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Anais Vionet Jul 25
It was a cool, overcast and windy Sunday morning in March 2014. We were about 50 miles from Paris, at my Grandmère’s (grandmother’s) farm. She lives in Paris, but she owns a Château and surrounding 1,100-hectare farm that she calls her “fall retreat.”

Between three and five hundred people work on the farm, the Château and its surrounding shops (some work is seasonal). The shops sell wool, cheese, wine and ice cream produced on the farm, as well as touristy things. Many of the employees live on the farm, rent free. Their homes, owned by the farm, form a hameau (village). I didn’t understand much of this at the time, I was 10 years old.

My Grandmère was dedicating a new store just off the village green. The green wasn’t square, like those in the UK and it didn’t have swings or a slide, as I’d hoped. You’d think I’d know a hamlet my Grandmère owned but this place was alien to me. I’d arrived as part of her entourage but as the presentation ground on, I got bored. So, I took Charles by the hand and off we went.

We (my little nuclear family) were living in the UK then and we were visiting Paris for the Easter holiday. The fall before, as the school year had started, a girl in my grade (4th grade or year 5 in the UK) had been kidnapped and murdered on her way home from school. My Grandmère was “having none of it,” and hired Charles, a burly, red-headed, just retired, ex-NYC cop, as my security, escort and practical nanny. He’d been with me for about half a year, at that point, and we’d become fast friends.

It was the height of the pre-summer, Easter season. In addition to the villagers, there were tourists everywhere, picnicking on the grass, visiting the shops and playing football (soccer). Most of the tourists seemed to have small children that ran around. The townspeople sat on benches, eating ice creams and playing dominoes or quoits, a horseshoes-like game, played on a sand pitch.

You couldn’t mistake the two groups - the natives and the tourists. The towns folk were plainly dressed, the women in simple smocks and sweaters, the men wearing slacks, tweed jackets, berets or tag hats. The tourists spoke other languages - there were Italians, Britts, Germans and even Americans - who wore sports logoed t-shirts, shorts, sneakers and baseball caps.

As Charles and I wandered around the village, I asked, “Can we get a sirop?” One of the most popular drinks, in France, is a grenadine sirop (soda). We stopped and as Charles bought us drinks, I wandered a way off. He found me, moments later, hanging from a tree limb, upside down, my hair sweeping the grass like a broom.

“Stop that,” he’d said, swooping me up and off the branch with his soda free hand and setting me alright. As he picked leaves out of my hair, he said, “Don’t wander away from me like that, you know better.” “Yes sir” I agreed. A moment later, he picked me up and placed me atop a low, four-foot parapet wall that ran around the village. I could feel sharp, rough stone edges through my cotton dress but I drank my sirop and didn’t complain.

“You saved me from the dragon,” I said, after my first few sips.
“What dragon?” he said.
“The dragon that had me in its teeth, over there.” I pointed at the tree where I’d been upside down.
“I saved you from yourself,” he said, as he looked around the square.
“That’s silly,” I announced, “how can someone need saving from themselves?”
“Oh, It happens all the time,” he said.

The event ended and as people began leaving, they filed by us on the sidewalk. The village men doffed their hats and the women nodded a quick curtsey as they passed. “Why are they doing THAT?” I asked Charles, “am I a princess?”
“No,” he snorted, “you’re no kind of princess. They’re doing it out of respect for your illustrious grandmother.” “Oh,” I said disappointedly.

A moment later our car pulled up and we were headed back to the city. “Did you have fun?” my Grandmère asked, “yes mam,” I answered. “Did you behave yourself?” She followed up. “Mostly,” I admitted. She nodded, pronouncing, “That’s how it should be,” as the limo turned onto the autoroute (expressway) and accelerated for lunch in Paris.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Illustrious: a person that’s highly admired and respected.
Ken Pepiton Apr 28
Synchronic simple step
yonder, yo, go, no
go, si, go
on and on and on
… so yust so
yust to be we once went

we split, full moiety,
act-ion -jello-timed- lobes
blobs plasmoieted mind
parabolic, by yah,
Arching fly call it, I got it,
call his name, yah who done
did done GOT
the funny parts. Read the books.
Now. At this point, cognitive native
child formed in my mortal moment
per-ifery-wasery rules
secret se- per seance
sacred made knowledge,
state of knowing entered, left

ab-rupturously, grief, lief
left easy, re lief, sigh
grief. We were all
we-    are Charlie Brown, forever

interrupted, as if once, however long ago,
we knew we were one thing,
then we knew we were merely

words between things you knew
and did not do.
and you know you imagined this is that.
The novel experience, this side.
Post-done and paid off.
Precautionary. Click.
Why not,
who is asking, hangs, as pregnant pause
über Þe olde excessive easing hook,

who are we, and what are we doing,
we who were to survive receiving
asked knowledge, the easy-does-it tree,
shows us the easy way, this way dis-eased.

The lie and the profundus is merely piercing.
Flatten the spikes, be atop the bed of nails.
Wait. Funda-mental, bottom mind, first
id-ego otherwise mind,
frame a being, be a
one, and not the other,
here, there, there, it's okeh, eh, ok?

E-see easing easy living, being been done,
doing all that old trees do, after all,
we wait to feel the fire beetles,
land and lay their eggs among our ash,
and swollen-cracked nuts,
fire calls them into heat, in season.
Such things we learned
from the ant people who saved us in reeds,
thatching from roofs floating, maybe,
really, lifeboats, but
think a tsunami through,
incursive and excursive.
Lay down a layer of plausibility, evoke applause
clap each hand once.

completion, ten to go and history is made in our pages in life's book of accounted for idle words; we read a proper Proust load, right proudly.
I am having hard time accepting truth
No clue how to survive
World without your presence Is not a world
In which I long to be alive
No one cares the way you did
Space in heart nothing can fill
Numb myself with substances
Sorrow impossible to ****
No hope for better tomorrows
Barely make it through today
Room shrinking with each breath
Choke on each word I try to say
Pass the time getting high as I can
An attempt to avoid dwelling on greif
Temporary band-aid to cover wound
Relief always too brief
Move only when necessary
Every step exhausts my feet
When walking I slowly trudge forward
As if legs are stuck in concrete
Around others maintain composure
Can even manage to smile
Inside back of my mind pain throbs
Prowling all the while
And I bottle up tears within
My eyes never stay dry for long
For my effort is ever in vain
Failing to be stable and  strong
This is more difficult than I ever imagined
Nightmare manifested in one blink
Depth of my agony cannot be captured
In range of sound or intricacies of ink
Box of memories stored in brain
Mustering courage to close
Replay past moments until my head spins
Speeding in circles train of thought goes
Is there end to the madness I feel?
Chaos warps perception into knots
Drive myself crazy examining events
Can't quite connect the dots
I miss my mom I used to confide you ûhhh in her often
I love you in a warm and fuzzy way inside
You've c*m inside me I feel it inside haha
nick armbrister Dec 2022
one of those with the lines on the end/there's always a divider/between us and them/and between me and them/it's best this way/for they can't get too close/i don't class them as friends/don't want them helping me/when things are bad burning blasted/don't want them celebrating/my son's graduation or my new tattoo/i want them distant/edge of my radar scope/nothing but blips/over there not here/leave me alone don't stress me/we are this way for a reason/i'll add more reasons/for i endure even when i fade
Nick Armbrister
out in 23
nick armbrister Nov 2022
They went to the spar hotel and got it on. One time was enough to revive the old socialist. He was fully revived. This was similar but different than before. They bonked away one session and did other things.

This was better than being in the reading room studying revolutionary doctrines. The human body needed nourishing as did the mind. Blue was illuminated and revived in all ways. Like a rescued nation freed of a capitalist government replaced by a loyal communist one.

Total revival of all things. If only it was always like this rather than the continued battle capitalist and communist in the way of the world. A good buck **** ruck **** was the key.

He needs no ****** it's all natural service guaranteed. He's locked and loaded. His bright green target cross is locked on his target, focused to infinity. See how she dances soon to dance with him. What will they create?
SELL OUT Nick Armbrister new book out soon
nick armbrister Jun 2022
Sky Wheel
Big sky wheel from heaven rolls over the land squashing houses and people and cities and families.
Sky wheel doing its business, from who knows where.
A trail of loose house bricks that once were human dwellings.
Now rubble.
Where are the people?
Under the boot of the sun wheel, totally ******.
Who sent this kilometre diameter circular thing to Planet Earth?
Wrecking everything by squashing it till its dusty particles blown by the wind.
No more life here or anywhere.
Just a squash head sky wheel going round the block, again.
Coloured like a sea shell, multi spectral haze of eye watering iridium from outer space. On Earth doing mad damage, your home and mine totally bolloxed.
Military jets buzz the wheel and bomb it, chipping the surface but not halting it.
Each jet hit by smaller wheels spewed from Mother wheel.
Dwelling squashing continues, unabated.
A culling of certain humans, facts only known now.
Men killed, women left in peace.
One lab.
She kicks the wheel over.
Rantings of a Damaged Mind
By Nick Armbrister and Mel Grobler
Bipolar Poet May 2022
Mountains that are tall, cover the dreams
that are shallow. Valleys that are long,
are the lives that are too short,

Love that is blind, is a tragedy to eyes. Words
that are sweet, are sour to the years.
Beauty that is made, is the grief of an early

Choices that are made, is the shaping of
their future. Creatures of a thousand
breaths, are all under one Death,

Tears of now, aren’t the ones of forever.
Spirits to be filled, are of those empty vessels.
Transformation isn’t a sudden, but all a
continuous event,

All that we want to be, can all be.
The question is only,—


When do you choose to move, in all
the things of life holding you back,
When do you choose to be brave, in all
the fears you constantly have to face,
When do you fix a broken world, in all
of the brokenness to be fixed in you,
When do you choose to love another, in all
of the less love they have for you,
And truly when do you make a change for yourself,
in all a society trying to change you,—

tell me when?
tree Mar 2022
>> i don’t have a best friend but if i did i think it would be you. every time our eyes meet from across the room and you smile i remember how i learned that life is beautiful, not in events, but in people. you’re one of my favorite ppl, i love you i love you i love you
>>>>> do you ever wonder if we think of each other the same way? that YA novel that i read reminded me not only of the false positive, seeing something that isn’t there, but also of the false negative, thinking there’s nothing there when it is. maybe you’re my false negative?
>> i think your smile is so beautiful and your laugh is the cutest. when you stop and stand still because you’re laughing so hard and when you laugh so hard you bury your head in your hands. you’ve made me laugh, we’ve made each other cry, but after all of that the only thing i’m sure of is i love you. the universe couldn’t have made me a better friend. the weird thing is, out of all my friends you’re the one i’m most okay with going away from, because i know you’ll be there when i get back
>> you make me feel okay about being sensitive because you always know what i need. no matter how hard it is for you, you will always put me first and support me in everything i want to do even (and especially) when i'm too scared. i love you and i will never leave you !
this is part of my list on loving people, where i sort of document moments where i'm like ***. i love them.
nick armbrister Mar 2022
Second Kennel
So the rabid dog left his kennel to go steal another kennel
This kennel belonged to a relative and was quite nice
But it was a bit smaller and not as well equipped
Still the dog wanted it and went for it
Trying to steal it take it use abuse it
Why have one kennel when you can have two?
Acquired by other means no matter what method
The dog is crazy but in his mind all is fine normal the world
It turns and he tells a story as he sees it
All things rabid not quite right up there
They say command is the loneliest place
Even God gets lonely so he made Satan
Even if enemies God aint alone there
Unlike the dog giving orders do this and that
Go get my second kennel even if it breaks
I want that kennel don't let them keep it
It must belong to me!
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