Friday, June 29, 2007

Photo by Myca Angel

At first I did not know where I was or what had happened. Everything was a dull blur, and the throbbing in my head made it difficult to concentrate. But the feeling faded and my senses began to differentiate themselves. I lay sprawled on the stone floor of a subterranean chamber. The water flowing down one of the walls caused a steady tinkling sound, not deafening, but loud enough to mask the ambient stillness. Last of all I noticed the light, the steady fluorescent glow of the blue rocks forming the walls around the spot I lay. It was a dead light, with none of the warmth of the sun, but nevertheless the temperature was comfortable.

In a flash the events of the last days passed before me: Exploring the cave. The mishap. Tripping and sliding down the incline. Losing my way. The flashlight giving out. Inching along in darkness until the blue illumination appeared in the distance. I might be miles below the Earth's surface, had no idea of how to return.

I heard the sound of bare feet splashing through the puddles where the water had paused on its way to the center of the Earth. I saw the feet, the legs and body of a stunning feminine creature. Her skin caught the glow of the rocks and reflected a sheen of pale emerald. She stood near the streaming water, collecting drops and rivulets upon her hair and shoulders. The splashes clothed her flesh in a costume of glistening wetness. I studied her in my prone position, too weak to rise, though I felt an intense desire to embrace her.

All the while her eyes never met mine. She might have been oblivious to my presence, the way she held her head in shy aversion while continuing to bask in the falling water - a sight I could not turn away from.

She revolved slowly under the gentle cascade, revealing every aspect of her physical form, ended facing me again. The deep blue of her hair, the green shimmer of skin and the pale red of her lips combined into beauty I'd never seen before. She took notice of me as I thought this, and began her approach with measured steps and motions. I wanted to rise to meet her, but still I could not. Soon she knelt beside me, placed her moist hands upon my shoulders, and bent intimately close. I thrilled at feeling her wet hair touch my skin. I felt her tongue exploring my neck, felt how soft her lips were and then the pressure of two sharp fangs as they painlessly slipped through parting skin. As she drew my blood into her mouth, the sensation was one of dizzy ecstasy, that wound the center of my entire awareness. Unable to contain the pleasure I began to moan and turn from side to side, and she continued to drink from me.

I became numb with pleasure. My vision began to cloud. I saw her rise from me, her lips much redder than they had been before. She backed away with those same measured motions that had carried her to me. But this time her eyes were fixed upon mine, in her expression a mixture of sadness and desire. As she backed into the dripping water she inclined her head shyly, invitingly. Then my head began to throb and my senses succumbed to darkness.

Story #400

Four hundred is a special number, and deserved a special photo. This photo appeared by very kind permission of Myca Angel. Myca is a hobby photographer and extremely photogenic young lady from Chile. You may enjoy her photography, and her poetic writing (in Spanish) at two Webpages: [Myca Angel] and [Siko My].

Possibly this story might be taken as a sequel to another story written to a photo by Myca - but it wasn't intentional. This only occurred to me afterward.

Thanks to everyone who contributed their creativity here!

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Pleasure cruises, those rendezvous of the young, rich and beautiful were extremely expensive, so there the cruisers all were, dancing on the deck, ladies and men mingling and lingering with the one they had found among the waiting willing. As Gerry and Yvonne meshed into each other's arms it was like two electromagnetic surfaces pressing together. They danced in oblivion of the others, of the ship and the waves it hurdled through. The beat of the new-found partner was all that mattered.

Captain Rogers viewed from above with deep satisfaction. Half of the couples would begin a new time together, a seed sprouting into the fascinated intertwinings that initial attraction enjoyed. For some this would last a lifetime, others, merely a night, after which they'd return to the deck for the next dance. The captain was satisfied with his contribution to society, and proud that he had made the experience affordable. All the feeling of a Caribbean cruise and none of the expense, by building the open air ship's deck right next to the downtown.

Story #399

German word of the day: mittelprächtig (see above). Thanks to everyone who contributed a story/caption!

Now let's play a game of Russian Roulette. Six cool bloggers:

[one], [two], [three], [four], [five], [six]

Take your click...

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Between missions Agent Double D'Lemon dined at the Golden Dragon to receive his new instructions. He was the organization's most dedicated employee. The orders, as always, would be passed to him via fortune cookie. The last message "You will climb high mountains" directed him to a breathtaking deployment in the Himalayas, where he single handedly defeated a gang of goat rustlers. "An enemy will succumb to your persuasiveness" had been a coded order to arrest the dangerous Doktor Mabuse, a fictional character best described as an evil German incarnation of Professor Moriarty. That task had proven itself immensely difficult.

Now D'Lemon finished the final bite of nasi goring and awaited his instructions. Waiter Chang lay a plate with the cookie before him. But the Golden Dragon had a new kitchen boy, and he in turn had a sweet tooth. At a sudden impulse the boy had devoured a plateful of cookies meant for the guests, including the one for D'Lemon. Double D'Lemon broke the two halves of the wrong cookie away and read "You will discover happiness with a dark haired stranger." As he left the restaurant he scanned the faces. There she was: dark hair, dark eyes and stunning midnight complexion. He smiled. She winked. They talked. He lingered. They married. And lived happily ever after until the day they died. Mission accomplished.

Afterword: The message in the original fortune cookie, "The Aliens are among us," was a false alarm. The Aliens had been among us, but they took one look at "The Synchronicity of Indeterminacy" and left.

Story #398

Thanks everyone for making this a great round! More stories are welcome, of course! My comments and the next photo will be posted in a few hours...

If you can read Polish, check out this great translation of Story 396 by Joanna "Rotten" Banana

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Since the invention of the bubble combustion motor or the Bucomo, as it was affectionately known, oil was no longer needed - except for sensual massages. Cars now ran on dish soap. All the world's problems were solved and even pollution became a fun event. The occasional soap tanker that floundered off the coast led to wonderful spills of bubbly suds, all of it pH neutral. The lemon-flavored beachside air drew crowds eager for fun and cleanliness. Saline bubbles floated back and forth, volleyed by carefree frolickers while bikini-clad beauties, legs sunning in suds, enjoyed the peace of sand and detergent. Often a boyfriend or hubby trotted back from the seashore to his freshly bathed girl, sparkling dishes hugged in his arms.

Story #397

Thanks to everyone who wrote their own story/caption to the above photo. More are welcome. I'll comment them tonight, and post the next photo too.

Special note: Today is Roachz's birthday! So go wish her a happy birthday - and while you're at it, read her wonderful blog!

Monday, June 25, 2007

I'd heard they were a mixed couple, but that didn't bother me. I always try to keep an open mind. I knocked. He opened, and there was that fleshy smile of his - and those eyes that followed wherever one went. It unsettled me. He stood beaming and beaconing me to enter. I did.

"She's in the library," he explained, "reading the Kamasutra."

I followed him into the library. There she waited, a wooden monument next to his random build. Cedar she was - I could tell by the scent - or perhaps just the limbs were of cedar. I suspected a torso of oak, the noblest of woods. As I looked upon her we shared a meaningful glance. Her steady gaze put me at ease, for I did have slight inhibitions about the visit, considering their relationship.

"Did you bring the tools?" he inquired, expecting, perhaps, that I might have forgotten.

"They're in my case," I told him. "But could I ask you to leave the room while I work?" I knew it wasn't ethical in my profession, but I wanted to be alone with her.

"Is that necessary?" He seemed surprised. "After all, I am paying you for your services. I had thought to watch."

"All right," I acquiesced, but his continued presence was a source of unease.

We carried her to the bed. She was heavier than I had imagined, for her petite design.

"I'll remove her clothes for you, if you wish," he offered.

"No," I told him, "I'll continue from here."

I undid the clasps and zippers of the ankle-length dress covering her shapely form. But as I slid the article away I saw how blemished and raw the wood beneath had become. Secretly, I wondered what he had done with her to get her like that - I could tell she had been a careful work of art when first she was made. Wood should never be treated with neglect!

I activated the power sander and set to work. Sawdust sprayed from her midriff as I smoothed the roughened area. When I was finished I ran my palm across the midsection. How warm the wooden skin felt after the sanding! With a chisel I accentuated the navel, then I turned my attention to the remaining anatomy, sanded arms, legs and the artfully carved back. Soon the surfaces were restored, and the grain of her skin seemed to glow in the dim bedroom light.

I studied her intensely to see what work remained. There were still the erogenous areas to complete. The breasts I would have to do by hand - they might be ruined otherwise. So I selected the finest grain of sandpaper I had and began, slowly and steadily, to rub. It would take a few hours, but my hands and arms were firm and I was confident of their endurance. All the while I massaged those oaken orbs our gazes were locked and her smile never changed. And as I finished the delicate work below the waist I could tell she was completely satisfied. Then I was done.

I was sorry that my visit must finally end. But I had attended to the job conscientiously and well. She was a masterpiece to behold, as I was certain she had been the day she was created. We dressed her and returned her to the library.

"You may go now," he said, "I'll call you again if I need you."

As I left I could feel his roving eyes upon me, observing me with the condescension that creatures of flesh reserved for us beings of wood.

Story #396

(Read this story in Polish - translation by Joanna.

Note: Thanks everyone who contributed their own story to the above photo - more are welcome! Just leave a mini-story, caption or other impressions in the comments section. Tuesday night, NY time, I'll post a new found photo for a further set of stories.

P.S. I was tempted to caption this "Behind every good man there stands a woman." :-)

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Grego had a dream: mad, daring, passionate love with fifteen ladies at once. He had a plan too: download the latest pre-release fileshared Brad Pitt film and present it to the ladies on his wide-screen plasma TV. The ladies were seated in his makeshift theater, breathless in anticipation. Their eager eyes seemed to press the screen flat onto the wall. As their gorgeous masculine heartthrob appeared, salivary glands performed marvels to please a Pavlov. One could sense the building of erotic tension. Grego saw. Then he switched in the subliminal soundtrack he'd recorded himself in his rather shy and squeaky voice to bombard the feminine psyches with indecent salaciousness. But contrary to Grego's expectations, the ladies dropped into an immediate and impenetrable slumber. Grego, it seems, was an incredible bore, even subliminally, but when the ladies awoke, they recalled with a creepy shudder that the movie had been about him.

Story #395

Thanks to all who contributed a story! I'll comment on them tonight when I'm home from work. The next photo will be posted in a few hours.

P.S. Here's a cool photo-story one of my blogging friends put together using a series of photos I took recently. (I mentioned this already, but those who haven't seen it - it's really funny.)

Saturday, June 23, 2007

His heaven was formed entirely out of plastic. He poured the substance from an oil can, molded and patted the molten mass, until it hardened into diffuseness the color of fleece. He stood back and saw that it was good. Then he exhaled shadows and light which flew over the surface in a kaleidoscopic dance, raging and flowing like seas at high tide. When he cast his stare towards the finite walls of his holy realm he found they had merged with infinity. If it were possible to fall he could have done so perpetually, never leaving the universe that contained him. But he did not ponder this. He sat cross-legged in the center of his creativity and waited.

He saw that he was alone and it displeased him. He patterned angels out of the nothingness. They formed before him, aesthetic outlines clothed in a costume of fine alabaster thread softer than silk, if it were possible to touch. The angels wore skates which bore them through the unwalled realm. They moved with a steady grace transcending the physics of motion, like falcons in an endless glide never needing to flex their wings. As they passed his field of vision he admired their details which lingered in an afterimage quickly filled by the next of the heavenly forms.

Behind them fluttered a cloth, transparent red, created by the meeting of shadows and light. With a dexterous flip of the wrist the passing angel let loose of the cloth. It hurdled net-like, closer, upon him, invisible as it wrapped his body. The cloth vanished into his skin just as the heaven's walls had merged with a blurred infinity, or as a single snowflake vanishes in warmth. With each new layer he felt his thoughts wander ever further beyond the steady hand of controlled thought. And soon he drifted into sleep.

This was his last resort since counting sheep had lost its effect.

Story #394

This photo appears by the kind courtesy of a fascinating young visual and photographic artist called Cylixe. You may view her video collages at Youtube, or her photography at Flickr. I think you'll see why I was so fascinated by her art. The black and white photographs are poetry for the eye, which is not to say that her color photos are anything less. Please visit her galleries and tell her what you think. And Thanks to everyone who contributed a comment or story here.

June 23rd: If you've clicked in via blogger's "Blogs of Note" - welcome! And thanks Blogger, for this honor! What a stunning surprise it was to notice all the sudden traffic. This blog has been around since 2004 - but lately my posts have not been so frequent. To get a feel for the idea of spontaneous stories written to found photos, I invite you to try the "Random Story" link under that awful profile photo to your right in the sidebar.

Note: One of my short stories has been translated into Spanish at the E-zine Ediciones Efimeras (# 112). Click the green icon and look for the story entitled "Mecánico"

Friday, June 08, 2007

News Flash Interlude

My best friend Vince, whom you may recall from my "Here's How, Sniff" story has just released a new single entitled "Working A Lot." I'm very happy for him, as this is his first release under his own name. Vince has otherwise received quite a lot of recognition as lead guitarist for the iconic avant garde musician Gary Wilson. I met Vince back in 1984, as the department I worked in moved a few desks down the aisle. Vince took over my old desk, and I found myself going back to pick up my messages - but those conversations got longer and longer as we talked about all the music we had in common, such as The Velvet Underground, Captain Beefheart and other classics I was just discovering. We quickly became friends, and I'm very glad we kept in touch. There are so many great memories hanging out with Vince, for example, the story behind the above photo.

So do check out Vince's new single, with the tracks "Working A Lot" and "Driving Into New York" - you can listen to samples at Vince's myspace page. You'll find the single at the Itunes site (if you have the Itunes software installed) or at P.S. The tunes are cool and funky!

Other news: Tom & Icy have posted a really funny photo story using a set of photos I took recently.

Last and least: I'll post a photo on Sunday for you all to play with next week - I will be gone then until Friday, somewhere in the wilds of Barcelona.