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Posts Tagged ‘death’

Gather around in a circle folk and hold hands. You can even snuggle up and suck each other’s toes if you want. I won’t tell a soul. Now, I need absolute quiet ’cause I’ve got me a little story to share with you today. Hence, I won’t be sucking toes myself since I’m doing the storytelling.

I’ve done little in the way of promoting my eBook. I will, however, share a story from the book with you today. It’s a repeat for those who bought the book  but that’s okay, I hope. If not, well, this too shall pass and come again, when I do another promo.

You see, I was too bogged down to promote and this summer, I’ll spend time with you in that way. I hope you don’t mind, ’cause I don’t.

Coroner’s Report

ebookcoverGeorge was a good man, Least, everybody always talked about his devotion to his wife, children he’d sent to college and church. Had a distinguished baritone in the choir that made women folk wet and ready to drop their drawers.

A few of them had too. As good and normal of a man George appeared, he only desired a few sniffs between their legs. Just a closet weird ass.

The last one he was smelling, George up and died. A smile on his face and the smell of twat on the tip of his nose, according to the coroner’s report.

Story from Sock It to Me, Baby, 2013.

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I met a woman some weeks ago who works for a funeral parlor. Her world was turned slightly upside down on account of not receiving a pair of pajamas for her mama’s 80th birthday. I could expect this from a child but not a woman of fifty-something years.

That she worked in a funeral parlor got me to thinking if I ever worked in one, which would never happen on my watch, but if in the next, if there is one, and I was wearing a different watch with a different mindset that landed me to get paychecks from a funeral parlor, I’d kinda be humbled to damn near silence while I’m living.

Imagine the life gone clean outta you and you got somebody like, say me, and I had to make you ready for burial. I wanna think I’d be nice to you but say if you were bitching at me the way that woman was, through something I had no control over, I might be slightly inclined to thump you on the head or some other silliness. Though I think what would stop me is the fact that I’d end up getting that thump back come my time to get dressed to the nines to be taken under.

Folk are most vulnerable when they’re dead. I know. They have no idea that, say that sicko who’s forty-something and living in his mama’s basement, is fondling them or some other nasty behavior.

I don’t like being vulnerable but in this case, I’ve got no choice. Therefore, while I might entertain the thought of something wickedly silly, I wouldn’t thump you upside the head or paint you up to look like Bozo the Clown. More than likely, if I knew you really well and you were a constant bitcher or existed in some other unfortunate way, I’d feel sorry that you left the world bitching over nonsense. I’ll also pray for your safe return, should you be so fortunate to have multiple lives like the Buddhists, and hope I don’t run into you again. I refuse to give you countless times to show your ass on me. Being that I don’t know in which life you’ll finally get it right, I’ll pass you on to somebody who’s more deserving than me.

Well, Dearly Beloveds, thank you so much for your time. Be extra nice to folks today. Even if it kills you.

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Friday night was awful. Just awful. It was the worst Friday night I’ve ever had. It’s all my fault, of course. It’s always my fault when I eat something I haven’t eaten in forever and get sick from it. I could’ve kicked myself in the ass but I was too sick.

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

I had this bright idea to eat pizza, of all things. Of course, feeling like I was feeling, I thought I was gonna die. I always think I’m gonna die when pain strikes. My southern tendencies don’t take too well to things that hurt and I really don’t have time to be sitting around with no stomach ache. I mean, the incovenience of it all.

So. Because I’m a southern drama queen, mentally only, meaning, I don’t go out dramatizing myself in the streets…unless you count this as doing that…Anyway, you know what I’m saying. I laid up, suffering in silence and doing what I do when I’m in pain. Thinking of dumb shit like, Damn, I should’ve cut the grass. Folk’ll be gathering at the house with my grass uncut should I expire from here…I sure hope I don’t expire sitting on the toilet…Damn Totsy, you gonna let some pizza land the last blow with you?  I could see my autopsy report in the midst of my pain. Cause of death: Some damn pizza.

It got me to thinking over the dumbest ways folks leave away from here. Some years back, I was in the country when I was a married woman. The country’s where The Ex is from. If you know anything about the country, you know street lights are far and few but I don’t think that had anything to do with it. That’s just my way of saying he’s countryer than me. Well, it was early and this woman the in-laws knew was on her way some place. She stops for her a sausage biscuit at some restaurant. Probably McDonald’s. Well, she got to driving along and the biscuit fell to the floorboard. She’s still driving along and decides to reach down to retrieve that biscuit, ran off the damn road and killed herself. All I could think was, That must’ve been one helluva biscuit.

Recently, right here in my very own city, we’ve been having a rash of accidents of folk driving on the wrong side of the road. Folks dying all over the place ’cause their minds ain’t right to be behind no wheel. This last woman who died for that very reason was a nurse or some kinda hospital worker. Got herself a hold of that Propofol, the same stuff that killed Michael Jackson, and call herself gonna drive somewhere. I reckon she was going home but I be damn if she made it there or anywhere. I don’t know if this sounds bad or not but I was relieved she only killed herself in this accident. The news folk and such were talking about the highway or something or another. Trying to blame the road ’til the autopsy folk let them know she was drugged up on surgery medicine. I just had to shake my head at that one.

I know I’d never expire from reaching for no sausage biscuit while driving or taking Propofol. I don’t eat sausage no how and I can’t afford Conrad Murray. I would like to leave away from here in style though. You know, spread out in bed looking and smelling good. ‘Course, death may not choose a spot for my convenience. It ain’t like I can say, “Come on. I’m ready now.” Like I’d ever say that anyhow. I do know I don’t wanna be sitting at no table eating like some greedy ass ’cause knowing me, I’d be on my second helping if the food was good. Besides, what the hell I look like dying while I’m in the middle of chewing? That ain’t cute. ‘Course if I’m old as hell, I probably wouldn’t be cute no more no how. I’d probably be writing or painting in my studio and sucking on apple sauce with my teeth soaking in a glass.

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"Arms of Comfort" Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

All she wanted was to love him. Hold his little body in the nest of her arms. Bathe herself in the warmth of his brown eyes that danced as they smiled into hers. From the moment he began pushing into the world, she knew he loved her. The brevity of labor, near painless, that in Cora’s mind translated to saying, “I love you, Mama.” Those were her thoughts when he lay wrapped on her swollen bosom.

If only she could pinpoint his last thoughts as he lay in the cold earth now. Never was good at holding on to love.

(c) 2012 Totsymae

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“The longer I live, the more I am certain that the great difference between the great and insignificant is energy.”

Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

She hated herself. To prove it was to study Edith grind a task south with perfected vexation or bite chunks of happy from folk. No thought to anchoring herself like a rotten tooth in their mouths.

A woman of ill-gotten means nearing fifty, it looked, Edith entertained her own wretchedness through her life’s course, which nature, unknown to her, would shorten in five days coming. Folk brawled inside themselves and turned their backs on sight of her to duck the onslaught of flinging shit.

The gray stone spoke her life and death: Lying in Heavenly Turmoil, gifted by adoring backbiters.

(c) 2012 Totsymae

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I must be more like a typical woman than I think I am. Didn’t start off that way but I’ve got me some typical woman shit I’ve picked up as each birthday passes and I’m approaching one in a couple months. See, over the past few days, I never told you I’ve been waking up feeling a little sickly – like a sore throat, head and body aching, that sort of thing. Oh, it’s absolute hell that it drags on and got me waiting for it to either come on or just go away.

The way I see it, I figure if I’m gonna be sick with what feels like the flu, not that swine shit but that old school flu, I could stand to lose my appetite and a few pounds that’s hanging on like we’re in love with each other. I ignored it all and on Friday, I got my hair cut in this short sassy style, so if this thing comes to get me, I’ll at least be looking cute from the neck up, while I get back in shape with what I call floor exercises for the rest of me (’cause as much as I hate physical training, I’m gonna sit my ass down as much as possible to work out. Okay). Anyway. Chiiile, I’m laid up feeling all sorry for myself and my thinking started going toward my ultimate mortality. Not that I’ve got a morbid mind and a closet full of black clothes. I don’t. Like anybody else, I’m not hardly looking forward to keeping company with death but this is the route my head started going as I’m laid out and feeling my worse, for all that it’s made me feel to this point.

Now, my mom always told me, “Totsy, keep yourself looking nice when you step out. You never know who you might meet.”  So, if you want to die looking cute and you just happen to be at home, ole Totsy wanna provide you with some simple instructions you need to follow:

  • Ensure that your face is exfoliated and moisturized. Don’t even think about those blah days when you don’t feel like washing your ass, combing your hair or brushing your teeth. Bad hair days are no exception. Cut it if you can’t keep it up and for your own sake, if you’re wearing a weave of any sort, keep it tight.  If you don’t do anything else right while you walk this here earth, keep yourself up ‘cause it’s like keeping a clean house. You never know when you might have company come over and I know you don’t want folk talking about your hygiene once you expire from here. I mean really!
  • Apply the right kind of moisturizer to your skin type. I don’t care what your complexion is.  If you’re dry or as black folk call it, ashy, it’s not invisible to the eye. I’ve seen it on all colors of folks ‘cause I’m just the type to look for shit that could be wrong with you since I’ve got shit wrong with me. You can spot ash real quick in spots like the feet and ankle area, elbows and the corners of the mouth. If you’re strapped on funds, ain’t nothing like some good ole Vaseline!
  • Before you head out of here, you want to be at your ideal weight size or somewhere close in the vicinity. I know you don’t want to expire at home and have to be lifted and the EMS folk need to call in back-up to get your ass on the ambulance. I tell you absolutely no lie. My sister works for a major clinic and for folk over 400 pounds and needing x-rays, they have to refer them to the zoo ‘cause those folk can’t fit in the machines at the clinic. I’m not being mean but it’s a true story, folks.
  • Wear something pretty and feminine at all times. If you need to clean up around the house, do so with a swiftness and go wash your body down real good afterward. Put yourself on something pretty and some smell goods around your private areas. I also recommend putting on some earrings, the dangling kind, especially if you’re somewhat popular and made a name for yourself. Your picture might be taken and leaked to the tabloids by some backstabbing friend or relative. You want to be ready for the cameras at all times. You can’t go out looking like a Plain Jane. And by all means, don’t wear your glasses to bring emphasis to your Plain Janeness. Feel your way around the house. Besides, you should know your own place without wearing a second pair of eyes. If you absolutely have to, throw yourself on a little mascara and lipstick to bring yourself out a little bit.  If you’re really, really lucky, you may come out looking like Sarah Palin.
  • You want to have your room clean and smelling sweet. I happen to like vanilla scented candles, which are all over the house and my bedroom. You don’t want to be laid up in a dirt-stank room after following the other instructions I’ve given you. Don’t let our good work go in vain.
  • And last but not least, practice, practice, practice dramatic facial expressions. Just think about those arguments you get into with that significant other and the time or two he up and left the room. It wasn’t so much about the topic you were arguing about, it was the way you looked when you were cussin’ his ass out. All that prettiness in the wedding photo you took or that we-so-in-love picture you took with him at the local Wal Mart was wiped clean out of his head when you went into that mode of looking the equivalent of The Incredible Hulk, which in his mind is The Incredible Bitch. You just can’t look any ole kinda way when you’re pissed off at that man. Men are physical and pretty will get them every time, even in the midst of your bitching. This is prime time to practice pained expressions, crying, falling down and all that other shit you put that man through.

I know men folk could probably care less about all this here kind of talk  but they’ll soon realize how this will bring more lovin’ to the household after you get some good practice in. And you may be a little taken aback that ole Totsy thinks along these lines but I do. Sure, sometimes I say to hell with it all but I have to ask myself: Does vanity say screw it? Would you invest in Vogue or any other type magazine should the cover photo look the way you woke up this morning? I think the hell not! And just so you know, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, folks. Now I can clearly see why my mom struts around in her house, bathed in Yves St Laurent with heels under her flannel pajamas.

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