Archive for the Uncategorized Category

Paul You’re a Dead Man

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on March 27, 2014 by Illyria Taylor

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is not a serious piece, just a joke between 2 friends. Don’t bother reading it.

 

 

Thanks to Paul, our Friday’s challenge on our new favorite literary sight was to add a word or a phrase in a foreign language. I bought the plane tickets to Australia that night. When I arrived on his doorstep he was more than surprised, and welcomed me inside. He was grilling shrimp shishkabobs on the barbeque, and when I took a wooden skewer and skewerd his black heart with it all he could shout as his life blood dripped onto the tiles was “Krykee, A’ve gott shramp on the’ barbee”. I stepped over his flailing body and I have to admit, the shrimp was pretty good, I’ll bring some back for CJT.

Member’s Pick, Friday:
The Visitor

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 1, 2010 at 10:38pm
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ooh you so did…didn’t you?
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on May 1, 2010 at 2:00pm
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WHAT?! I didn’t tell you to spell it with a K don’t blame that kinda crap on me!
Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 1, 2010 at 1:48pm
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I spelled it right! CJT told me to go with the K. seriously, Barbie like the doll? Oh you guys should be ashamed of yourselves!
Comment by Jessica Lafortune on May 1, 2010 at 5:53am
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Hysterical!
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 30, 2010 at 8:08pm
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just call me Buffy the australian slayer
Comment by Mark Rosenblum on April 30, 2010 at 6:18pm
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Thinking Ten-A Writer’s Slayground
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 30, 2010 at 4:37pm
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AHAHHAAHAA!!!
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 30, 2010 at 4:27pm
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I think it might have actually been the sharp end J.H.
Comment by J.H. Barnes on April 30, 2010 at 3:46pm
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HA!! This is great Alisa. Just what I needed today. Love it. Paul got the crap end of the stick in this deal.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 30, 2010 at 2:12pm
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you can invite, just don’t make me speak a foreign language.

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Comment by Edward Dean on April 30, 2010 at 1:43pm
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HAAA……Remind me to never invite you to dinner Alisa.

And hey Blake, cancel all my challenge suggestions, will you?

Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 30, 2010 at 11:47am
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you did both.
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 30, 2010 at 11:46am
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Damnit Alisa – Brooklyn got to the shrimp before I did… also, did I laugh when I read this, or Gaffaw??? Either way, all I could think of was Krykee Mate – and Barbee (sorry Paul!)

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

Serial Killer Still At Large..(tin cat series #1)

The daily headlines read the same for weeks on end; Serial Killer Still At Large; no leads.

Living in a less than affluent section of New Orleans the headlines disturbed me along with my neighbors. People

began pairing up for everyday activities. Husbands jogged with their wives in the morning instead of reading the

Sports Section, brothers walked sisters and mothers to schools and grocery stores, my best male friend even took to

escorting me to and fro from my job as a cocktail waitress at the Tin Cat Pub. The Pub was somewhat high end for

sort of club that it was, but my friend Alphonse faithfully waited for me every morning when I got off at 3am.

 

I made very good money at the Cat, and the boss was great for allowing unscheduled smoke breaks. It was during one

of these breaks that I would sprint the four blocks down to the Diamond Dog Saloon where the married men that had just

paid me small fortunes for lap dances went to mellow out before going home to their unsuspecting wives. It was a

simple act of timing that lead them to me as I hid in the shadows of the dark alley where I purred “ready for a freebee

Big Boy?” I don’t believe I’ve ever had a refusal, looking back on the old newspapers it appears I did not. I did give

them a heads up so to speak, I always whispered in their ears at the Tin Cat “here the kitties purr, but beware of dogs

in packs, they’ll rip your throat out” and it just aroused them more.

 

After ripping out “Neil from Spokane”s throat I looked to Alphonse, “You got the disposal covered?”

“I sure do sweet thing,”

“Don’t forget to leave the ring finger and head for the newspapers”

“Do I evah? See ya at the Cat at 3” as he sauntered off to his riverfront alligator farm.

 
 

 

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 2:01pm
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awe shucks you guys…
Comment by Jeanette Cheezum on April 13, 2010 at 1:04pm
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Great imagination. Very vivid.
Comment by Salvatore Buttaci on April 13, 2010 at 12:59pm
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You are a very very clever writer. Loved this!
Comment by Travis Smith on April 13, 2010 at 12:54pm
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Gruesome with a comedic twist – nicely done
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 11:31am
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hmmm. would have to work in your fantasy spa piece to pull this one off….I’ll think on it
Comment by Edward Dean on April 13, 2010 at 11:09am
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Big HA, pretty lady! If you ever get me to an alligator farm, those critters need to be skinned for a new pair of boots for me. (and matching luggage would be good.)

Psst; This blog would make a GREAT short (or more) story gal. Go for it!

Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 10:35am
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I did have Mr. Dean on my mind when I wrote this…I should’ve made him alphonse
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on April 13, 2010 at 10:22am
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What a sexy way to kill! I LOVED IT!
Comment by Edward Dean on April 13, 2010 at 8:31am
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Here, kitty, kitty! 🙂
Slice of life; gory humor; great twist!
Good write Alisa.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on April 13, 2010 at 7:50am
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thanx Rachel, this was so lame I’m embarassed.

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

Time and Time Again (bridge series #24/loophole 2)

*** 

Coral continued her casual stroll through the Desert of Secrets, she tapped her sacred cane a few times on the sandy hiway, lost in thought, the silver alligator head of the walking stick remained cool in her hand. 

 

When her last customer left Here, she raged at man’s infallible gods and closed the place up, not permanently of course, that was not allowed, but she left none the less. 

 

 Her thoughts never wandered far from her beloved Timekeeper, that beautiful Bull Alligator that braved the bridge to show her the blackness that would consume all that was or ever would be. 

 

 When her thoughts did wander they went to that woman Coraline, or to her other self, Aleese, both stuck in a hell that would eventually pale in comparison to what was to come.

 

Time and Time Again she thought of them all, and time and time again she shed tears for those that would be lost, and wished for the tenth or the millionth time that Something would change.

 

Lightening struck the asphalt everytime the cane tapped a beat, when she lifted the walking stick over her shoulder the storm intensified, and for an instant she knew fear. Something was Wrong.

 

Coral immediately turned back and ran as rain as black as raven’s tears and as thick as coal pelted the ground, leaving craters in their wake.  Seeking shelter from the storm she huddled in the doorframe of the little tavern just off the hiway, the sign above the roof said “Here”, but Something had Changed.

 

Try as she might the door would not open, she began to kick the door with her foot, then rammed it with her shoulder, but it barely budged.  She knelt down to catch her breath, the ancient wooden cane her only support, when a sound so loud cracked behind her. She dropped the cane and covered her ears.

 

The (thunder?) assaulted her six more times before it ceased, she likened the sound to an axe cleaving a tree,  ad infinitum, and then the door to Here opened with a slight creak.  She reached for the cane and found it had been sundered, the silver head had melted, obscuring the..

the..figure that was shaped as..as.. Coral gave up that train of thought and entered the tavern, she barely registered that an object was shimmering across the road. 

 

 For a moment, just a moment, it looked like a bridge, but when she looked closer it was gone. She chalked it up to the fog and the wind and the sand playing tricks on her mind, but she looked once more, just in case. 

 

For a moment, just a moment, she swore that there was an alligator looking back at her, but the next blast of wind dissipated the image and it was gone.  Gone just like her mind she thought, an alligator in a desert of all the silly things!

 

Coral  turned the sign over to “open”, put her apron back on, and began wiping down the bar, safe from the ravages of the desert storm.

                                                                               ***

 

In the year 1803 a female alligator laid thirteen eggs somewhere along the banks of the Mississippi River near a place Man called “New Orleans” in a state they called “Louisiana”.

 

The incubation period was typical and therefore unnoteworthy, even by Timekeeper’s standards.  Of the thirteen, twelve were female, they hatched without incident and swam away in the murky waters, following their mother.

 

The thirteenth was a male-child.

 

The last to break free of his egg he was immediately eaten by a larger reptile lurking in the water, thereby nullifying his future as the Greatest and Oldest alligator of Time immeasurable even to the Old Ones.

  

 His deleted existance was not only noteworthy, but also horrifying, especially by Timekeeper’s standards.

 

*** 

 

 

(if ya’ll are trying to connect these, it kinda picks up after “Walking Away” #20, then skips to #23?) 

 

Plot Thickens, Thursday:

Seeking shelter from the storm

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 28, 2011 at 12:57pm
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you do know that the English Prof I named “Mr Clay” in the first of this series was YOU right? I knew Bob wouldn’t care.
Comment by Michael D. Brown on May 28, 2011 at 11:37am
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Impressive. Knotty and intriguing. I’m just getting to this, so I apologize if it seems I’ve forgotten about you and your work. That I could never do.

This sounds very serious, but I have to say the names of a couple of characters brought a smile to my lips. The thought flashed, “Oh, what you writers in the desert will get up to!”

I’ll be back for more as time allows. How could I not?

Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 28, 2011 at 10:28am
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thanx to CJT; Her side of this story has given me the opportunity to tell it in ways I didnt think could be done..

I think we will be 60-80yr old crones still battling it out!

and Ed, DB and everyone else I have added without their permission…damn, I need Smitty!

Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 28, 2011 at 12:19am
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Oh dear, see that’s where I think it will all fall apart at the seams!
Comment by Travis Smith on May 27, 2011 at 10:33am
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I wasn’t complaining – just commenting that after you have finished the series I think it will be even better to read them all in sequence.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 27, 2011 at 10:20am
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oh travis I’m so sorry to make you do that. I have about 4 of your novella’s I  haven’t caught up with either!
Comment by Travis Smith on May 27, 2011 at 9:24am
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This series has been enjoyable Alisa – I think I will have to go back and read them all in sequence to really catch all of the points.  Well done
Comment by alisa rynay haller on May 26, 2011 at 10:57am
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the happy ending is coming her way, I think, but the alligator had to go, even before he arrived or she’d stay miserable (Time Stops #23)
Comment by D.B. Dean on May 26, 2011 at 5:56am
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As always superb imagery and mind shuttering story line that leaves me fearful of our future. I was really hoping you were bring back the time keeper in the end, but all for naught. well done. You just reached in a scraped a little hole inside me and left me weak and wanting more. I keep hoping for a happy ending for her.

When September comes

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor
 
 

 

 

We drove out of the backwoods of Louisiana planning next year’s visit, where we would stay, what streets we would conquer, the tours we may take. The cemeteries, famous and forgotten alike,  the white and the black, we would lay hands on those stones that called to us, say hello to our old ghosts,  hello to some new. 

The plans we make when we know we are lying to our children, it is a fine line. 

The truth cannot be explained in any way that will be understood until the future comes as predicted, not by a seer or a tarot reader, but that future that only adults can feel in their souls,

                    (there won’t be a “next” year sweetheart, don’t ask me why I know this)

The lie cannot be excused until it has become a thing of the past,

                    (Yes sweetheart, I knew, like I always do)

And so new promises are made in the present,

                   (Sweetheart, we can go in September this time! No work, no school!)

Promise? I promise.

And so August is roaring like a lion on the winds of a date come too soon, and we both know, and make little eye contact.

Before we left I took as much spanish moss as I could carry in the suitcase, the trinkets and baubles left on the couch, we told each other “just in CASE we don’t make it back”, so we both knew.

The moss left behind waved goodbye to us as the plane took flight, it knew too.

We decorated the tree out front with our stolen spanish moss, at night when the moon is full it looks just like Her, Louisiana that is. 

We added blue and green and purple globes to the barren landscape to remind us of Royal Street, or the color of the mist when it meets the night air in the backwoods.

And so we were blessed this year with rain in this barren land, so much that our dirt is now overgrown with weeds and grasses as tall as a man and our tree drips green lace. The tips mingle with the riot of life below so that it is difficult to tell which is growing up and which is growing down.

And so we cut secret paths in the brush when the moon is new, so that when it is full we can play hide and seek with each other, giggle at the new paths the wildlife has tamped, we get lost, and we get found.

Tonight I swear I saw an alligator by the duck pond.

 I’m sure it’s just a lizard but they do grow them big here.

The ducks don’t seem to mind him much so we will call him Elvis and tell the neighborhood children that we have a Real Lyve Loozi Anna  Gater in our yard.

Of course you can only see him if the Moon is just So in the sky,

and if he wants to be seen.

(Yes Sweetheart, looks like we made it to September afterall!)

 

 

 

 

 

Words, Inc., Wednesday:

(1) line, (2) where, (3) wave

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 17, 2011 at 7:28pm
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thankyou carol!
Comment by Carrol Strain on August 17, 2011 at 6:55pm
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There is so much to like about this piece. This line: “And so August is roaring like a lion on the winds of a date come too soon, and we both know, and make little eye contact,” which makes it clear the lie is apparent to all parties, and “we cut secret paths in the brush when the moon is new,” which is so colorful, and so many more. Rich.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 17, 2011 at 2:17pm
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Ed and Travis, you do me a great honor. Thankyou all.
Comment by Edward Dean on August 17, 2011 at 11:59am
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Reverie at its finest.

Excellent piece Alisa.

Comment by Travis Smith on August 17, 2011 at 11:44am
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Interesting flow of thoughts and events.  I like the structure in this of almost disparate thoughts, but strung together they all flow to tell the story.  I liked it.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 17, 2011 at 10:51am
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OMG Sandra thankyou for pointing that out! And again, thanx for reading it, fixing typo right now!
Comment by Sandra Davies on August 17, 2011 at 1:12am
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Totally enjoyed this, the depth of relationship and the description and knowingness of self-deceit.

(btw I think you might have a typo in “giggle at the knew path” ?)

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

 

 
 

 

Why did Dante’ neglect to mention the deeper circle of Hell in his famous Inferno?

I have read the tome, and it still did not prepare me to survive in this barren badland I call Desolation.

All seasons here are the same horrid color, or lack thereof.

Searing heat so white it blinds the eyes to anything beyond the front door, if the door hasn’t swelled from the flames.

Freezing cold snow so white that it obliterates any landscape beyond the front door, if the door isn’t barracaded by ice.

Is it any wonder that I have black walls in this prison I call “home”?

It is only against black that white has any beauty at all. 

 

(1) Start your story with a question

(2) Include, in your story, the name of a city that starts with the letter ‘D’

(3) End your story with the word ‘white’ somewhere in the last sentence

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 23, 2011 at 1:31pm
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Oh Carol I’m so sorry, sounds like we may be neighbors!lol

Thanx Frank!

Comment by Carrol Strain on August 23, 2011 at 8:43am
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Reads like a poem and describes a feeling I know well.
Comment by Frank Montellano on August 23, 2011 at 7:48am
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Wow, really liked it.
Comment by Jeanette Cheezum on August 21, 2011 at 5:59am
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Done well. I love this line…
Searing heat so white it blinds the eyes to anything beyond the front door, if the door hasn’t swelled from the flames.

Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 19, 2011 at 9:24pm
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thanx all, my computer has another cold, I’m not getting comments and the main page isn’t showing up!
Comment by Coraline J. Thompson on August 19, 2011 at 7:42pm
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And of course, I want your black and white wall, I fall in love with it each time I walk into your house!
Comment by Jessica Lafortune on August 19, 2011 at 12:05pm
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LOVE the last line. Haunting.
Comment by Travis Smith on August 19, 2011 at 6:18am
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Very vivid description, particularly the contrast of searing heat with freezing cold.
Comment by Sandra Davies on August 19, 2011 at 2:00am
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And, of course, you’ve put the Stones into my head.   Neither have I read Dantë, so I don’t know either.

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

 

 
 

Faux Friends (aka; Calling All CANADIANS)

 

For the fifteenth time in as many months I had to wonder what possessed my internet buddies to delete themselves from existence.

Why did they feel the need to just backspace their words away,

Why didn’t they consider that some of those words are cherished by me?

For the first or the hundredth time (time has little meaning for me these days, if the truth be told), I have to consider that  maybe, just possibly, paranoia is the only real thing in this literary life of mine.

When internet friends come and go like bad tempers, real friends re-emerge with new names and profiles, you have to admit that it can give pause to even the sanest of people. ( Not that I’ve ever claimed to be sane!)

So I’ll be the first to throw down the real gauntlet.

If you’re real, you’ll call, if you don’t, you’re not.

Let’s cement the deal my friends, what do you say?

Faux pas or no, there it is.

 

 

Friday Challenge:

Use the word ‘fifteenth’ in your first sentence.

Use the word ‘cement’ in your last sentence.

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on October 3, 2011 at 12:29am
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Excuses excuses. I hate phones too, that’s what the answering machine is for. Voice but no commitment.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 28, 2011 at 12:29am
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harken! did mine phone doth ringeth? Nope, that’d be the cops across the street. Sigh.

Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 27, 2011 at 10:58am
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oh peachy. Now I have to look at everyone’s avatar with a microscope!!
Comment by Travis Smith on August 27, 2011 at 4:23am
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I was on a boat in the picture, so the horizon is water, but the “structure” next to my head is just the console structure of the boat – no snorkels on that trip.
Comment by Sandra Davies on August 26, 2011 at 8:41pm
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@ Travis – I have to tell you that your ‘not-so-clear-sketchy-profile picture’ does not do you anyway near enough justice – especially when you fail to bring the snorkel to the mountains!   😉
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 26, 2011 at 2:14pm
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I kinda like your sketchy profile, and yes, you are excused. Thanx Travis.
Comment by Travis Smith on August 26, 2011 at 5:38am
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I haven’t called…but I haven’t changed my name or profile and I have actually met a few of the people here in person now, so they at least can attest that there is a real face behind my not-so-clear-sketchy-profile picture.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 26, 2011 at 2:35am
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No Sandra, I’m really a bitch, and part of that is calling people out on their bluffs. I’ll count you as cemented. Thanx.
Comment by Sandra Davies on August 26, 2011 at 1:30am
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You admitted you were a bitch when you offered me friendship … could that be a reason?    😉
Comment by alisa rynay haller on August 26, 2011 at 12:13am
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that’s a few down, DB and Ed are also excused from this exercise.

A Space In Between (Canvas)

Posted in Uncategorized on December 21, 2012 by Illyria Taylor

A Space In Between (Canvas)

Is there a space in between where I dwell in my own life? I once wrote that this space knew my name. 

Looking at the photo, I don’t see my name anywhere, and the only space I can see is somewhere above and behind my shoulder, or the number 10, if you are mathical, as the kids call it these days.

 

Sweet dreams my dreamers,

see you in the morrow or in the nigh,

or maybe somewhere up where the ravens and eagles fly.

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Comment by alisa rynay haller on October 8, 2011 at 2:51pm
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thankyou thankyou. And thanx for letting me steal one of your lines.
Comment by Kerry Logan on September 5, 2011 at 3:05pm
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I like this, very much. Sweet dreams indeed.
Comment by alisa rynay haller on September 1, 2011 at 1:41pm
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thanx gang, this was just a shout-out to all my neglected writing buddies.

Sweetest of dreams to all of you.

Comment by Jeanette Cheezum on September 1, 2011 at 12:15pm
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The space is good, but I love the poem.
Comment by Travis Smith on August 29, 2011 at 12:57pm
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Interesting piece Alisa – you tell it in a way that we all get to think about it our own context, which is good.