Wednesday, July 28, 2010

SUITCASE TO ISTANBUL . . . By ~ Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 ... {#Flash Fiction come true}


~ By Absolutely*Kate

I shall roam narrow streets and the courtyards of mosques and the Grand Bazaar and gaze soft in open awe upon the art of history and the history of art. 

This heaven shall hail from the other side of the world which gave history her venerable start. A different communication shall consume me.

Bosporus ~ ala EricTurner there before me
I shall see ships upon the Bosporus and glide the Sea of Maramara, after traipsing turquoise shores of the Aegean, roaming Roman ruins in ancient Ephesus and the Kingdom of Pergamon. I'll accept the gifts of Troy, genuflect at the Blessed Virgin Mary's later life home and scamper over limestone cliffs before a hot splash in a sulfur spring when my luck becomes Pamukkale.

Temple of Hadrian in Ephesus ala MBell
I shall sip 80-proof Raki for is it not the state drink of this exotic place of wonder and who am I to offend? Which brings me ample reason then, to toast you, dear reader of what my spirit comes here to speak out in humble dance. (AND OH HOW I'LL DANCE!) 

I shall have sensations and laughter and learning with a fellow traveler friend and I will be alluring and touch my beloved's face.

Pamukkale ~ Hierapolis ala BurgundyMT
I am going to Turkey as I write this. I will be in Turkey as most of you read this. 

Upon my return I shall relate to you how came to be THE CURTAIN CALLER of Istanbul who began so veritably long ago, the fame of story tellers ~

Storytellers are you and me knowing all that we taste and sensate becomes new stories to 'tale'. My tales will be of wonders seen, heard, tasted, smelled, touched and sensed within. And I shall ask what is imperative to your senses and sensibilities.

I shall listen quite carefully to sensations and from whence they came and more significantly, where they are going.

Past Turkish writer and international literary award-winner Orhan Pamuk and his heartache of darkness where the blind man can watch snow fall (My Name Is Red), I shall open spirit to hearing the calls of hawkers and the cries of children in the streets. I shall bridge Europe and Asia and the past and the present, and art, culture and history in tempestuous and tender times.

And I shall bring that all back to America in pockets of my new suitcase which will not exceed 50 pounds so help me God. And I know now, this trip shall careen me further . . . in a softer shade of Bold. 

Aegean ala Turkey - MJHarrington

I shall tale you 
after I have seen
magic carpets 

"Insallah" ~ God willing
"Gule Gule" ~ Goodbye
(for now)

~ Absolutely*Kate

(c) 2010 from a broad abroad, Author Absolutely*Kate
exclusive AT THE BIJOU

The way fate likes to splash, at the simultaneous writing of this piece,
the illustrious colleague of a wowzer of a WritingMan who knows how to come up the stairs from Bukowski's Basement ~ yes, the one, the only, Anthony Venutolo ~  granted me this most prestigious award. I'm honoured to write and read and glean and grow along with the spiffy, spunky, spectacular and sometimes pretty deep pileup of authors St Jon the Strother keeps congregating out to word'dance action come a Friday's Flash of Fiction. When my suitcase and myself return . . . I shall do Ant proud and pass the torch with flair ... or flare ... but for now, as I take to the air -- I tip my fine fedora (I do have one - Harry B. Sanderford gave it to me and Nelle for my birthday as our 'writing hat'.) to the man who can aptly insert a "rat-a-tat-tat" in the same verbiage as "a Thai hooker working overtime during Uncle Sam's occupaton circa 1944" and "eclectic flash" and "solemn poetry". Humbly Mr V ~ I'm so honoured to know thee and the entourage we seem to share in spirit. F. Scott Fitzgerald woulda pulled a flask outta his best hootch pocket with you anytime. 

Deep Appreci'kation to Anthony, the #Friday Flashers for welcomin' my wading on in and all who take the art of words the farther the further ...

~ Absolutely*Kate,
. . . Believing in Believers . . . 

Tuesday, July 27, 2010


Stunning photo ala MrWSierra

A M Y ' S    B A C K !

It's a natural thing.
You'll see.
No, you'll feel it.

Recharge within.
is splashing under more than just warm spotlights.

It's the voice within that does it.

~ Absolutely*Kate,

A Double*Feature of Amy Hale Auker,
comin' right up folks ~

BIGGER ~ By Amy Hale Auker ... AT THE BIJOU


By Amy Hale Auker

bigger than you, bigger than me,
bigger than a bank account, bigger than a vote.
bigger than committees allocating funds for artistic projects yet undone.
bigger than the fight you had with your lover last week.

see how his eye is bigger than his wing,
as if at first he'll need to see more than he'll need to fly?

and his wing is just an L of bone,
dwarfed by the beginnings of feathers,
as if nothing special, but you can't soar.

he fits on my thumbnail, fits inside my head until I can't sleep.
the embryo of the universe cradling the yoke of the world
fit inside that fragile shell until it fell.

the stock market rocks back and forth.
the clouds build to the north.
there are questions calendars schedules songs tasks
and did someone call while I was away?

if  you don't want to see, don't look.

(c) 2010 ~ Poetess Amy Hale Auker 

AMY HALE AUKER is back AT THE BIJOU. It's a natural thing . . . 

The illustrious Amy Hale Auker writes and rides on a ranch in Arizona where she is surrounded by spiders, bats, lizards, weather, rock, hummingbirds and as much love as one person can breathe in at a time.  Her first book, Rightful Place, will be in the Texas Tech University Press Spring 2011 catalog and she has other works ready for publication when the rightful time arrives.  She just finished writing her first novel, and as a break for fingers and psyche, she is letting her imagination play with poetry... poetic prose?  prose poems?  Words.  Language.  Images. To view more of her work, visit DRY CRIK REVIEW

And check out a foxy fave here AT THE BIJOU "I GO FOR THE GOING"

Her poetic prose flows in the following poem as well . . . 

REAL LIFE DANCE ~ By Amy Hale Auker

~ By Amy Hale Auker

We sat on red rock at mesa's edge
as clouds came on, as storm rose up,
saying prayers for rain,
dancing in the dirt.
We felt it today on cooler concrete,
toned-down asphalt with no glare on our skin
under wet clouds.
We looked on the website
Doppler radar
Channel ten?
We smelled it out an open window.

Have you ever
sat still
on red rock,
on a mesa,
Have you ever danced
for rain?
In the rain?


 We were here.
We knew granite, pipestone,
water coming up in the fall,
water going down into sand.
We had seasons,
animal guides,
mouths to feed,
old men smoking at sunset,
We knew
which leaf
to slap from our babies' mouths –
We built walls,
knapped flint,
hunted for food and hope,
ground grass seeds into flour,
dammed and dug the spring,
skirted the tracks in the dirt,
ground that doesn’t lie.

We are here.
We know Dillard’s, Arby’s,
what shoes to buy for fall,
driving directions to the stadium game
over at the buzzer,
no one wins.
We have schedules, plastics,
calendars, power,
strangers with fake smiles,
old men rolling in chairs,
We feed
our babies formulated wonders –
We build cities,
send text,
hunt for stuff,
call mom on her birthday,
sort packaging into bins,
look at bank statements,
numbers that never lie.

Come see the wind,
hold the sun,
hear the rock,
taste the flight of the swallowtail from bush to bush,
smell the clover dampness.
Come to the creek,
the million song mountain,
the real world,
where we left footprints,
(c) 2010 ~ Author Amy Hale Auker
Visualizations ala Laura Travels and James Neeley  

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Amy (or Cita as some of us around writers'worlds have known her) is in a rarified state of prolifics and prose. It's as if you're barefoot and wading your way along a creek and then, way up ahead you see a lithe spirit. Son-of-a-gun, it's lovely Amy and you know you just want to sit and talk, ponder and laugh on that rock there. You'll move on feeling deeper and more splendid with another angle of peering at your world.

I think *ease* happens when you accomplish, are attuned to your 'nature' and are confident at a plateau where waiting for what's next to simply (thus strongly) come around the bend is its own sense of reality. I sensed that about the now of Amy, but wanted to know a little more for sure.

ABSOLUTELY*KATE:  So Amy, if you had your druthers, what would your superb and natural vision see happening for you in your writing and life'ways?

AUTHOR AMY HALE AUKER: We live, right now, in a world where Wall Street bankers are rewarded even though they have created nothing of value in a nation where everyone knows what a McDonald's french fry tastes like. I want to write about the real world where things grow up out of the ground, where the miracle of life happens over and over again, where people can and do survive without malls and movie theatres.  I want to produce something of value from a place where the bats fly, the lizards do pushups on the rocks, the bears leave barefoot prints in the dirt, the hummingbirds do a rain dance in August, spiders weave for their food, and poetry is in the chrysalis and the cocoon.  I believe that what you put out there is what you get back, and that if we do the good work, stay true to the creative process, we will be rewarded.   
See? I told you.
Amy's creating splendour
from the natural grace within.
Soar Amy Soar!
Thanks so much for natural flair
you brought 'round again,
~ Absolutely*Kate
and our fine staff of renown

Sunday, July 25, 2010

THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 17 ~ "CASSIDY & SUNDANCE" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

Kitchens are cookin' up something!




Mosey through Epic*sode Clicks:
Epic'sode Sweet 16 ~ The Great Escape
Epic'sode 15 ~ A Wise Ass
Epic'sode 14 ~ A Wrinkle in Time
Epic'sode 13 ~ Lucky For You?
Epic'sode 12 ~ Midnight Cowboy
Epic'sode 11 ~ The Shadow Knows
Epic'sode 10 ~ The Pissing Match
 Epic'sode 9 ~ Chain, Chain, Chain 
Epic'sode 8 ~ Too Cool!
Epic'sode 7 ~ Meet Virginia
Epic'sode 6 ~ I See the Light
Epic'sode 5 ~ Lucky Shot
Epic'sode 4 ~ Hi Jinks
Epic'sode 3 ~ Groping Against Grope
Epic'sode 2 ~ The Clot Thickens

and the original mystery of it all ~  Epic'sode 1 ~

 ~ ~ EPIC*SODE 17 ~ ~

~ By Absolutely*Kate
Harry B. Sanderford

When Kate Cassidy and her Sundance Kit strutted their stuff into GABARDINE ENTERPRISES plush offices twenty years ago, knowing a flush financial backer was the best sure bet to have in your back pocket when you were sizzling a hot idea, she never realized to what extent hot hands forced into back pockets could reach. Her idea was gosh darn good. Her idea had mighty merit. Her idea had vision when the rest of the ideas in this world wore bifocals. It was that good. It should've been seen. It should've been a contender. It would've prototyped her BIJOU to showcase fresh talent in film franchises all around the world. It was the tip, it was the top ~ the red curtain vaudeville revival road show, a Gershwin tune, a Cecil B. DeMille extravaganza and the roll out of the Sundance Film Festival all into one big  shebang. 

Yessiree, her excitement was snap, crackling, popping while she crisply rolled up all the plans and sketches and charts with the circles and the paragraphs on the back of each one explainin' what each one was when some flunky from Gabardine's office phoned.  "Ms Cassidy? Mr Gabardine prefers this meeting takes place out of town. He'd prefer the town of Alice as pressing business has just come up. He asked me to extend the courtesy of you selecting the restaurant. So, Alice's finest restaurant at, say -- 1:30? You can get anything you want there while you're waiting."

But Kate didn't wait. Oh no buddy boy. Kate had ideas and knew how to use them. She scurried. She drove cross town in the hurried flurry of the fury of a woman's appointment scorned and barged into his office past two languid secretaries sputtering protestations while trying to out nail file the other. She saw just what his pressing business was. What had come up and taken the sizzle out of just the right amount of dynamite used in Cassidy's Sundance Film Festival Shining Road-Show Talent plan was the ever stunning but currently stammering Jeanette Bessette, cast about the casting couch. 

From the looks of what was up, Gabardine appeared besot with Bessette but it didn't look quite like an up and up handshake deal. This scene had compromise riding all over it. Before Kate could even get out a startled "Whoops" or "Hey, sorry about that folks," spry Jeanette gather-grabbed what fragments were grabbable of a little black dress, pressed it to her burgeoning bosom and beat a path beyond the paneled office and its majestic mahogany door. 

Gabardine bellowed. Kate didn't cower but the Cassidy Sundance Kit never got the presentation it was due. Which was really too bad. It could've been seen clear to the gardenlands of Bolivia for all we know. Boss Gabardine, even back then had his hands in so many pockets that chump change was his modus operandi. Without squeezing any coinage  he put the squeeze on. He squelched the viability of her ventures with vexed vengeance. Lasting leverage leaned on every backer she made her next series of serious contender appointments with. Alas, nolo-contendre. It wasn't just a power-man holding a powerful grudge against a barger-inner on his afternoon's dalliance of delight. Kate Cassidy had seen something she sure shouldn't have. She'd seen Gabardine with his pants down. She'd seen Gabardine with his pants down kick under the beige velour casting couch a sheaf of papers he'd pried out of Jeanette's hand when the door had opened with nary a knock. She'd seen that Gabardine had seen what she'd seen of the compromising scene. 

And she heard him say when she too tried to disappear out of sight, "Kate Cassidy, I'll get you for this. When you least expect it . . . EXPECT IT!"  Regarding his sneer in a half-turn to snap back that cliches did not become him, Kate regarded better the valour of silence as Gabardine's silencer, a tall thick Brutus look-a-like from any Popeye cartoon not co-starring Bluto shoved her roughly up against the knotty pine paneled wall. 

"Forget everything you saw here today Girly, and nobody close to you ever gets an accident to fall their way, hear?"

Though really tempted to tell this goon he'd watched way too many Cagney flicks for his own good, Kate didn't panic against the panels. When cornered, she kicked out to make her point to the inside of his Achilles tendon as a girl with superior high heels knows how to do. And taunted, "How do those teals feel, Bucko?" When the shark took the bait and lunged, she popped the rolled up portfolio case of her plans and dreams right into the family jewels. The force of doubled-over flailing against the paneled wall careened the gilt edged Gabardine plaque for MERITORIOUS CITY SERVICE hard, very hard into the corner of tough guy's eye.

Holy Mackerel! Seeing blood as well as an open opportunity, she ran. Almost too many cliches for one day away from a clean getaway, Kate Cassidy and her Sundance Kit pivoted at the edginess of the daunting doorway ~  "How'd you like them apples Big Boys?"

It wasn't the smartest comeback to shoot out to a flashy financier naked on his knees shoving a sheaf of parchment papers into a leather valise. Gabardine glowered. Gabardine grumbled profanities in profusion. Kate was gone with that ill wind.
~  ~  ~  ~  ~

And now Kate's kitchen was filled with more than fleeting and jolted memories of Jeanette Bessette Cheezum and her BIJOU general manager buddy, hunky handsome Harry, with a wild glint to his eye, turning a box of Lucky Charms into upside down heap and crunch just to get to the prize. Har was a gamblin' man, Kate knew. He always went for the prize. He liked life to be magically delicious and took a lot of precise actions to get himself there.  So why'd he show up on her doorstep with a disheveled Jeanette and tales of danger? A Jeanette who had wolfed down two waffles, a banana nut muffin and was looking for more? The headlines in the paper she'd wanted to peacefully kick back and read in the HAZLETON HOLLER were neglected now, face down on the floor. 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Lieutenant Phillips fingered commands on the iPhone he’d bargained from Jinx. Jinx kept a wary eye on Phillips, not so sure he’d made a good trade. Laurita called them to breakfast and they both got out of bed.

Sergeant Stine arriving rumpled and late at the station grabbed the last donut from the box and called his superior’s cell phone from his desk. “Captain, we better get a tail on Chester Hanks and also Harry Shannahan. I don’t know about Hook’em’s involvement in any of this but he’s indicated for questioning by his position at the BIJOU. Harry slipping out before we had a chance to question him at the scene also makes him a suspect.”

Phillips wiped syrup from his chin and patted Laurita’s rump. “You go on then Sergeant, see what you can find out about either of them.” 

“We ought to have someone at the hospital to find out what the Professor knows too.”
“He’s awake? God man, we should have already had uniforms there. See to it!” 
Phillips kissed Poe goodbye and drew his hand back quickly reaching to pat Jinx.

 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

"You guys got some 'splainin' to do!" Kate exhaled while filling three cobalt mugs of blue with house brand Starbucks fresh brew. This was grounds for explanations. "Yuck!" Her barefoot paces gooshed into pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars and green clovers. "The spiels you two spilled are far from over. How does Boss Gabardine figure into goings on AT THE BIJOU? How do you have a connection to him Har? And little Jeanette? Wasn't he the big man whose passes you ran away from?"

Sipping coffee sedately at a Sunday kitchen table amongst friends, putting scraped pieces of her regal countenance back together again, Jeanette let loose a diabolical howl. It filled the room. It shook the cupboards. Kate's cobalt pottery mug tumbled to its inimitable fall. The mellow was mushed. Jeanette's howl mounted and morphed to a chilling gaggle of giggles. 

"Me thinks the lady of the ordeals doth protest too much," sage Harry purported, looking up from his assorted pileups of sorted cereal success and winked theatrically slow. He lifted high the tiny shiny red firetruck he'd found at the bottom of his search and seizure. "Score!"
Ignoring the slush of the slosh of marshmallow and caffeine between the toes, Kate ambled over, ruffled Har's hair, smiled as she leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper, as they'd done when riding Schwinns and building forts with their gang in their wild youth. "Hey pal - you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"
"When in doubt Katie Girl, ah saay, ah saaay -- Always quote Shakespeare."  
Kate's hearty laugh filled the blue and white Sunday kitchen as sunlight spill splashed welcome dapple into new glisten on a soggy floor. But all did not seem cheery. When Jeanette's giggle amped its decible to cackle, Kate pondered Harry's theory, reexamining the first memory of the first time she'd laid eyes on what she took to be a flustered lass in trouble. But trouble is as trouble does and all is not always as it seems. Perhaps Har was on to something. He usually was. After all - You can't out-Shannahan a Shannahan.
 ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Eddie hung up with Mary Lou and iPhoned Detective Davenport. 
“Any word from your friend at the lab?”

* C * L * I * F * F * H * A * N * G * E * R * S * !


Mosey on over to next Sunday's Matinee
for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "
(c) 2010 ~ Dashing Duet Authors
Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford
  ( Kate thinks the "B" is for 'brilliant' some times )
Visualizations ala Eric Williamson, SnarkyDork, CrazyBobbles, JasonEscapist and Barb Henry.