I just listened to this great song from the Beach Boys Pet Sounds album.
The lyrics:
Wouldnt it be nice if we were older
Then we wouldnt have to wait so long
And wouldnt it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong
You know its gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together
Wouldnt it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new
And after having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through
Happy times together weve been spending
I wish that every kiss was neverending
Wouldnt it be nice
Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true
Baby then there wouldnt be a single thing we couldnt do
We could be married
And then we'd be happy
Wouldnt it be nice
You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But lets talk about it
Wouldnt it be nice
c 1966, The Beach Boys
Saturday, January 24, 2009
New Paintings
This first one is titled "Darkness Visible," inspired by the ideas in the memoir on depression by William Styron. It is stylistically different than most of my more folkish work. The one below is "The Playwright's Study."
Friday, January 23, 2009
Lost Poem Recovered
In my bed
in my bed
lie the souls
of all redheads
in my bed
lie the hearts
of all poets
in my bed
in the middle of the night
lie the alabaster and the caramel
and the ebony and the freckled
after hours of gin
and hours of bourbon
egg creams,
stout and Steam
with a promise of coffee in the morning
and a promise
of hands, rope
and mouth throughout the night
and all of this in the name of the word
and all of this so that I may write
of the glory of wars
and the passion of whores
and the fear of impotency
overcome by your grace
in my bed
i see the back of your head
and I stroke your face
and I think of the next day to come
when you are gone
and I find another one.
© fprm, 3-2-08
in my bed
lie the souls
of all redheads
in my bed
lie the hearts
of all poets
in my bed
in the middle of the night
lie the alabaster and the caramel
and the ebony and the freckled
after hours of gin
and hours of bourbon
egg creams,
stout and Steam
with a promise of coffee in the morning
and a promise
of hands, rope
and mouth throughout the night
and all of this in the name of the word
and all of this so that I may write
of the glory of wars
and the passion of whores
and the fear of impotency
overcome by your grace
in my bed
i see the back of your head
and I stroke your face
and I think of the next day to come
when you are gone
and I find another one.
© fprm, 3-2-08
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Story Draft
In Bed
by Ford McLain
“I want to live in Spain.”
Ted MacClesh lay naked in bed, his glasses on top of his head, and a glass of garancha in his hand. It was a very cold night in Albany, below zero, but the studio was warm, and he was comfortably ensconced beneath a flannel top sheet and a heavy down comforter. On his nightstand, to his right, was a stack of books, which included “Don Quixote,” “Iberia,” and “Death in the Afternoon.”
“Did you hear me? I want to live in Spain.”
Jane, who was lying on her side to his left, was also naked and was trying to sleep. She had heard this before.
“I know you do, love. But if we are going to get up early for the drive tomorrow, I need to sleep now.”
“Fair enough…but I will have no one to talk to, and it gets quite lonely here when you are asleep.”
“It doesn’t get lonely here without me?”
“Not as much. It’s worse when you are here and are asleep ahead of me. When you are not here, I am used to being alone. When you are here, it seems more lonely.”
Ted took a sip of his wine and placed it on the nightstand. He could hear his cat, Mister B, breathing noisily in the main area. He must have a cold again.
“Well, why don’t you turn off the lights and put your arms around me?”
“I can do that,” mumbled Ted.
And he turned off the light on the nightstand, took a last long drink from the wine glass and rolled over on his side, shimmied closer to Jane, wrapped his right arm on her side and had his left arm above her head, his hand playing with her hair. Jane smiled as she felt the tickle of his chest hair against her back and could smell the wine on his breath as he kissed the back of her neck.
“I love you, you know, Jane.”
Jane smiled, closed her eyes, grabbed his right hand with hers, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and held it close to her chest.
It had been a long day…for both of them…and a long night, most of which was spent at the Black Vulcan. Jane was happy being in bed, and she was drowsy and almost asleep. She enjoyed visiting with Ted, going to his bar with him, watching him work the room and schmooze with his bar buddies and the lovely female wait staff, and she kept an eye on him to make sure he was not drinking too much, and smiled when she saw that the bartender, Carol, was watching out for him, too. Ted could drink when he got social, and sometimes he would go beyond what he should. But not tonight. He was gregarious and enjoyed the talk and the flirting, but he did not drink anything beyond his usual stout and whiskey. He only had two stouts and two whiskeys, the last round of which he nursed.
Ted was more into something else that night. And she was a redhead.
“Did you have fun tonight, Janie?”
“I did. And I am glad that you did not drink so much. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand and he kissed the back of her neck.
“Well, we have a bit of a drive tomorrow morning. Quebec City is about 7 hours away.”
Jane thought about the redhead in the bar, the one that Ted’s eyes followed all night. She seemed to be in her late 20’s or early 30’s, was about the same height as Jane, a bit buxom, but well-proportioned, and she had the bluest eyes Jane had ever seen. And her hair was a dark red that almost seemed brown in the darkness of the oak-paneled room. Only the lighting above the bar when she came around to get a drink revealed her to be a redhead.
“Did you ever get to talk to her,” Jane asked Ted, keeping his hand against her.
“Who?
“You know. The redhead.”
“No.” Ted moved even closer to Jane and squeezed her a bit more with his arm. She could feel him against her behind, getting a little firmer.
“I should helped you out. Why didn’t you talk to her?”
“Well, I was there with you, and a gentleman always leaves with the one who brung him.”
“We are friends, Fyodor. I would have helped you out. Were you feeling shy?”
“Not at all. I was with you, and I knew you were sleeping over, so why complicate things?”
“She was awfully pretty. Nice breasts, nice ass, well-dressed, and she wore glasses. She was perfect for you. I would not have minded. You could have gone with her.”
Ted thought of the redhead, and he thought back on some of the fantasies that went through his head earlier that night as he watched her. He wanted her, and he wanted to bring her home with him, but he also wanted to spend time with Jane, as he was doing at this moment. And there was the trip tomorrow.
“I was with you. I am here with you now. We are driving to Quebec tomorrow morning. Why complicate things?”
“But you were into her, I could tell. Why deny it?”
Ted kissed her ear and kept playing with her hair. His other hand went back to Jane’s waist and started to move onto her hip.
“I don’t deny that I wanted her, but sometimes men need to have some sense of self-control, some sense of proportion. Priorities. I was with the woman I wanted to be with tonight.” This was the truth, he told himself.
“What if I said that I wanted you to have her?”
Ted smiled and kissed her ear, then her neck, and then her shoulder. He loved Jane’s body.
“Would you have wanted her, too?”
“You know I don’t like girls like that. But I am a bit of a voyeur. I would have enjoyed watching.”
Jane smiled, as she knew that thought would stir Ted. She felt him against her and she felt his hand move slowly from her hip down her leg and then behind and between her legs until it was where he had planned for it to be all along.
“I would have enjoyed her, if you would have watched…but we never would have gotten out of here on time in the morning. We would have had to make her breakfast and talk to her and make her feel at home and welcome, and there would have been some sort of girl talk while I took a shower, and then you two might have decided she should go to Quebec, too, and then we would have to deal with her logistics and the politics of who sits in the front and back seats, and I would have been stressed and not relaxed at all driving for 7 hours. It would have been a nightmare.”
All this time, Ted’s hand was moving slowly and purposefully inside of Jane and she was breathing heavily and rubbing against him, and she could feel him firm against her behind while his hand was inside her. His other hand still played with her hair.
“It could have been worth it. And who knows, I might have broken down and gotten into it.”
“It would have been a nightmare. At least for me. I like a lot of women around me and enjoy a good three-way, but I don’t like to be accountable and would not want to deal with it the next day.”
Jane could feel herself get closer, and Ted could feel her too. He moved his hand faster and moved up against her, and continued this in silence until she gasped a few times, exhaled and relaxed. Ted slowly removed his hand, wiped it on the outside of the flannel sheet, and placed his arm around her body again.
“Thank you,” said Jane, as she closed her eyes and smiled. Ted had good hands.
“Thanks for staying over and keeping me company. I could have picked you up in the morning.”
Then Jane rolled over and leaned on top of Ted’s chest.
“You may not believe this, Fyodor, but I like being with you. You are a good friend.”
She gently played with his graying chest hair and she kissed him lightly on the mouth. Ted was a good guy, she thought to herself, if a bit sad. A few years earlier, he was a bit of a mess, but he was working on it, and he had a good heart, and Jane knew she loved him very much. They would never marry, and they would never have children, but they would always be friends, if not always lovers.
And who knows, Jane thought to herself as she lay against him, her head on his chest and her arm around his waist, maybe she too would want to live in Spain, when they were older.
For the moment, however, she focused on Albany, on being in the bed with her friend, and did not worry about logistics for the drive the next day, like he did. Jane could tell that Ted was still awake and a bit restless, so she grabbed the wine bottle that was on her night stand, poured herself a glass, took a sip and passed it to him. And they talked late into the night. About redheads, three-ways, bourbon, Quebec, the Black Vulcan wait staff, and Spain.
by Ford McLain
“I want to live in Spain.”
Ted MacClesh lay naked in bed, his glasses on top of his head, and a glass of garancha in his hand. It was a very cold night in Albany, below zero, but the studio was warm, and he was comfortably ensconced beneath a flannel top sheet and a heavy down comforter. On his nightstand, to his right, was a stack of books, which included “Don Quixote,” “Iberia,” and “Death in the Afternoon.”
“Did you hear me? I want to live in Spain.”
Jane, who was lying on her side to his left, was also naked and was trying to sleep. She had heard this before.
“I know you do, love. But if we are going to get up early for the drive tomorrow, I need to sleep now.”
“Fair enough…but I will have no one to talk to, and it gets quite lonely here when you are asleep.”
“It doesn’t get lonely here without me?”
“Not as much. It’s worse when you are here and are asleep ahead of me. When you are not here, I am used to being alone. When you are here, it seems more lonely.”
Ted took a sip of his wine and placed it on the nightstand. He could hear his cat, Mister B, breathing noisily in the main area. He must have a cold again.
“Well, why don’t you turn off the lights and put your arms around me?”
“I can do that,” mumbled Ted.
And he turned off the light on the nightstand, took a last long drink from the wine glass and rolled over on his side, shimmied closer to Jane, wrapped his right arm on her side and had his left arm above her head, his hand playing with her hair. Jane smiled as she felt the tickle of his chest hair against her back and could smell the wine on his breath as he kissed the back of her neck.
“I love you, you know, Jane.”
Jane smiled, closed her eyes, grabbed his right hand with hers, brought it to her lips, kissed it, and held it close to her chest.
It had been a long day…for both of them…and a long night, most of which was spent at the Black Vulcan. Jane was happy being in bed, and she was drowsy and almost asleep. She enjoyed visiting with Ted, going to his bar with him, watching him work the room and schmooze with his bar buddies and the lovely female wait staff, and she kept an eye on him to make sure he was not drinking too much, and smiled when she saw that the bartender, Carol, was watching out for him, too. Ted could drink when he got social, and sometimes he would go beyond what he should. But not tonight. He was gregarious and enjoyed the talk and the flirting, but he did not drink anything beyond his usual stout and whiskey. He only had two stouts and two whiskeys, the last round of which he nursed.
Ted was more into something else that night. And she was a redhead.
“Did you have fun tonight, Janie?”
“I did. And I am glad that you did not drink so much. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand and he kissed the back of her neck.
“Well, we have a bit of a drive tomorrow morning. Quebec City is about 7 hours away.”
Jane thought about the redhead in the bar, the one that Ted’s eyes followed all night. She seemed to be in her late 20’s or early 30’s, was about the same height as Jane, a bit buxom, but well-proportioned, and she had the bluest eyes Jane had ever seen. And her hair was a dark red that almost seemed brown in the darkness of the oak-paneled room. Only the lighting above the bar when she came around to get a drink revealed her to be a redhead.
“Did you ever get to talk to her,” Jane asked Ted, keeping his hand against her.
“Who?
“You know. The redhead.”
“No.” Ted moved even closer to Jane and squeezed her a bit more with his arm. She could feel him against her behind, getting a little firmer.
“I should helped you out. Why didn’t you talk to her?”
“Well, I was there with you, and a gentleman always leaves with the one who brung him.”
“We are friends, Fyodor. I would have helped you out. Were you feeling shy?”
“Not at all. I was with you, and I knew you were sleeping over, so why complicate things?”
“She was awfully pretty. Nice breasts, nice ass, well-dressed, and she wore glasses. She was perfect for you. I would not have minded. You could have gone with her.”
Ted thought of the redhead, and he thought back on some of the fantasies that went through his head earlier that night as he watched her. He wanted her, and he wanted to bring her home with him, but he also wanted to spend time with Jane, as he was doing at this moment. And there was the trip tomorrow.
“I was with you. I am here with you now. We are driving to Quebec tomorrow morning. Why complicate things?”
“But you were into her, I could tell. Why deny it?”
Ted kissed her ear and kept playing with her hair. His other hand went back to Jane’s waist and started to move onto her hip.
“I don’t deny that I wanted her, but sometimes men need to have some sense of self-control, some sense of proportion. Priorities. I was with the woman I wanted to be with tonight.” This was the truth, he told himself.
“What if I said that I wanted you to have her?”
Ted smiled and kissed her ear, then her neck, and then her shoulder. He loved Jane’s body.
“Would you have wanted her, too?”
“You know I don’t like girls like that. But I am a bit of a voyeur. I would have enjoyed watching.”
Jane smiled, as she knew that thought would stir Ted. She felt him against her and she felt his hand move slowly from her hip down her leg and then behind and between her legs until it was where he had planned for it to be all along.
“I would have enjoyed her, if you would have watched…but we never would have gotten out of here on time in the morning. We would have had to make her breakfast and talk to her and make her feel at home and welcome, and there would have been some sort of girl talk while I took a shower, and then you two might have decided she should go to Quebec, too, and then we would have to deal with her logistics and the politics of who sits in the front and back seats, and I would have been stressed and not relaxed at all driving for 7 hours. It would have been a nightmare.”
All this time, Ted’s hand was moving slowly and purposefully inside of Jane and she was breathing heavily and rubbing against him, and she could feel him firm against her behind while his hand was inside her. His other hand still played with her hair.
“It could have been worth it. And who knows, I might have broken down and gotten into it.”
“It would have been a nightmare. At least for me. I like a lot of women around me and enjoy a good three-way, but I don’t like to be accountable and would not want to deal with it the next day.”
Jane could feel herself get closer, and Ted could feel her too. He moved his hand faster and moved up against her, and continued this in silence until she gasped a few times, exhaled and relaxed. Ted slowly removed his hand, wiped it on the outside of the flannel sheet, and placed his arm around her body again.
“Thank you,” said Jane, as she closed her eyes and smiled. Ted had good hands.
“Thanks for staying over and keeping me company. I could have picked you up in the morning.”
Then Jane rolled over and leaned on top of Ted’s chest.
“You may not believe this, Fyodor, but I like being with you. You are a good friend.”
She gently played with his graying chest hair and she kissed him lightly on the mouth. Ted was a good guy, she thought to herself, if a bit sad. A few years earlier, he was a bit of a mess, but he was working on it, and he had a good heart, and Jane knew she loved him very much. They would never marry, and they would never have children, but they would always be friends, if not always lovers.
And who knows, Jane thought to herself as she lay against him, her head on his chest and her arm around his waist, maybe she too would want to live in Spain, when they were older.
For the moment, however, she focused on Albany, on being in the bed with her friend, and did not worry about logistics for the drive the next day, like he did. Jane could tell that Ted was still awake and a bit restless, so she grabbed the wine bottle that was on her night stand, poured herself a glass, took a sip and passed it to him. And they talked late into the night. About redheads, three-ways, bourbon, Quebec, the Black Vulcan wait staff, and Spain.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Cold and Snowy, Nowhere to Go...It's Pajama Day
Snow has again fallen in the city. Not much traffic thus far on Summit Avenue, so it is wirgin snow.
Lil is in her room doing whatever it is a precocious 6-year old does; I am exploring the internet, writing e-mails etc.
Both of us are going to stay in our pajamas...all day.
Why the hell not?
Lil is in her room doing whatever it is a precocious 6-year old does; I am exploring the internet, writing e-mails etc.
Both of us are going to stay in our pajamas...all day.
Why the hell not?
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