They did yet not know,
The coincidental details
Of each other’s loathings,

Or even begin
To chart
The eclipses of their early aspirations,

Although instantly,
And within seconds of hearing each other’s voice,
They suspected they’d soon share
The gasps and pleadings of the great grand hope.

Their introduction was online of course,
Their first physical meet,
A small wine bar on the south side,
Where they were served complimentary
Blue cheese, on
Crisp crackers, handmade,
Each bite a delight and a nod and a welcome treat.
A sign of so many yummy things to come.

Lisa, her full name was Lisa Lilac,
Explained, with a bit of crumb on her lower lip,
That her bedroom was the only place to have
A serious conversation.

Nothing else will matter if we don’t **** well,
Or at the very least if we don’t **** with potential, she said,
Can anything overcome the cardinal disappointment,
Of *****-shat ***?
How is intimacy even possible she asked
If the ordeal is bitter or banal.

His name was Keegan
And he took her hand for a moment,
And examined the backs of her knuckles with
A kind man’s massage of her fingers.

Her hands were small beautiful appointments,
Soft,
And he knew her touch was ******  
And capable of breaking him apart.

Let me see if I can read your desires, Keegan said
And he turned her hand over and examined her palm.

Our first kiss must be a valuable possession, he said,
A vivid memory, ****** and intentional,

From this first brush, in this famished embrace
You will find in my pursuit all of your hunger,

I will draw your lower lip out with a lover’s bite,
My tongue will pirate your beautiful mouth,
And like a jewel thief in a plush apartment,
It will search urgently and everywhere for a precious reaction.

A French Kiss, is that not the most perfectly named thing,
Our entanglement will tender to curiosity,
This very first kiss will be ours,
Our only signature of things to come.

Lisa said she wanted him to kiss her right now,
In the company of strangers and hired help, Keegan asked.
Of course, I sometimes like an audience, she said,
And I always fall for a man,
Who can perform under pressure.

In that case you must make a promise, Keegan requested.
I’m listening, she replied.
You must promise after
The first time we make love,
To let me read to you out loud,
No matter time of day,

Will there be a first time,
She asked in blush of fashion and feminine coy,
Without any doubt he replied
And consummated her with his dusk- dawn smile.

Mixing trying to say no.
To encourage it to start

With fearing leaving God
And feeling him exit from my heart
Trying to marry functions
Of fear based tuck and run
To collide with lets have some fun
And God ll get me done
But like the rest he never comes
Michelle had vagi plasty
She had the same disease I do...
Fantastic news its gonna happen
No matter if I don't believe its true
But I'd mis manage that package
If its all I really need to do
I'm a savage mistake from conception
I guess thats why you see me as a dude
God made me and you
Different stock
A different flock
You got a ****
I got a ****
You felt good with getting ****
Life told me better not
You married him.
And I did not....
I got **** on as an actor.
*** i smiled and played along
**** this screaming siren violent voice from keegan in my song
Communicate my ******* you got more seeds in your **** than my lawn. Just kidding bro
Stay shifting. Don't sniff your rental income...
Stop eating out your girlfriends step mom. Like take out dim sum


******* get sum...
Sniffing bath salts. In a calming
Pond. Of contraband and then sum.
Keegan you make mat Foley look like stone cold Austin's special interest victim....
I give my kids swimming on your chin
A high five and a fist bump.
I'd like to see you raise em.
But you only want your **** ******

Winston Churchill (novelist)
(Nov. 10, 1871 – Mar. 12, 1947)
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
For the literary career of the British statesman of the same name, see Winston Churchill as writer.

Born November 10, 1871
St. Louis, Missouri, US
Died March 12, 1947 (aged 75)
Winter Park, Florida, US
Occupation Novelist, writer
Genre
Non-fiction
Short story
Historical fiction
Notable works
Mr. Crewe's Career
Mr. Keegan's Elopement
Coniston
The Crossing
A Far Country
A Traveller In War-Time
Spouse Mabel Harlakenden Hall
​
​(m. 1895; died 1945)​
Children 3
Winston Churchill (November 10, 1871 – March 12, 1947) was an American best-selling novelist of the early 20th century.

He is nowadays overshadowed, even as a writer, by the more famous British statesman of the same name, to whom he was not closely related.

Early life
Churchill was born in St. Louis, Missouri, the son of Edward Spalding Churchill by his marriage to Emma Bell Blaine. He attended Smith Academy in Missouri and the United States Naval Academy, where he graduated in 1894. At the Naval Academy, he was conspicuous in scholarship and also in general student activities. He became an expert fencer and he organized at Annapolis the first eight-oared crew, which he captained for two years. After graduation he became an editor of the Army and Navy Journal. He resigned from the U.S. Navy to pursue a writing career. In 1895, he became managing editor of the Cosmopolitan Magazine, but in less than a year he retired from that, to have more time for writing.[1] While he would be most successful as a novelist, he was also a published poet and essayist.

Career
His first novel to appear in book form was The Celebrity (1898). However, Mr. Keegan's Elopement had been published in 1896 as a magazine serial and was republished as an illustrated hardback book in 1903. Churchill's next novel—Richard Carvel (1899) — was a phenomenal success. The novel was the third best-selling work of American fiction in 1899 and eighth-best in 1900, according to Alice Hackett's 70 Years of Best Sellers. It sold some two million copies in a nation of only 76 million people, and made Churchill rich. His other commercially successful novels included The Crisis (1901), The Crossing (1904), Coniston (1906), Mr. Crewe's Career (1908) and The Inside of the Cup (1913), all of which ranked first on the best-selling American novel list in the years indicated.[2]

Churchill's early novels were historical, but his later works were set in contemporary America. He often sought to include his political ideas into his novels.


Churchill at his home, Windsor, Vermont
In 1898, Churchill commissioned Charles Platt to design a mansion in Cornish, New Hampshire. Churchill moved there the following year and named it Harlakenden House. From 1913 to 1915, he leased it to Woodrow Wilson, who used it as his summer residence. Churchill became involved in the Cornish Art Colony and went into politics, winning election to the state legislature in 1903 and 1905.[3] In 1906, he unsuccessfully sought the Republican nomination for governor of New Hampshire. In 1912, he was nominated as the Progressive candidate for governor but did not win the election and did not seek public office again. In 1917, he toured the battlefields of World War I and wrote his first non-fiction work about what he saw.

Sometime after the move to Cornish, he took up painting in watercolors and became known for his landscapes. Some of his works are in the collections of the Hood Museum of Art (part of Hopkins Center for the Arts at Dartmouth College) in Hanover, New Hampshire, and the Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site in Cornish, New Hampshire.

In 1919, Churchill decided to stop writing and withdrew from public life. He was gradually forgotten by the public. In 1923, Harlakenden House burned down. The Churchills moved to an 1838 Federal estate, part of the Cornish Colony called Windfield House (now called Hillside) at 23 Freeman Road in Plainfield, furnishing it with items saved from the fire.[4] In 1940, The Uncharted Way, his first book in twenty years, was published. The book examined Churchill's thoughts on religion. He did not seek to publicize the book and it received little attention. Shortly before his death, he said, "It is very difficult now for me to think of myself as a writer of novels, as all that seems to belong to another life."

Death
Churchill died in Winter Park, Florida, in 1947 of a heart attack. He was predeceased in 1945 by his wife of fifty years, the former Mabel Harlakenden Hall.[5] He is featured on a New Hampshire historical marker (number 16) along New Hampshire Route 12A in Cornish.[6]

Churchill and his wife had three children. Their son John Dwight Winston Churchill was married to Mary Deshon Hand, daughter of Judge Learned Hand.[7] Another son Creighton Churchill was a well-known writer on wines.[8][9] Journalist Chris Churchill of Albany, New York is his great-grandson.[10]

The British statesman
In the 1890s, Churchill's writings first came to be confused with those of the British writer with the same name. At that time, the American was the much better known of the two, and it was the Englishman who wrote to his American counterpart about the confusion their names were causing among their readers.[11]

They agreed that the British Churchill should adopt the pen name "Winston Spencer Churchill", using his full surname, "Spencer-Churchill". After a few early editions this was abbreviated to "Winston S. Churchill"—which remained the British Churchill's pen name. The two men arranged to meet on two occasions when one of them happened to be in the other's country, but were never closely acquainted.[12]

Their lives had some other coincidental parallels. They both gained their tertiary education at service colleges and briefly served (during the same period) as officers in their respective countries' armed forces (one was a naval officer, the other an army officer). Both Churchills were keen amateur painters, as well as writers. Both were also politicians, although the British Churchill's political career was far more illustrious.[13]

Works
Novels
Mr. Keegan's Elopement in magazine format (1896)
The Celebrity (1898)
Richard Carvel (1899)
The Crisis (1901)
Mr. Keegan's Elopement in hardback (1903)
The Crossing (1904)
Coniston (1906)
Mr. Crewe's Career (1908)
A Modern Chronicle (1910)
The Inside of the Cup (1913)
A Far Country (1915)
The Dwelling-Place of Light (1917)
Other writings
Richard Carvel; Play produced on Broadway, (1900–1901)
The Crisis; Play produced on Broadway, (1902)
The Crossing; Play produced on Broadway, (1906)
The Title Mart; Play produced on Broadway, (1906)
A Traveller In War-Time (1918)
Dr. Jonathan; A play in three acts (1919)
The Uncharted Way (1940)

"I hate roadtrips."
"Yer gunna love 'em when I'm gone."

All they ever had in front of them was road. They faced an endless stretch of asphalt and rolling hills that trundled lazily beside them like tired giants with aching feet, and they stared the setting sun right in the eyes. It was like looking into the barrel of a gun, and when the trigger got pulled, they both were bathed in murky night with nothing to guide them but headlights and starlights. Keegan Mac Namara was a road that Molly was willing to walk.

Their journey across the verdant farmlands and everlasting clusters of villages falling into decay was only five hours in, and they had three more to go. Molly knew that when they stepped out of the car again, they wouldn't talk, and they'd just smile and laugh and cry without a spoken word. Two of the saddest free spirits without moral compasses to keep them on track. Before Molly left, it was always like that, and that was the best part about it.
She had met him in a pub after Ronan's funeral, and for the six months after, they were inseparable.

Keegan Samuel Mac Namara was the summer in the winter of Molly's life, the breeze to clear the smoke left behind Finnian Aherne, the anchor which kept her grounds from shaking with the tremors and aftershocks of a toddler-sized earthquake and even after he died she could still feel the thrum of her heart in her chest with the thought of him, of them, of what they were, and what they could have been, but never became.

He taught her how to love roadtrips, he taught her to be free, and he taught her to love.
He taught her how to shoot a gun, he taught her to sing, and he taught her to love.
He taught her how to smile, he taught her to laugh, and he taught her to love.
He taught her how to love.

They never got married and they never had children and they were never official; he never gave her something to remember him by: only memories of long nights spent together in the back of their van making up stupid songs or the feeling of laughing so hard that she cried and her cheeks rushed red for ten minutes afterward or driving so long that they forgot where they were going and where they had come from.

When he died, there was no reason to make up stupid songs, no reason to laugh until her stomach hurt and she had a headache, and the ten thousand roads that they traveled together were just lines that kept them from growing too attached; even if those ten thousand winding roads failed at that.

He made her lose her way, and she never wanted to be found. He let her find out who she was by keeping the tempest at bay..

When he died, the storm was all around her.

Their love was a roadtrip away from the sorrows that everybody faced. She was just lucky enough to be asked along the ride..

"I still hate roadtrips, Kee." She can hear him answer, in his voice so low..

"Then I ain't gone."

Lover!
I hold onto the promise
That lingered on your lips
That even if we don’t make it
You will Always love me
Lover!

I miss the way you and I used to
Dance like we were
Tom Hiddleston & Tilda Swinton
In Only Lovers Left Alive
You made me feel alive
Like a bright red vinyl record
You had me spinning
Like a carousel
I’m feeling ambitious
Would you like to dance?
One last time
For old times’ sake
Our movements
An explosion, an expression
A supernova
Of Love

Lover!
I hold onto the promise
That lingered on your lips
That even if we don’t make it
You will Always love me
Lover!

I miss the way you and I used to
Talk about the most interesting things
The way Kenneth Branagh talks about Hamlet
Passionate and Adventurous
And I hate Shakespeare, but I’d recite every line
So that you never lose that passion
I’m feeling ambitious
Would you like to go watch Keegan Michael Key play Horatio?
Opposite Oscar Isaac.
I’ll be confused, but I’ll try to understand it all
To see that smile reach your eyes

Lover!
I hold onto the promise
That lingered on your lips
That even if we don’t make it
You will Always love me
Lover!

I’ve missed you
I’ve fought my demons
And through the frustration
Through the anguish
I found my balance

Lover! I will always love you

Byron loves to golf, but in the dead of winter, when he has his wood stove radiating heat, he likes to play darts. The board hangs on a door separating the main garage from his store heap of empty beer cans, crushed and bagged. Thousands of them. He also has a ****** stuck on a wall. The **** just flows out to the ground. He always warns us not to dump in his ******. The very thought irks me. Like golf, Byron threatens to “kick my ***” in darts. He has a predilection for my posterior in the most unthreatening way. In fact, he may be homophobic. He throws a dart like an Amazon pygmy. Fatal to success. However, golf is never far from his mind during the raging snows we get. Although I helped with the spelling and small stuff, Byron penned the following. I came up with the title.

Intimations of Fairway Play

I'd rather hit the links today,
Take an eight on five;
Blame the wind or shift of weight,
Than shovel out my drive.

I'd rather search under trees,
Twigs, leafs and water;
And curse the squirrel that thought my shot
Was food for winter fodder.

I'd rather have a downward lie
On pock-marked naked ground;
Than sit and watch Keegan Bradley
Get it up and down.

I'd rather have a green fringe putt
That lines up with goose droppings;
Or see a fine three footer lip
Than hear the snow plough coming.

I'd rather shoot a ninety-nine,
And pay for rounds of ale;
Than sit in front of my wood stove
During snow and sleet and hail.

I'd rather shank or stub my ****,
Yes, get a double bogie;
Or miss a hole-in-one by inches
And put up with Francie's stogie.

Francie can card seventy-two
And make an eagle putt;
It matters little what he does,
I know I'll kick his but.

Yet still I languish near my fire
And watch the Pros play golf;
At Pebble Beach or someplace warm
I wish they'd all *******.

Book Thief taught me why painting is better than burning (books.)
Hamlet gave me a glimpse of grief, cutting the heart of tragedy with his poisoned rapier, where beads of things red and desperately human trickle forth. He helped me realize my dream of being king- king of nutshells and withered violet petals. 

Tris reminds me of myself, and Gatsby, too. 

Keegan’s car and Browne’s poems awkwardly sit in the corner; I see them as I walk back and forth down the halls, too busy to pick them up. My mind palace is a hoarder’s nest.



They make me, I paint them over, thick and
bubbly with memories.
Layers upon
layers, now a
sculpture.
What’s me and what’s not?

Do you remember those seasons in the sun? Carefree days of laughter and fun..
Remember seeing Star Wars and Close Encounters with a soundtrack by ABBA The Bee Gees and Boney M.

Do you remember playing football in the park. Staying out riding bikes until dark. Remember Kevin Keegan, Bjorn Borg and James Hunt. Iconic images of Concorde's first transatlantic flight.

Do you remember watching Space 1999,  Planet of the Apes and Dr Who from behind the sofa. Remember space hoppers and friendly village coppers. Endless lazy summer days soaking up the suns rays.

Do you remember Steve Austin, the Bionic Man. Getting a 99 with a flake from the ice cream van. Remember how cool were Starsky and Hutch and wanting a red Ford Torino.

I remember those seasons in the sun. I remember carefree days of laughter and fun.40 something years ago, where did the time go?

That little boy who cheered when the Death Star exploded, hid from the Daleks and danced to Rasputin and Ma Barker still lives within my memory and in my heart.

i slept until the sun went down
an entire day in bed.

I woke up, everyone was asleep.

and I pulled my blanket to cover my face
no one was there- i don't know why it was so important to me
to hide

I just felt so lonely.

Trying to present my self as intellectual.
Makes me look like im pathetic.
I flow like water in the ocean.
Get it going like diaretic.
Spider senses start to tingle.
For the web site Christian mingle. Where I met a guy named
Shannon  bingle. Man actually had me shingle
Married to the roofing life.
Like Taylor Mackinney to her kraft singles.
Cheesy as they come. Logan gablehouse.  Is greasy.
The world is
thirsty for the fast deal
Sign like handcock on the contract.
Pro ball scholarship
But give handjobs in the back field.
Tyson smokes so much Marijuana
He knows how being black feels
When interrogated by the cops
Paranoia he doesn't act real.
My mom thinks she's European.
No native blood.
I asked her how does that feel.
She replied in French with Jordan gablehouse. Do you wanna taste your last meal...
J said you *******. Tell me how the grass feels.
And keegan just like forest Gump.
Hes dashing through the back marsh
To avoid the dudes with fast cars
Who blame him for doing bath salts...
Jack jack wanted aish so bad.
He collapsed in madness with me **** it yesh man thats real. And sad
Drugs I'm so disgusted by. I'm bring serious to say this jack. Man
You gotta say your peace. To the fake back stabbers and not take it ******* back
Get clean and sober. Stay on track
With medication.
And watch how much fakeness your closest friends shape shift and react
Funny stuff aside.
Manas really great with that.
She took two dumb ******* crazy rats.
Caged in habitat. And made them slay a crazy rap....than slaughtered them for science. Donated their *******. To science. Experiment gone violent.
She's not ok with that.
Karmin is an angel.
Thinks she names all that.
Inside her head. A secret undercover braniac.
And Riley is an amazing man.
Talented and brave as stan
But I didn't tell you.
Stan is my fan name.
When I'm ****** mister nameless slim shadey type of ****. To some gangster jams....
Grandma Gisele is a thank you mam
Do you actually spank the ham
Like Christmas web cam. Food. ****.
Christmas day. You can thank my hand....
Richard gablehouse. Was pregnant with a chicken glaze.
He undressed food so many different ways
Little booties on the Christmas bird.
Bout to expose those little legs...
Oh its just humor ***** slip off the case.
I love my dad yo pieces.
There's a reason I'm a little raged.
No one seen the terrifying look
He harbored just for me.
When I didn't obey....
We got over all that.
Cleared that **** away
We had to make up. Every 15 seconds
New fight but its a different day
I feel bad. But hey its meant this way...
Alex Fanta was in debt to native medicine that made him good and gay...
His wood is great... i hear Scott hedge brag. You thought I didn't love you guys cmon. Don't be dumb AND gay
I woulda say.
She should stayed.
But cherry your a woman stain.
You look like hulk had a vasectomy and you got the ******* stuff that hangs...
Just kidding love you babe. I'm just trying to be funny.
Scare you
Cherry you ******* dummy.
I'll always provide for you with money.
But you gotta be so ******* stun. You refuse me rights. To my kids who absolutely love me.
I said ill always take care of you.
But your going to have to stop being a dummy....
Derek Moore you mega *******.
Your nieces self  esteem is ripped. And all your other kiddies jeans. *** you had to be inside  it you ******* *******...... go eat a demons ****.. id rather be a traffic cone in **** t least you'd see my **** than be your only reason why you didn't commit suicide when God agreed with it..  at least coulda did it for the ones you loved. I know thats fuckinv mean and **** but next time you **** with me jm going to have you seeing ****...
Cherry entire family. Hold up freeze it quick. While we're out and telling secrets quick.
I ****** Ashley's boyfridnds ***** yep. At least before you two met.
I did alot of foolish ****.....
Corsette and lingerie. And of course his *** stain ruined it...
Just kidding couldnt get him off. Or even fit it in. No room and ****.
He got the hugest ****.... don't know how you don't get split in two and ****... ******* ruined *****
Or at least get **** sized bruises on your ***** and hips.
Whatever not 100 percent certain but I hope if it is true you say your cool with it.....
Dylan Hutchison I love you but you never grew up actually knowing me.
You kids **** on your dad. I know it hurt you but it had broken me...
I get it he was drunk and druggy.
But he loved you two so devotely.
Just wish you had some time.
While he was living to start showing me. You were open to him emotionally
I get it. You were busy.  Coulda sent him via email. artwork dreams and poetry... so he knows how much you truly love him.
Beneath the disconnection. Tell him how bad a place your feeling come from...
Moving on. Forget deceased.
There's still a bunch of dumb *****.
Reese swampy drop your pants punchline like 8 mile at the lunch truck...
Lyssa let's get frisky. While your cats lick my nuts like going down after 60 rounds suffering they ******* punch drunk....

Sha you **** ***** I still got a **** lets make it happen...
Prefer dudes. But who's to say a little **** show couldn't happen.
We actually had a ******* with hot muscled Travis.
We got his **** in me my **** in you
And did a little jordan sandwich...
Sheldon chartrand I masturbated thinking of you ******* me ******* it....
You could slam the pack of shingles fast. So **** black and tanned yep...
Thought about your fast hands so hot like a math lab with the Cranstons...
Exploding for Chris Roan.. who?? Chris roan... a sickness no different from cancer... i felt so much love for you. But had no ******* hope or answers... you didn't know I was this way inside. Just the way God had to plan it.... you coulda made me feel included though with out you I couldn't understand it.....theres was just this separation. Anxiety. And sadness...renuka your my favorite. Of all my mental workers...
I came to you a creep hell bent on ******. And you repurposed my inside sanity. Restoring me to perfect...
Cleared my name to child service workers..
And did me such a service...
Ryan too and garry. At least you guys live through your purpose...
Helping hand and gentle hands.
Reach every different person..
Liseanne your ******* gorgeous.
Picture perfect
**** enormous... but you set me up for stis in your quest to send off young Brianna... i got chaffing in my ****.
*** you hooked her up with more dudes. Than rihanna...
In the back of your mini van or suv can't stand it but the infection had been managed...
Sorry rihanna... I love uou your thr best so beautiful can hardly stand it
I'm rambling oh yeah let me be candid. About Travis. Matron was his last name. And he smoked crack so ******* savage.. child psychologist slash roofer. I actually believed you in a panic... don't know who's stupider. The dude who won the poker game for hoarding the titanic or the dude that.
Lost his pride and got his poker *** kicked...
Jade my truest form of poetry in nervous flight.
My girl of mine.
My nervous rhymes.
Could not muster up at courage time..
Your my first love.
For a reason the best is always first in line..
But I ****** and hurt your mind...
With my words and worthless spine..
You deserve so much in life.
I hope you know I think your worth our time...
Like a child is bursting with a nursery rhyme...
Okay its ******* ****** time...
Steven Irvine your a word so
***** it perturbs my mind.
Disturbed that I. Would like you to have courage. And turn your rap gift into words that rhyme and.
******* merk the earth this time...
Tyler moose you ***** line.
Sniffed off jet lis little ****...
You **** more ***** than Jason Bixby.
Holy **** he takes alot...
Its cool though. Say im sorry...
My motto is keep on trucking...
So much more ok so **** it..
I'll keep rambling on bout nothing....
Kayla gambler think we made a babie.. but you didn't tell me...
I hope whoever she belongs to that she's happy safe and healthy...
Nolan Robb I'm sorry for saying you ****** **** for crack. At the time my thought was that was wack. Until I sunk as low as that... current day just ****** an old guy for a sack of Molly and an open pack.... Daryl Marshall your a good dude... but your ****** up deep inside.. i can see it in your eyes... your scared of being wrong and aldo being right... you fear failure fear success. And you fly off the ******* handle... ive seen my dad get mad but jees loiuise he couldn't hold a candle...
You make Rambo look like prolapse ****** sagging in the sun...
Old ******* on your rage is much more destructive than a gun....
Jordan Marshall your a *** stain that should sat on Michelle's tongue....
Swallowed did a good job. Just ******* kidding bud.... your pretty ******* funny. And also pretty dumb ..
But at least your not like Tyler marsh shoving fisher price toys in his ***....
Oh please I got uou all beat and then some the world knows my story...
Would you call it boring... **** no.
But I no longer want the sea being stormy. I just wanna find one man after surgery get ***** and tilt his single axis planet into orbital retraction. Supernova. Every morning. ****** sweaty pores. From ***** inter planetary pornscenes.. but first I gotta morph. Into a woman so I feel more like my self inside. Its more rewarding..
To not ignore your thoughts. To have some wants. Take off early system warnings. Relax. And dream of rap gods. Jesus. And the last 15 years of poor me...



...