Tuesday afternoon was cozy thunderstorms and a good mystery recommended by my boss. It’s one of the bonuses of my job — working with fellow history and art geeks I can swap book and DVD recommendations with. Science and Math have their place, but the fact that they’ve essentially usurped the Humanities (at least here in the States) is indeed a sad loss. Poetry can be had via Math and Science but for me, that means a recipe (formula/equation), measuring ingredients (Math) and their combined chemistry (Science) baked into a delicious treat — to accompany that book I’m reading, naturally.
Autumn Sunday evenings when the light sparkles just so are meant for me curling up with a cozy mystery starring Victorian feminist naturalists of independent means, while first thing the following morning is an Irish breakfast with me Da’ and my Toyboy when I am anything but bright-eyed. Hoping your week is off to a stellar start.
And snap, just like that, another season has flown by here in the Northern hemisphere and now we are falling into one of my favorite times of the year, Autumn — when the light shifts and shimmies, shivers and plays tricks with imagination, the veil thins, spirits revive, and for those of us tapped into it, personal mystical power reawakens from its sultry summer slumber. Mabon/Mea’n Fo’mhair arrives for 2021. Yes! It must be the Season of the Witch.
I’m wearing a sheer red caftan with nothing on underneath in photos featured previously here and on Instagram. There are hints of what lies beneath. But per social media guidelines, the photos are cropped, shot from a discreet angle, or fabric is gathered just so. Now imagine none of that. I’ve always responded best to suggestion rather than graphic depiction, hence my fascination with and love of pre-Code Hollywood, Hitchcock’s films and so on. Don’t spell out the gore for me, and only hint at the romantic encounter. Like they say, the brain is the best sex organ. Some folks, like me, prefer something left to the imagination for their own imaginative conjuring. I respect that, but for those who are perhaps too tired after a long day’s work to be bothered with imagining, there’s the alternative — Series III features me wearing the sheer red caftan but will leave little to the imagination. So what’s it gonna be?
As with previous series, each run is ten patrons or two weeks, whichever comes first. Series I lasted the two weeks, Series II lasted six days. Before I sell to anyone, they must be fully vetted and approved. There’s a link in my profile that explains this. Go to my blog, select French Postcards from the menu, and read. Then email me at the email listed. You can get vetted at any time. I recommend doing so before a series posts, as by the time I can get to confirmation it may be too late.
Ooh, Miss Lotte Lenya and old Lucy Brown
Oh, the line forms on the right, babe
Now that Macky’s back in town”
Once I recovered from my initial indignation after I realized my memory lapse regarding Shakespearean sexual slang and repartee, I started thinking about how my error inspired some rather sweet erotic writing. Like all writing there’s good and bad, but Shakespeare’s sauciness really does lend itself rather well to the genre, and I may have to reconsider. I’ve always wanted to have a radio show and with the advent and ease of podcasts, it could be rather fun to offer an erotic story hour subscription, reading contributions sent in by listeners. Just a little Monday morning brainstorming.