#cw writers room over here having a stroke like AND YOU GET A BAD STORY LINE! AND YOU GET A BAD STORY LINE! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eagerforhoney · 3 years

Text

I DID KINKTOBER!

Hi friends! I decided to write for kinktober and join the communitiy as a writer this time! This is my FIRST EVER time writing something like this or posting it and I'm excited and nervous! Story is under the cut! Let me know what you think and if I should try again!

Clyde Logan x Fem! Reader

WC: 1029

CW/TW: oral (m receiving), ejaculating into reader's mouth

You were having the best dream involving rolling around with your sweet and sexy husband with the absence of clothes when the bright morning sun decided to shine its rays through your window as your wake up call. You turn over in bed to try and make your dream a reality when your hands are met with an empty side of the mattress, save for a folded piece of paper from the notepad attached to the fridge.

“Mornin’ sweetheart—

Mellie called sayin’ her basement flooded. Went over to help out. Be back to ya as soon as can be.

I love ya the most

-C”

You grumble as you throw back the covers and get out of bed. You were happy Mellie had someone to help her, but you were having some serious needs of your own that only your Clyde could fix.

As you make your way to the kitchen and start your morning coffee ritual, you hope and attempt to manifest Clyde coming home to you sooner than later, but as your late lunch comes and goes you feel less optimistic while your desperation for him only continues to grow.

By the time you hear the key in the lock from your place in the living room, you are totally clouded over with lust for your now arriving husband. You had decided to put on nothing but Clyde’s Bob Seger t shirt and sit in the chair closest to the front door. As you get the first glimpse of your big teddy bear walking through the door you become feral and any plan of sweetly wooing him into bed goes out the window. You’ve been wet and needy all day waiting for him to give you what you need, and now he’s here. All the excitement is coming straight from your core as you leap out of your seat and lunge for him. You pin him to the living room wall as best you can with his wide and towering frame, barely giving him more than a moment to rake his eyes up and down your body. Before he can ask what this is about, you connect your lips to his in a desperate and hungry kiss.

He chuckles the first couple of times your lips meet and he wraps his arms around you, but when you snake one of your hands from around his neck straight to his belt, he knows just how serious you are. “Well hello to you too, Bunny” he says to you in a low and gravelly voice that makes you moan into his mouth as you feel him harden in your hand from your heavy petting. He takes the opportunity to taste your tongue as he begins to grind into your hand. You push his head back against the wall with lips still attached, trying as best you can to keep him pinned and you in control.

Even though he was giving his time to help someone else, you felt a little angry you hadn’t seen him all day. “I missed you so much today baby I just can’t wait anymore” you muttered before continuing to hungrily kiss and nip down his jaw and neck, softly sucking his earlobe while your hands come to the hem of his shirt, urging him to remove it. “Almost hitched a ride to Mellie’s myself I’ve needed you so bad” you admitted with a soft chuckle. He smiled at you and took off his shirt, discarding it on the sofa.

You let out a soft moan the moment your hands are on his bare torso. Dragging your hands down his chest and abdomen, feeling the warm skin and toned muscle made you very aware of your wetness soaking your lingerie. You look up at the man you are so in love with and longing for and see the same hungry and loving eyes looking back at you. He gently pushes your hands down further towards his waistband, where you gladly pull down his pants with his underwear, revealing his perfect cock, fully hard and leaking at the tip.

He grunts and squeezes his eyes closed as you wrap your small hand around his large girth, the other pushing his chest against the wall. The moment you begin to slowly stroke his hot length both of his arms reach out to you, flesh hand grabbing your ass and the metal prosthetic gripping your opposite hip. He’s grunting and throwing his head back against the wall as you kiss up his tummy while picking up a consistent pace stroking his red and throbbing cock. The moment you hear him moan for the first time when you flick your wrist, you’re jello. You need him inside you- now.

He opens his eyes and barely registers what’s happening when you drop to your knees and pull the angry tip of his erection into your mouth. You moan around him, feeling so satisfied to finally have him as close as you’ve been needing all day. As you begin to bounce your head in earnest, you begin to feel Clyde tense up and gently rest his hands on your head. Your hot core is soaking and in serious need of attention, so you drag one of your hands from Clyde’s thigh to rub tight circles around your clit. Seeing this takes Clyde over the edge, seeing you so aroused by pleasuring him this way. He looks down at you and warns “darlin’, angel, m’gonna cum in that pretty little mouth”. You feel so happy and finally satiated when you feel his hot spend spurt from his cock into your mouth and over your lips.

After only a moment Clyde spoke in between heavy breaths. “Alright Bunny, ‘m glad yer so happy t’see me but it’s my turn to pin ye, but it’s gonna be t’our bed instead”. And before you could conjure a response he is effortlessly lifting himself up from your living room wall and lifting you into his arms. You squeal and wrap your legs around his waist as he laughs and runs buck naked to your bedroom. You’re so glad he’s home and you can once again have your fill of your kind and generous husband, a dream come true.

I hope ya'll like it!! Tagging a couple folks who might like! @jynzandtonic @rynwritesstuff @mariesackler @clydesfavoritegirl @hopeamarsu @maybe-your-left

#adcu fanfiction #adcu community #adam driver #my writing #clyde logan #clyde logan x reader #smut #logan lucky

87 notes · View notes

hollowtreesinhollowwoods · 3 years

Note

okok whump idea: Creepy/intimate whumper, pet names (i like using 'doll' 'love' and 'pet'). I also looooove when the whumpee breaks and then is rescued by caretaker, but they need to be deconditioned. also just an abstract idea: collars and muzzles on wumpees who arent PET pets but still need to be obediant and shit. thanks so much for reading my little schpiel (i probably spelled that wrong) and i love your writing sm :D

Okay, let me first start out with: Oh my go sh you’re making me blush right now! I think you’re the second ask I’ve gotten ever so thank you so much?? I also love pet whump, especially when I have so many stories that I can implement it in!! I actually have this whole unexplored world of humans and fae that my SNQH series was gonna explore, with fae being a sort of controversial, grey area between human and animal(at least by the way humans see it). I’ve had a bit of writer’s block with that, but I feel like this is a great ask to introduce another of my characters 😈 I’m glad you like my stuff, so I hope you will like this, and thank you for giving me inspiration! (Also, at the time of completing this, I’m sorry it took so long! I had a lot of school to catch up on :’D)

My Little Dove

CW: pet whump, noncon(nonsexual? I mean not by human standards but by harpy standards its debatable but Imma just say nonsexual), drugging, implied drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, mentions of torture, forcing whumpee to wear certain clothes, headache, bindings, bound wings

“I’m going to have guests over again tonight, my little dove,” called Master’s voice behind her. By now, Pipeulae wasn’t sure if the squirming in her gut that she felt when he called her that was good or bad. She dismissed it, though, continuing in stirring the soup she’d been working on. That’s why he’d asked her to cook it, then.

“That sounds wonderful, Master,” she said quietly, in a hesitant voice that he could easily shut down or overpower if need be. At the old place she’d stayed, it was like walking on eggshells. Master, though, seemed to enjoy hearing her speak.

“These guests will be new, so I’d like you to be present and wear your best. Chaise lounge, as usual.” Master strode over to her side.

Pipeulae’s heart sank slightly, but she nodded, turning to look in his direction, “Of course, Master. Anything you like.” She turned back to look at the soup, twisting the dial down as the boiling broth retreated to a simmer.

“That’s my beautiful bird, so sweet and obedient,” Master said, running a hand up Pipeulae’s bare back--the shirt compromised there thanks to her huge wings, which were tied closed with scarves to keep them out of the way, and just tightly so that they ached mildly, but constantly. A small shudder ran up after his fingers, goosebumps prickling on her neck as his hand went to rest there. An almost inaudible gasp sucked into Pipeulae’s mouth, but she hid her discomfort, continuing to stir. “If you’re good, I’ll let you on a field day again. Wouldn’t want those wings to lose their luster, would we?”

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you, Master.”

“Of course, my little dove.” Master strode out of the room.

As Pipeulae looked back down into the soup, though she’d been hungry for ages, she suddenly wanted to avoid food very much.

She’d gotten quite good at looking “pretty”, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Pipeulae laid with her wings limply yet gracefully outstretched to the tile below. She tried to look drowsy. Look like she did when Master gave her his tonic. Like he had each day at the start of her residence here. Back when she’d been unruly, unpleasant. That tonic, he said, made her beauty more... easily accessible. Made the punishments less harsh. Soon, she was well behaved enough not to need it, so he saved it instead. Perhaps for a new pet, if he ever got one.

It wasn’t hard to look tired--the silver jewelry that had been draped on her head and body and hung from her ears sent buzzing pain through her head. Like most other things, she’d gotten used to it, though. Most of the conversation between the partygoers drifted right past Pipeulae’s ears, and she didn’t bother trying to listen. Occasionally, they came up to admire her. They’d say things like, “What a magnificent beast!” or “So serene. You’d think she was a statue until she blinked!” and Pipeulae assumed this was good. It certainly sounded that way, from the tones of their voices.

This time, though, she noticed them all approaching, and realized that the sound of clinking silverware was gone. She felt a sudden jolt of fear, but shoved the feeling down.

Then came the words.

“Would you like to preen her wings? The feathers are like silk,” Master’s voice came through hushed discussion. Pipeulae could feel the hint of lust in his voice. He and her were the only ones who knew, and when her eyes roamed over to his, his smile widened. “Especially the inner parts. She has trouble reaching those. Don’t you, my little dove?” He purred.

A sick feeling formed in Pipeulae’s gut. Preening was an intimate act. It was kept between romantic partners. Sometimes family members. But never strangers. Never strangers.

“Oh, poor dear. We’ll get your plumes all straightened out for you. Don’t worry about a thing,” said one of the guests, brushing the hair out of her face. “Just go on back to being careless, now. You look so beautiful when you do.”

So she did. Or at least, she tried. One of the men pulled a little too roughly at one of her coverts and her wing jerked back in reflex. The man let out a startled noise, and Pipeulae froze.

“Does it hurt?” He asked, though Master merely shook his head in dismissal, approaching Pipeulae.

“She had a bad home at previous, so you must forgive that she’s a little skittish sometimes. I have a drink to help calm her, though,” he pulled out a small bottle, holding it close to her lips.

“Please, Master,” Pipeulae mouthed, only a slight breath giving the words voice.

“It’s alright. You’re safe,” he said, loud enough for the others to hear. Loud enough to continue the charade. He pressed the bottle to her lips, tilting the bottom up as she swallowed the liquid. What other choice did she have?

Everything went unpleasantly numb and limp, and Pipeulae remembered just how much she hated his tonic.

Before forgetting again as it sent her into complacent bliss.

Her eyelids drooped tiredly, and her wings became pliant under their touch. As their coarse, thick fingers pulled and poked under her feathers, her stomach twisted, and she let out a long, low moan. Their voices were just sounds, now. Not words. Another moan, higher this time, slipped out of her lips as they dug deeper with those fingers. It tickled, and the corner of her mouth twitched as a high, soft whimper came out.

Moans, whimpers. They seemed not to mind these noises. Maybe they even liked them, because sometimes they’d press their stout fingers harder under the crevices between feathers just to hear them louder, she thought. They became more frequent when they moved to the inner plumes near her back.

One finger stroked a scapular gently, and a rogue trill of pleasure slipped out. Then another. She wanted to ask them to stop, but she didn’t know why. This felt wrong. That was all she knew.

The fingers dug deeper, pulled and pruned and plucked as she twitched and whined and trilled. She felt like curling up in a ball in a dark closet away from those stubby fingers, nothing like her kind’s own spindly, delicate ones that never overstayed their welcome. But another part of her pushed up into the touches. She hated that it felt... good. She hated it so much. What was wrong with her? Her next trill came out sad.

Then they must have straightened the last plume, because the hands left. Only one returned to stroke her head. “Such a beautiful bird I have. So meek and willing. That’s a fair reward for such behavior, isn’t it, my little dove?”

Pipeulae uttered a low moan in reply when she realized he was talking to her. But it wasn’t a reward. Not a reward at all. It was just another form of torture in disguise. A party trick to impress his friends. A disgusting form of entertainment for him. She felt like she was covered in grime. She wanted to scrub it all off, rub her skin raw if she had to. Clip all her feathers.

The hand left her head, and she was alone. The drug made her ears fill like they were stuffed with cotton, and after a while, it dragged her drowsily under the spell of sleep.

10 notes · View notes

intergalactic-zoo · 3 years

Link

I think I've figured it out. If "Lois & Clark" was "Moonlighting" with super-powers, "Smallville" was "Dawson's Creek" with superpowers, and "Supergirl" started as "The Devil Wears Prada" with superpowers, then "Superman & Lois" is "This Is Us" with superpowers.

Spoilers ahead!

That may not be entirely accurate—I've watched maybe 15 minutes of "This Is Us"—but I feel like that's the kind of tone this show is going for, the family-centered melodrama. The kind of show that would be designed to manipulate emotions and win Emmies if it didn't occasionally feature CGI battles between Superman and an alternate-universe Lex Luthor. I thought after the pilot that the muted color palette was an attempt to visually echo the Snyder movies—and that may be a piece of it—but it also reminds me of every clip I've seen of that show where the guy from "Heroes" gets killed by a pressure cooker.

The result is a show that isn't quite like any of the other superhero shows on The CW. The closest (of the ones I've watched) is "Black Lightning," which similarly was about an older hero trying to raise a family, but even that felt more like "The Flash" in terms of cinematography and structure. You still had the Hero being directed by the Guy In The Chair to face a particular threat. Superman doesn't have the same support network, or the same relationship with his kids and the problem of adolescent superpowers.

I continue to be cautiously optimistic about this series after episode two. I can see where some of the plots could easily go sideways, and the decision to cast two black male actors as two of our antagonists when the rest of our principal cast is pretty lily-white is Not Great, but right now I'm interested in seeing how things go, and I don't really understand where some of the vitriolic fan response is coming from. At worst this show is fine.

There's a lot I like here. Every character's core conflicts internally and externally are already built at this point, and there are good points of conflict and connection between most of our main cast members.

It would be easy to fall into the trap where Clark can't do anything right as a parent—which seemed to be the direction they were going in the pilot—but it's clear here that he's doing his best, and that leads to good moments with the kids.

It's nice to see that the relationship between Clark and Sam Lane isn't all sunshine and roses; they have reason to distrust one another, and while they both clearly think they're doing the right things to keep their family safe, they have very different ideas about how to do that. It's also interesting that they're bringing in Project 7734, which I think first appeared in the World of New Krypton story.

It's interesting that the trend has been to show Jor-El with a beard since...at least Superman: Secret Origin, but maybe as far back as the Richard Donner run on Action or "Up, Up, and Away."

After years of seeing evil/corrupted/morally-ambiguous versions of Superman in the comics and prominent adaptations and pastiches—including the Injustice games, which we saw Jordan playing in the pilot—it's kind of a stroke of brilliance to make the main supervillain of this piece a version of Luthor from a world where Luthor was right and Superman was bad or went that way. It may be petty of me to appreciate that the evil Superman is wearing a black costume as in some prominent scenes by that one director with a New 52-style high collar (even if it looks to be the same costume that the evil Superman wore in the "Elseworlds" crossover a couple years back), but I'm embracing it. It's a good, simple visual shorthand.

Speaking of costumes, I think it's interesting how much Hoechlin's main Superman costume for this series looks like the costume from the Smallville Season 11 comic and Superman: Earth One, down to the two-toned blue areas.

It even has the same belt as that Smallville costume. Of the three main suits Hoechlin has worn—the one on "Supergirl," the Fleischer-inspired one in the pilot opening, and this main one—this is easily my least favorite; the muscles feel padded or painted-on (which is understandable; that visible eight-pack abs physique may be sustainable for a few weeks of film shooting, but not for the months needed to film a season of television), and it just feels more muted than even the darker blue of the "Supergirl" costume. But it's not bad, and making the belt red and yellow helps make up for the lack of trunks, and the two blue shades are one solution to the endless field of blue that most trunk-less versions of the costumes have.

It's nice that every character has a clear arc ahead of them, and I do hope that (especially since her name's in the title) Lois's story gets increasing focus over the season, despite what we've heard from the writers' room. It's one of the plots that I can see going sideways—the Big City Reporter coming in to keep the Backwards Hicks from acting against their own interests, or learning that maybe her Big City Liberal Ways just don't work in the simple lives of Rural Americans—but I feel like the way things are set up now shows a degree of awareness that might avoid those pitfalls. We see complications to the "life in Smallville is simpler" mantra here—Sam Lane rejects it outright—and Morgan Edge is a prime indication of the fact that the same problems are at play in both the big cities and rural towns.

I've lived in rural farm towns for most of my adult life. I've seen towns try to out-bid each other with municipality-killing tax breaks over businesses as small as local car dealerships, let alone big billionaires with promises of better jobs. I've had conversations with people who think the unions just have too much power these days and the owner takes all the risk so he should be able to take all the profits too. A show that's going to champion the need for independent local press when conglomerates are buying up papers and stations around the countries, that's going to argue that accepting scraps from billionaires because you're desperate is tantamount to extortion, that's a show that speaks to me, at least, and hopefully speaks to some people who might otherwise be hostile to those kinds of political messages.

It is weird that Edge is interested in Smallville's mines rather than, you know, its farms, but I can see some logic behind that story decision. I do wonder if it's going to tie into some of Edge's more comic book-style motivations. Is there Apokoliptian tech in these mines? Kryptonite? Who knows?

Overall, I think this is a pretty strong start. It's not perfect, and I honestly wish the tone were a little closer to some of the other CW superhero shows, but I understand why they'd try to distinguish themselves from the pack. I'm invested in the characters, and I'm interested to see where the story goes. I realize that I'm a cheap date when it comes to Superman adaptations, but so far I'm enjoying this one more than most.

#IFTTT #Blogger #TheFortressOfSoliloquy

1 note · View note

janiklandre-blog · 7 years

Text

Friday, March 31st, 2017

last day of March, nasty weather - 9:35 a.m. - preoccupied with those cataracts - "they" said they would call me today to let me know time to be on Monday on East 80th street - still under shock about price of these drops - also the drops he told me to use, such a pain, you have to squeeze and squeeze that tiny bottle - at last likely to miss the eye - no fun.

So, I treasure now my time at this here computer - came downstairs at 9:15, room here still closed, at this moment one of the nice maintenance men appeared - will I get this Asus? will I not get it and learn to use ipad at last - in the meantime I am wasting money - and prepared for the worst in co-pay - some do get millions out of medicare - thank God I am not one of them - still - all I do is pay for it and then endless copay - only my socalled primary doctor - whom I like but also don't trust - she has never charged me a penny.

Speaking of that, I heard that French Christine is town - she went to my primary doctor, then got on an HMO that does not pay her - never understood that - she still treated her, for free and Christine wanted to sue her for not treating her right. She now lives in Paris, in the 16eme arrondissmont - fancy Paris - of course, she also owns an apartment that she rents, bad neiborhood - and at this moment she is here for two weeks. She taught me about people of value - since - I hope - she no longer wants to use my docror - I am no longer of great value - wonder if she will call me at all - if not, so be it. All the people users - they call you when they want something from you.

All the annoyances. But also pleasures! Well, yesterday I headed for the dentist - good dentists have kept me painfree for most of my life - and I am thinking of a Dutch woman in Amherst, she was beautiful, she went to some dentist who was a friend - who did something that caused her such permanent pain - one day she killed herself. In the NYT was also an item - medicare does not pay a cent for dental car, medicaid only for fillings and extractions and perhaps some lousy dentures - millions don't go to dentists because they cannot afford it - and teeth cause great medical problems.

My very expensive dentist whom I have now seen for 20 years, began to relent on payments when he knew I no longer could afford it - and saw me with great sorrow through the deterioration of my teeth due to betablockers - meds to keep my veins open to prevent strokes - and strokes are scary - but now my teeth are gone and since last August this bridge he lovingly made - a great decoration, I look wonderful - but a year ago he still had hopes for improving them but in August he told me, there was no more hope. Then he told me I have to face dentures - he would make them - though it seems it is not his specialty. Slowly I'm getting used to this idea - but yesterday, once again, he said he was using the strongest cement but did not want to talk about the dentures - his office equipped with very expensive machinery, two lovely assistents in a neighborhood whre rents also a sky rocking - I would not be surprised if the landlord is squeezing him - and he also is not getting younger - all he could say yesterday was: wait until after Easter - and so I have no idea where this is going and may also end up with great costs for decent dentures. Just about all people I know who have them keep taking them out, eating without them - and yet my grandmother got them at 24 and I don't remember complaints, the parents of my ex-husband had them and joyfully ate their steaks they so loved - while my bridge looks great but I have not been able to chew properly since I got it.

The great German writer Thomas Mann who, just like the Russians and also Proust and others wrote novels in the most leisurely of styles, I read most of Thomas Mann - he was very teeth conscious and remarked in his writing how teeth are related to social class. My mother spent much effort to keep her teeth and my teeth in classy shape - I immediately notice somebody's missing tooth or teeth. And I am so aware of the high cost of keeping teeth in some sort of shape. Of the countless people who suffer infection - and yes, how can I forget my former husband - whose second and third wives no longer allowed him to see the excellent dentist, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who's husband we had hosted in Geneva had recoomended when I asked her in 1962 - they would not allow him to see a dentist I was seeing and he obayed - and is was the dentist of the disastrous third wife, whose dentist extracted a tooth and did not give him anti biotics. It seems as a child he had had rheumatic fever that had effected his heart - in any event - he developed a heart infection that nearly killed him, put him on a drip in the hospital for weeks - a good reason for cutting his sons off any support because the wife claimed they did not show enough concern - and, then there was a repeat of the heart infection and a second hospital stay - may have led up to his triple bypass - all related to teeth and a bad dentist.

Obviously, I too can dwell on the topic at length - wondering when and how I will get these dentures - ate enough steaks in my life, don't care that much for them - am resigned not to bite into apples any more, to stay away from nuts, to cherish what is soft - icecream! chocolate cake - and yes, there is the mixer not much used until now - longingly I do look at many foods I no longer can eat - but this is more survivable than a heart infection, and the great pain of the beautiful Dutch woman.

It is a trip to get to my dentist - he is on the Upper West Side - I always get there early in ordeer to be on time, by now have sampled eateries on Broadway, settled on what is called a diner - a nostalgia diner - has little to do with what diners once were about. A pricey diner. Before seeing the dentist I treated myself to chocolate mousse cake, it was excellent.

Later I headed for Central Park - for years and years I walked there, yesterday I took two buses, one down Broatway to 79th Street and then one across. On the first one a man got on with greatest difficulty, moaning and groaning - I said I sing the song What a drag it is getting old - I am not old, he angrily said, I am only 76. O.k. I said, you are the new 36 and he said, indeed I am, I have so much energy, I will do in Trump - good for you, I said. A New York exchange. I am glad theere are Americans like you - and indeed we need them - reading the NYT - it all is unbelievable. The cuts for this here my housing could be momentarily cut, good bye computer room - who knows where I'll go.

In the park I met two impassioned birders - one woman who had been on many safaris in Africa but now arthritis plagues her, the other a photographer - somewhere in the 70's - young - she sells her photograohs on 5th Avenue, brings a table and all - and then there was my friend Suzanne. A German - in her 50's - she never was married, no children, also strenuously staying young - I must, I must, I must she says - a bundle of incredible energied - and endless diseases - long living on an overstayed visitor's visa - great efforts and expense to get a green card - one of so many European I do meet - who consideer it their worst fate having to go back to their native country. I was lucky to arrive here on permanent papers and on the day I was here five years, at little cost and no effort became a U.S. citizen - it was 1956 - withiut a moment's hesitation I gave up my German citizenship. My number 456 German passpart alas burned in 2000. Now dual citizenship is possible - expemsive and tedious project - I am glad for my American passport - though I now do say, I've managed to be a citizen of two evil empires - luckily Hitler made me stateless, so I was not a citizen then.

Suzanne, a long story - she now found her vocation as a tourist guide - loves it - works incredibly hard at it - yesterday she also had some book on Prana - she knows countless people, many Indians - some sort of Indian wisdom she is studying and wants to teach - about changing your consciousness - to her regret I did not have too much interest - but she is such life wire - I do enjoy her - and she is a good reason for going to Central Park - so serene and quiet compare to Washington Square - a park where you can enjoy the flowers provided by the park conservancy - run by rich neighbors of the park - and a long waiting list to become a volunteer. Society status.

My friend had called, said she would come for an hour at 6 p.m. - I got on bus at 4:30 was downtown at 5:30 - figures it is 3.5 miles - marathon runners do 26 miles in a little over two hours - you waait for New York buses endlessly, then this one stopped nearly a block short of the 26 street stop, said last stop - there had been three people on the bus - Uber is getting cheaper than buses - clogging the streets - the buses do run good routes, but rarely come - and then - five at a ime, getting into each other's way.

My friend came, she then went to see Hair done by some old people under Columbia U.auspices - we were joined by my house guests - she of course was particularly interested in the Lebanese man - there are many religions in Lebanon, two Catholic - amazing into how many categories we are divided - I say I only want label: Human being - trying to be as good as I can. Maronite and Caldeic Catholics. the Maronites speak Arabic, the Caldeic speak Caldeic, some ancient language - and if lucky we can communicate in English. French also an important language in Lebanon - it was a French colony.

It's 11 a.m.off to the church - there is a woman Marie, Serbian, she comes to the CW - she has a daughter Svetlana who escaper her to Europe, she is a horder and about to be evicted - she always tries to get my attention - bt she is real trouble - still I feel a bit guilty for totallu avoiding her, could I give her some good reason - well - there have been others in my life who later told me they saw me as stuck up - I guess I do give many different impressions to different people - mostly thesae days an old woman hobbling about - still, this Marie who so much wants to tell me of her great troubles bothers me - she is there at the church, fighting with people - there is nothing I can do for her, but I also don't want to listen to her - my friend likes her - and of course she is not much available and so Marie looks at me. What does one do. 11:10 - I'll miss the writing - Monday the op - then dark glasses, expensive drops, my friend who has come says he'll stay until I feel o.k. - I much appreciate that. Have not heard from "them" - perhaps a message on my land line. Adios.

0 notes