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Juliet ~ Beyond Shakespeare ~ 




 A spirit knows no time frame.  Yesterday is tomorrow. Today is yesterday.  How long have I been hinting, cajoling, teasing the minds of mortality?  A moment?  An eternity?  Time only matters to humans.  Time, with its clocks and its buzzers.  Its lights and its signs.  Time with the 'no's' and the 'can'ts'.  I only know of yes.  Of do.  Of pleasure and of the rush of excitement.  I remember being captive.  That was forever, an instant.  

What souls have I here to touch, to taste?  Where will I find a dollop of creamed anticipation or a cube of minced trepidation?  How long do I need to search for a thimble full of adrenelin to spur me on to the next experience?  Here, a gathering place.  Quaint.  The sounds are intriguing...  the spill of emotion and the jailer of aprehension seem to be the warring factions.  Shall I nudge this one to take his hand?  Her eyes seem to beg for someone else to decide for her.  Maybe I should sit close to this black eyed one in the corner.  Surely something will happen that will be a tastey morsel off of his pent up agressions. 

Am I not the epitome of Love?  The loss of desire and bittersweet endings?  Have I not been so much for so many through the ages?  Let me prick you with my pin of love. 

I know, I'll nudge the lust in this ones eyes to give his feet locomotion.  The object of his interest certainly doesn't appear to be one lacking in prowess.  Come, each of you, let me feast. . . I insist.  

Long thin tendrils of green reached out, tickling.  "Isn't there someone here who you despise?"  I could feel the blood rising at the thoughtful response to that question.  Another reached out, snakelike and tenuous.  "Don't you deserve the best?".  One more for good measure, "Will it ever end?"  

Questions are good motivators.  Too often I have to do little more than present them, and wait for them to tickle and prod, cajole and tease these beings into some heightened awareness and the sweet thick rush of adrenelin for me to feed sumpteously upon.  

"Think about it, each of you, yes. . . think.  I insist. . . " 


... ( to be continued ) 


I am grateful to the work of J Waterhouse for the picture of the woman on this page. 

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Marsha Rose
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