Entwine the tree branches of your soul with mine and dance with me in this forest. swirling and twirling around and around we get closer and closer and closer. Soon your branches move within and ignite a lust so swift. the forest sings, your heart beats fast, and the world blurs.
The cliffs tell stories to the sea via the waterfalls, which cascade down in stages. The sea finds the cliff’s stories amusing and interesting, for the cliffs are always so melodramatic and ironic. Sometimes, though, a story really touches the sea. She becomes wild and weird.
He’s a retired surgeon with a taste for woodwork. He lives with his wife in a lovely house with good security and a vegetable patch. There’s a park down past his rear fence, which is pretty and quiet. However, to the right of his house, just a few blocks away, sits a caravan park.
No one knows how this caravan park came to be built in this location. Some say it was a stroke of genius on the developer’s part, while others say that the developer bribed the Council. There is a reason why the caravan park now sits on that land, but let us not get carried away.
He loves the quiet. It’s wonderful for reading, woodwork, painting, and more. Sometimes he likes to give the stereo a blast to remind him of the 70’s. It’s never before 9 am and always before 10 pm. He respects his neighbours. He thinks he’s sweet.
He remembers his first Saturday once the caravan park was up and running. There was never a Saturday like this one before, but will probably be many thereafter. That Saturday changed him forever.
Now Saturday has arrived again. It is the night. There is a wild party, and the caravan park is alive. What is this hell he must endure? Why is there so much noise? He finds relief with earplugs to grab a few hours sleep.
Then, Sunday descended. Saturday was hard, but Sunday is worse. Sunday consists of many fights from hell. Beer bottles fly about, kitchen utensils and tools go everywhere, shouting and banging lingers, and there’s an awful lot of barbecues.
There is a lull at 3 am, which turns into quiet. The weekend is over for another week. There is so much relief.
You live in a world of bling. Kitsch Swarovski bracelets line your arms, new wave necklaces and earrings from markets and independent sellers line your walls and the Duchess in your bedroom. More beautiful pieces lay locked in your safe, but they are large and gaudy.
Fashionista, you walk down the halls of fashion magazine offices, take to the seats before runways so modern, and mingle with the fashion elite at shallow parties with dim lights, awful music, and terrible cocktails. You are living and loving in the scene of chic cool and unencumbered soulless troglodytes. Never a moment to stop and think about where your life is going or what you will do when those looks fade or your world crumbles.
You invited a new crowd to your home for a party. They’re a dull bunch, but you think they may be of some use to you. You’ve become so used to equating commodities with people that you forgot what it means to be human.
He walks in and makes your heart do a saucepan dance. So loud is your heart, you can barely hear him speak. This is not who you’re usually like, or is it how you usually act. He smiles at you and you go a bit limp and loose; melting all over the floor. As you start to talk, it becomes clear he is a particularly sexy chap with elegant attire and a haughty way. You simply cannot understand yourself. Why is he doing all of these things to me?
The party goes well, you see most of those boring guests to the door, but he lingers.
He says to you with a sarcastic smile, “Bangle girl, you are so weird…what are they anyway?”
You’re about to give him the flick but unintentionally say, “They’re kitsch Swarovski. It’s not to everyone’s taste, but I like them…”
Eyeing more than just your bangles, he says, “I don’t mind them. They suit you…we can’t all be alike…”
You eye each other for a bit, it becomes slightly awkward, and then you both launch into a session of wild pashing, together with a bit of touch and tingle. The floor becomes your bed. You’re both rolling around like 20-year-olds. Turns out those bracelets, or bangles as he calls them, has multiple uses.