chest I know this to be true and have no doubt of the conclusion of such an act. I feel a claw now upon my face I larch back and with one more attempt to gain my vision back and I am successful. Tis only my hound at 2AM, the little bastard, he needs to go out and pee and now so do I.

MEXICO & MANGOES

“MEXICO & MANGOES”

BY SHEBSCHEBELLA

　
　
Progresso, much like any small town pushed up against the sea. It's just outside of Merida, and a million miles from nowhere on a crowded day. The one thing that makes Progresso different is it's open air markets. the Vendors there sell the best Mango's on the planet, and if you want they slice them on the spot for you. Yes, the Mangoes are divine. It reminds me of a story which kind of goes like this.
Japhy Ryder and Joy Eros, were a grand set made for each other. The closest definition the two understood as Soul Mates.. Both of them roped tight in build, each sharing a quality of laughter that could not be matched, and pleasant to look at as they walked the market street of Progresso, Mexico. It was their first time there together. Japhy had been many times, but wanted to share it with Joy. 15 hours earlier they were in a snow packed town were the temperature was 30 degrees Fahrenheit and the half million other people that lived there were just as cold and bitter. And so with little else than their pass ports they jumped a jet on a whim and headed South. And that brings them back at this point waiting with little patience as the vendor slices up the mango and adds it to a large bowl with a lid. Once the vendor was paid and tipped for slicing up the fruit, the two were on there way back to the beach. They had just finished lunch not much earlier at a place called Don Loco. Where they ate tacos for .25 cents a piece and drank sweet rice milk called Horchata, a favorite of Japhys. It was then they decided mangoes for dessert would be best, and best to eat them at the beach. After lunch was over Japhy wanted to buy the table cloth from the owner. The Owner Don thought that was so funny that they wanted to use it at the beach like a blanket he had given it to them for free.
Japhy and Joy found a secluded part of the beach just outside their rented bungalow right underneath a group of palm trees that provided ample shade, it was there Japhy spread out the table cloth which was stained with some hot sauce, but neither of them noticed.
Joy wanted to go for a swim before they sat to eat their mango dessert. Which was fine to Japhy because he had to pee but he didn't tell her that. He laughed to himself as she took his hand pulled him to the sea, thinking perhaps she did to, for she had drank four glasses of Horchata herself. Once entering the water their time was eventful as they tangled there bodies together bobbing in the water, and there conversation began to play out like this.
Hold me tight Japhy. I will in a minute. No now. As she lunged for his neck to wrap here arms around. Oh my lord the waters warm Japhy, did you pee? I tried to warn you. HaHa I don't care you freak kiss me anyway. Joy was a kisser, she could have wrote the book. She could explore a set of lips like no other. Kissing to her was beyond the normal realm of passion, beyond any art form. But one could not find in a book the way she kissed, she played second fiddle to no one. Hey take it easy, I don't want to have to walk across the beach with a woody. You're crazy, you had one walking into the water. You saw that did ya? You crazy coconut, hush and kiss me now.
Eventually the two found them selves sitting on the table cloth. Japhy sitting with legs spread apart Joy pushed up close with her legs rapped around his waste, as she held and open container of sliced mangoes. Japhy reached in first extracting a slice of mango while grinning ear to ear. Placing it in her mouth.. My god she thought what a flavor she had never known. She reached in to the bowl and pulled one for Japhy and placed it in his mouth. How succulent the flavor of the mango, how sweet and juicy it was. She grabbed one more for herself, and then 4 more for him and forced them lightly in his mouth. He began to try and chew but laughter broke from him and the juice began to pour from his mouth. It was then Joy cupped his cheeks and began to lap his chin. How wonderful the taste, twice better mango juice is she thought, coming off her lovers skin. They sat and ate and laughed. And traded pieces of mango back and forth with their mouths until none was left. The bowl was empty now of mangoes. Only the juice remained, and it was Japhys turn to drink. Lay back he told Joy. He wanted to drink from her belly. She eased back slowly while smiling back at him her beautiful eyes changing color as she began to grin. Japhy took the bowl and carefully filled the crest of her belly with mango juice, the only true passion punch in existence. He sat the bowl aside and softly placed his hands on her to steady her hips and began to drink with his lips. He licked her belly button to get the last bit out, she giggles as she quivered. Drink again she told him as her hands lay tangled in his long and curly hair. Japhy slid himself further down her waist, while reaching for the mango juice. Joy pulled her legs up so her feet rested on the tablecloth and used her feet to arch her hips up. "Drink from me again Japhy, and let me taste you fingers while you do." He slid her bikini to the side and poured the mango juice upon her only untanned area until it began to puddle from within her. He tossed the empty bowl to the side and raised a hand to Joys mouth, which she grabbed tightly with her own and while keeping her other hand buried in Japhy's curls. Joy began to separates his fingers and suck them ever so slowly one by one. Japhy dipped his head and began to drink the mango juice from it's new found grail. Joy moaned deep and her breath became shallow and quick. Japhy lapped a little faster wishing not to lose a drop. Joy inserted his middle finger into her mouth and began to suck with force. Her hips began to buck heavily spilling more juice from the grail. Japhy opened his mouth wide and cupped over her untanned skin entirely, while making quick long strokes with his tongue. painting with great force he was, but she was not quiet ready to let him up for air. Faster she bucked in to him. She then pressed Japhy's finger tightly to the roof of her mouth with her tongue and hummed a whine. Japhy finished up lapping her lightly until she stopped quivering. And after a short while he felt her body go limp as she freed his finger from her mouth. He raised himself up slowly to rest his head on her belly, so he could regain his breath. She began to massage his scalp with both hands. Japhy lay still he could feel rain begin to fall on his back. Neither of them noticed the clouds rolling in. The temperature had dropped slightly, but only now did they begin to notice. The rain was soothing the air crisp and fresh as it filled their strained lungs. Japhy and Joy faded into a story book sleep, but not before they said to themselves. "I could not imagine life without you."
　

MAKING LOVERS GRAVY 101

Making Lover’s Gravy 101

By Sheb Schebella

It was in the evening when he walked in his home to notice that all the lights were out. “Are you here Tiger Lily?” he shouted out. “Yes my darling man here is where I am. All the power in the village is out.” As he walked into the kitchen he could see she had set up candle light upon the dinning table. He finally noticed her standing by the table holding a plate of mash potatoes. She was dressed in a black half top, and a satin dark orange wrapped scarf skirt. There she stood before him beautifully glowing in her ivory skin. As he looked into her eyes he noticed they appeared a little distraught. “What troubles my Tiger Lilly on this eve?” he softly spoke. She whispered back “It’s the power darling, it went out and rendered my meal incomplete. There for I have no way of making gravy for the mashed potatoes or the meat.” And there she stood before him with her head slightly tipped, smirking at him as she peered up through her brow. He stepped toward his Tiger Lilly taking the mashed potatoes from her and setting them on the table. And into his arms she walked. There with out much hesitation they shared there ritualistic evening kiss. And then she spoke to here darling man once more and said “I feel dreadful we have no gravy here.” With out a word he stripped her skirt while he watched in candle light her eyes grow wide and the cores grow dark and deep. And with one sweeping motion he snatched away her string panties and tossed them. She was shocked into a smile, her eyes transfixed at her panties on the floor. With a skating motion he grabbed her hips and lifted Tiger Lilly to the air, and twirled her gently round, and while doing so he could smell her green apple scent. And then with some casual force he smashed her ass down on to the mashed potatoes plate. The table shook and potatoes splayed in all direction. He stood there smiling in laughter as he pulled his shirt off and he could feel her unfasten his pants. “My naughty boy you are to night, starting this little food fight.” She said as she grabbed a fist full of cock. He stepped in to her as she guided him in. Then Tiger Lilly whispered.” Yes that’s it darling, grace is over, please let’s begin.” Tiger Lilly pulled off her tank top so he could see her breast, petite and firm they were the kind her darling prefers. She had the type of stiff nipples one could hang a London Fog on. She lent back arching while placing her one hand in the apple sauce, and the other in a bowl of syrup covered mixed bananas and strawberries. “Yes the head Chef is in the house, stir it up my darling man.” He grabbed her by the hips as she bent her knees far back, and his cock began to twist like a whisk into her tiny mixing bowl. He could feel the heat of the mashed potatoes baking off his balls as they plowed through them. Looking down at her woo he said “That’s it my Tiger Lilly, get that gravy good and thick.” Tiger Lilly pulled a hand full of mixed fruit from the serving bowl, and with open palm crammed it into her lover’s mouth. And as the syrup from the fruit dripped off his chin on to his chest she smeared it on to him tweaking his nipples as if she was turning up the speed dial of her mixer. While she looked up at his glazed face she said “Let me help mix it up, we can do it together my little Chef.” She pulled her hand forward cupping a palm full of apple sauce and slung it on her clit. Quickly she raised her hand and with three fingers she entered her darling man’s mouth “Here suck my fingers baby boy, lick, taste my apple sauce.” Once he had got his fill of apple sauce she lowered her hand back down to help mix up the gravy. “Yes that’s it Tiger Lilly mix it up, whip up that clit.”
Her darling man reached forward cupping and tweaking both breast, and she moaned delightfully as he caressed.
She began to buck and twist, shaking her tiny mixing bowl all around his whisk. “That’s it baby boy yes, that’s it the gravy is done here, here, here ooh here it comes!” And as her gravy boiled she poured it out of her tiny mixing bowl onto his mash potatoes. Her tiny mixing bowl shook and shuttered in her trembling hand as she made sure every drop of gravy was out.
Tiger Lilly lent forward and said “Let me have your gravy to my darling man, let me lick it from the whisk.” He pulled his whisk from out of her tiny mixing bowl, and cupped the back of her neck gently and fed his gravy into her mouth. He sighed and bucked as she slurped it from his mixing tool. He gazed hypnotic at her as he watched some of his gravy run from her mouth. She released his mixing tool and grabbed his pointing finger with both her hands, and scooped his gravy from her chin. Then she placed his finger in to her mouth sucking the gravy back in again. And with a light sigh she replied “Ooh my darling man your gravy is so divine. Please, please know sit and try mine. Eat your mash potatoes before they get cold, and lick my tiny mixing bowl clean. Eat for me now my darling man. Have all of me for I have had my fill. I only want to watch you dine on mine by this candle light.” He bowed his head with contentment to eat for now they had their gravy, the meal was complete.

Bring The Sunshine

“BRING THE SUNSHINE”

BY SHEB SCHEBELLA

What more can one offer than to stand before the sea, only to cross to the other side seeking to be free. Paroles haunting journey it sometimes can be when you reach the other shore and nothing presents it self, but our shadow casting out to greet thee. With doubt and fear we wipe the dried sea salt from are skin. Try to focus are eyes on a new path to begin. Where once we felt a calling now the whisper is even thinner than grey whiskers on our chin. Bucking up with courage, for a new journey must begin, but who’s to say it can not end for the reasons why our quest began, for if there is two heart beats then what may appear bleak is truly not the end. A labyrinth we have sought, a labyrinth we shall find, but more importantly the Labyrinth was built around us, but only in our mind. We have created the complexity of what we seek to find; even if it may have been handed to us. We turn are backs on our prize, for some odd antiquated reason we need to stew more in the riddle and the rhyme. The mind sometimes can be a very vicious gift and to viscous to allow are selves to hear the calling of our hearts, and so we turn toward the darkness to sort out the parts. It is here in the darkness that we find we know less than from the start of our quest. It was fear that tampered with our goals and misguided our souls, but if the gift giver was truly meant for us, all one needs to do is turn back toward the light. We will cry out “BRING THE SUNSHINE!” for we have pondered long enough through this bitter lonely night, for it has stolen are dreams, and we only slept amongst the dead. The walls of the Labyrinth will crumble and there we shall be humble as the viscous nature of our doubt flows out, allowing are hearts to open up and sing like beautiful piano music bounced across a calm sea; we will find are selves once again on the beach standing ankle deep in cool sand holding hands realizing the gift we sought truly was handed to us and meant for you and me.