Tequila and Erotic Poetry

The bright neon sign, which is a replica of the bar owner's face glows magically in the window; reflecting onto the quaint neighborhood street. The warmth of the neon is a signal to those of us that are already familiar with its meaning, "Yes, we're open, come inside. Take off your coat, grab a seat at the bar and stay for awhile." The Literary Cafe reminds me of what a speakeasy must have been like during prohibition: surreptitious, opening late and closing much later.

It's a place you can duck into and shed away constraints. Listen closely to the conversations. Listen closely to the words, because they're powerful; often sprinkled with politics, religion, philosophy, music, film, art and literature. Sometimes words shared are irreverent in nature, but that's part of the appeal; the charm; the ambiance. The Literary Cafe's address is the same, but it's never the same place twice and for me, and it feels like home.

She pulled back the single, heavy metal-framed screen and then pushed down on the latch; opening the front door. She was greeted with friendly faces, some wearing winter coats, hats and gloves. She stepped further inside; shaking her head and freeing the tiny rain drops that had been captured in her straight, blond hair, like prisoners from an inclement weather war. She walked straight to the bar, smiled sweetly and if I hadn't already known her tainted spirit, I would have said she spoke with innocence when she asked for a double shot of tequila from the bar owner.

It was one of those crazy nights -the crowd was infused with raw talent, booze, a bad day at work, and the threat of what loomed somewhere just past tomorrow: the cold and menacing, midwest winter. Even still, each person gleamed with the hope that the opiate of good poetry read tonight, would prove to be the solace they each desperately clung onto to lift their sullied moods and nourish their souls. The crowd was noisy and restless for the games to begin.

She was surrounded with some of the best at their craft. She heard her name being called; it was her turn to read and she rifled through her purse; grabbing her notes. Her long tight fitting cheetah-print skirt swished against her fish net stockings as her tall, black, peep-toe pumps clicked across the hardwood floor; stepping around chairs and people sitting on the floor. She stood in front of the podeum.

Nervously, she briefly explained to the crowd in front of her that she wasn't really a poet, per se, but she had lyrical prose to share, and that her written words could be considered poetic by nature.

"Please, indulge me and just listen," She said softly into the microphone.

The crowd wasn't pleased and some hissed in disagreement. They came to listen to poetry, not prose!

"Please, indulge me and just listen," she said again louder; tequila on her breath as she adjusted the microphone over the heated crowd. She felt the heaviness of impatience growing and she thought she might be overthrown, or perhaps thrown out.

"Please, I write EROTICA...indulge me and just listen...." Her voice trembled with anxiety.

The crowd fell silent. It appeared they liked the word, erotica. They would indulge her, and just listen.

Of course I'm embellishing the story ever so slightly, here. Honestly, all fiction aside, I had an amazing time.

Feeling a little hung over today,
Neve

p.s. Thanks to Steve Goldberg, Miles Budimir , John Etorre, Melodie/Natalie Grable, Lois Moss and Andy and Linda for being there last night and offering their support. SWAK.

The Smell of Sex

In an attempt to steeple-chase over my fear of public speaking (not really actually), I'm going to read a little of my penned porn, oops, I meant to say erotica at the Literary Cafe this Thursday night, November 13, 2008. Poetry night; open mic; tequila; sex and candy...it all goes together somehow, doesn't...?

Hope to see you there -

Sex and Chocolate,
Neve

Back in Five

I'm taking a writing break today. Pull up a chair and tell me what's been going on with you.

Medium, non-fat, vanilla latte,
Neve

Select here to purchase the print above via Etsy.

Cake

is an appropriate title for today's blog, because it's not only my birthday, but this Scorpio girl just finished her Sex Through The Zodiac novel. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am smiling and wiping the sweat from my brow. This was a new personal best for me as far as word content goes. Whew.

I have referenced a number of different songs and artists throughout the story, mostly classic jazz (shocker), but Cake's lyrics heard in the YouTube video above just seemed to work for one of my characters. The lyrics have always resonated with me, "...with fingernails that shine like justice...." It just so happens, Roxanne, the heroine in the story is also a fan of Cake -


Eating and listening to Cake,
Neve

Sex Through the Zodiac

"Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light
Those days are over
You don't have to sell your body to the night
Roxanne, you don't have to wear that dress tonight
Walk the streets for money
You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right"
The Police
Outlandos d'Amour

Roxanne is my heroine, literally and figuratively. The year I graduated from High School, I took the summer off. This is highly unusual for me, because I've always had to work. Nearly every day that summer, I headed to 26th Street in Del Mar. I'd set up camp on the sandy beach: Red, plastic, igloo cooler, trashy book, smash ball set, beach towel and because of its multiple reclining options...grrr, I called my beach chair the cadillac chair. Between lounging in the sun, body surfing and flirting with Chip (I'm not making that up) the lifeguard, I'd engage in two-man beach volleyball. Kick your ass kind of work out.

I also brought a radio. In Del Mar, the frequency extended to L.A. and I could hear KROQ; the alternative rock station while the waves lapped at my feet. My ears were fully exposed and boy did I get turned on to bands like, Oingo Boingo, The Violent Fems, and Sting's irreverent voice when he was with The Police, belting out... Roxanne. Goose bumps. I still get goose bumps.

Anyway, the heroine in my 50K word story (today's blog title) is affectionately named Roxanne. It seems apropos that Roxanne is currently sitting on the beach; wiggling her toes in the sand, and listeing to music, much like her creator did a long time ago.

Nearing the finish line,

Neve

Don't forget to VOTE!

Did the video above leave you wanting more Palin? Then check out Donna George-Storey's , Chasing Sarah Palin currently published on Clean Sheets. It's fabulous.

Now, I'm not asking nicely. Get out and VOTE today! (Crack goes my whip)

Election 2008
Neve

Swing!

It's possible that you already know everything there is about the alternative lifestyle of partner swapping; more commonly known as swinging. But, just in case you don't, the new book Swing, edited by Jolie du Pre' will provide you with 24 dirty and delicious stories about the intriguing world of those that engage in ahem, promiscuous sex. My story, The Party will be one of 24 tantalizing tales in this anthology.

Here's the lineup of contributing writers:

Michael Hemmingson, Ashley Lister, Claudia Moss, M. Christian, Emerald, Beth Wylde, Keeb Knight, Jolene Hui, Donna George Storey, Sage Vivant, Karmen Red, Tre Sart, Neve Black, Alicia Knight Orchard, Jeremy Edwards, Randall Lang, Jacqueline Applebee, Rick.R. Reed, Tawanna Sullivan, Amanda Earl, Michael Swanson, Lara Ziliensky, Rowan Elizabeth, and Jolie du Pre.

I'll keep you updated on the details of the release date.

Swinging high,
Neve