Good Moon Rising

moon

The large, harvest moon rises slowly against the darkened, clear sky. The air is crisp and clean, much like the way laundry smells after it has been drying on a line outside. The moon’s golden light glows brightly, as if it’s trying to compete with its daytime sister, the sun. This was a mischievous moon, the kind of moon made for whiskey drinking, werewolves and lust seekers. Hypnotized, I follow the beam’s lighted pathway to a place I’d never been before. And this is where I met you. You peered out from behind the clouds as they made their way across the cheese-face crater above. Shadows tried to hide us from the inevitable passion feast the night offered so graciously….


Inspired by Full Moons, Werewolves, Lust-Seekers, and Whiskey -
Neve Black

Time for OCD Time Traveling

So, in fine OCD form, I’m officially researching films and books that are related to time travel, parallel universes, the butterfly affect, etc, etc.

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Oh, and I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you that I have to have a bit of surgery in the very near future (official date still to be determined). And if there’s any good news about having to go under the knife, well, I’ll certainly have some time for time traveling. See, silver lining.

With my OCD kicked into warp speed, my pro-active, pre-surgery preparational plan had me raiding the Cleveland Public Library for nearly every book they had on quantum physics. Oh, and greedy girl couldn’t stop at the books, oh, nooo.  I did a little hop, skip and jump down the film aisle too.  And anyone that knows me, or barely knows me at all, knows that films flip my time machine switch. I was thrilled when I found a long, lost love just waiting for me to check out; quite literally:  Blind Chance.

So, while I’m waiting patiently for those quantum physics book to come in, I’ve compiled  a list of quantum-like films I’m going to see: 

Donny Darko (what a fucking classic )
David Lynch (this list alone will take me a minute or so to get through)
Surveillance (never seen this. virgin viewing experience)
Sliding Doors (a classic, but clearly a  Blind Chance remake)
Blind Chance (mentioned and seen multiple times, but worth the extra trip)
The Machinist (never seen this one either. Oh my, another virgin viewing experience)
TimeCrimes (see previous post)
Primer (this is next on the viewing list)
The Butterfly Affect (really dumb movie, but I’m going back to read between the wings this time)

Have you seen any of these films I’ve mentioned above? Did I miss a film about time travel that simply shouldn’t be missed? Oh, and yes, I’ve seen The Time Machine many times. I loved it as a kid, but that’s not the kind of time traveling experience I’m looking to research now. Think dark. Think darker. Yep, you know what I like.

 

Neve Black’s Time Machine

Los Cronocrímenes

 

Um, see what happens when I start digging a little deeper into my obsession with quantum physics? One question: where do I sign up for this experience? Seriously. I can hardly wait to pour a glass of tinto vino and sit in my time-warp, movie watching chair. Imagine going back in time and finding yourself there *chills*.

Timecrimes is directed by Oscar nominated Nacho Vigalondo. This film was released in 2007, and where was I to have missed it? Maybe I was *quantuming* somewhere else, but can’t remember. Oh and did I mention this film is Spanish? Time travel. My past. Espana. Really? Be still my quivering quantum.

I’ll be sure and write a review upon my return, okay?

Neve Black

Coolness Approaches

It’s quiet here this morning. It’s late summer and even though the sun is high and hot as it drapes down heavily, like a scratchy, wool blanket, this particular morning feels different. After taking a deep gulp of air into my lungs, I can smell the decay of wet leaves after yesterday’s thunder storm. And there’s something else; just past my reach. I can taste it: it’s the flavor of the season’s transition.

Hello, Fall, how are you?

As the summer winds down, I see some people in a frenzied desperation as they try and cram every ounce of summer’s last drop into each day before having to say goodbye to summer time’s shorts and sandals. For me, I feel quiet and peaceful. I don’t want to rush. It’s too hot. This morning as I walk my customary four miles through my neighborhood, which fringes on the post industrial revolution, I traverse old roads, steel bridges and countless pot holes that are filled with abundant weeds and rain water.

After the first mile or so, the day begins to wake up and the air becomes heavier, like a salad that has been tossed with too much creamy dressing. I look across the city’s skyline; drunk from the warm, fuzzy haze, and I see a glimpse of Fall again -there just in the corner of the sky, like a dog-eared page from summer’s book. I squint into the sun as I feel the pools of sweat running down the front of my shins, and see the page is slightly frayed; loosened and flapping as it trys to turn in the warm, soft wind – and I know what lies on the next page – the promise of Fall’s cooler temperatures.

I hope this piece offers each of you peace and cool feelings from the scorching summer heat.

 

Neve Black

Lebron James Was At My Ob/Gyn Appt.

There I was lying flat on my back; my hips and ass pushed all the way to the edge of the table; my feet up in stirrups’, while my mind races, “giddy-up now doctor and let’s get this over with!” And the doctor, well, she’s a bit preoccupied, being that her head and shoulders are between my spread-eagle legs.

I’m trying like hell to relax and do what every doctor over the years has told me to do, “Now Ms. Black, just relax and let your legs fall open to the sides…” Uh-huh, right. Resisting the fight or flight urge, I try and play this doctor patient game on their terms. I start taking deep breaths in and slowly exhale them out; letting Kundalini Yoga breathing technique take the reins. Heh.  I’m beginning to feel a teensy-weensy, teeny-tiny bit okay with the excruciating situation at hand, even though there are at least four different long and pointy, steely contraptions all moving stealthily in and out of my vagina.

I could close my eyes and just think about breathing, but I know I’d feel better if I keep them open and focus on something, anything. My eyes scan the room. There’s really nothing on the ceiling worth looking at, just a white, puckered ceiling with fluorescent lamps that keep shouting at me. My eyes keep scanning. My fingers drum impatiently at my sides. Wait. And then my eyes see the magazine rack affixed to the wall and if I move my head ever so slightly to the right, I can get a glimpse of someone showcased on the front cover of WebMD Magazine. I move my head a little more, until, okay, perfect. I see a smile on his face. He’s telling me that everything is going to be okay. And then ouch! I feel a pinch and then pain in the Netherlands. “Oh, sorry, Ms. Black” the doctor’s voice echoes out from the cave she’s fallen into. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

The pain subsides and I open my eyes again. The man is still smiling at me; reassuring me everything is fine, because the torment between my legs is almost over. I turn my head a little more, because the face on this man looks all too familiar to me. I can’t see clearly from this angle. I scrunch my chin down so I can get a better view. And now I can see this man’s pink shirt; his brown tie. I can see that his arms are crossed over his chest. He keeps smiling. He must be a savior; a brain surgeon, or perhaps a healer of women in great proportion. And then it hits me. I know who this is! I swallow hard and in horror, I shut my eyes quickly and look away, hoping and praying that my eyes were lying to me. I’m under undue duress of the OB/GYN doctor visit kind. I count slowly to three and then let my eyes open quickly, like ripping the band aid off as opposed to a slow flutter. My horror is confirmed. There looking down at me from the crisp, clean front cover of that Medical Magazine is none other than Lebron James.

 

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And if anyone really knows me, knows this: Nope. It can’t get much worse than that.

 

Neve Black

This Why I Paint My Toe Nails

I remember when I was in high school and I read a short story by Ernest Hemingway called, Hills Like White Elephants for the first time. It tells of a person listening in on a man and woman’s polemic dialogue at a train station in Spain. The conversation between the couple is about terminating her pregnancy.

I read that story long before I ever had sex. Long before I ever knew what it would be like to be pregnant. That story made quite an impression on me though. I remember the sinking feeling washing over me: the woman’s struggle, her lover’s selfishness, and the baby that didn’t have a voice. Over the years, I’ve referred back to this story too; using it for reference as I walked the path of my complicated life. I’ve never read anything since that captured the simmering affect of contemplating the termination of a pregnancy quite like this story.

I suppose no ever really knows what they’ll do until they’re faced with that situation, or any situation, really. And sometimes faced with the same situation at different times in our lives, we don’t make the same decision twice. As I get older I see many women, most of them friends struggling with trying to get pregnant or getting pregnant and then losing a baby. I hurt for all women that want, but cannot have. I hurt for me. And I hurt for the woman in Hemingway’s story. For me, the loss of any child, even if it’s the simple thought of having one, is a pain much like the blade of knife digging deeply into a heart and soul.

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I sit at my familiar white kitchen table and write out these thoughts, while I try and alter my blue mood by painting my toe nails a shade of coral-happy. Interestingly to me, but after re-reading Hemingway’s story for possibly the 100th time, the same sadness I felt when I read this the very first time washes over me today.

 

Neve Black

Lucy Felthouse

(picture of Lucy was supposed to go here, but the damn link- image is broken for some shaggy reason)

Ahem…I think I read that Ms. Felthouse shagged on an army base once, or maybe it was twice…hmmm…I can’t be sure. Anyway, the lovely Lucy is our guest contributor at F-stop this week. So, with no further delay, go check out her non, nom de plume erotic writing ways.

Neve Black

F-Stop Is A GO!

So as some of you know, me and my two sexy-siren co-hostesses, Donna and Shanna have all been taking a little F-stop hiatus.

gaspump

As of today, F-stop is officially, unoffically back on. Shanna was the one who officially, unoffically added the petrol to the F-stop engine, so we’re a GO, GO, GO, everyone and very proud to present a new F-stop contributor, titled, Anon. Go check it out.

 
Go and F-stop, officially, unofficially -
Neve Black