Thousands of pearls of dreams weaved through the obsidian cloak of abyss,

glistening with hope, intertwining, creating new destinies.

Every second a new dream would alight in the myriad of stars,

embroidering itself to create yet another pirouette of life,

iridescent with emerald and golden hues of the dreamers soul.

But it was a sanctuary of hope and defeat,

creation and destruction,

accompnied by an endless symphony

of life and death…

Every other day, a star would dim,

the shimmering light becoming hollow with sorrow, regret and bitterness,

carving away the dreams luminous nacre,

until crumbling to nothing but golden stardust,

nonchalantly floating through the endless universe,

faintly gleaming

with the promise of a new beginning…

There was an unusual lull at sea today, and Prince Dylan leaned his elbow against the Triton’s railing, lazily watching the dead-calm sea below. The afternoon sun shone unobscured on the sea, which caused the water to take on the glittering appearance of a solid sheet of uncut glass. They were caught in the doldrums, unfortunately, and the young prince knew the ship was not going to move anytime soon -- until the winds picked up again. Dylan sighed listlessly; when he first decided to join the Royal Navy for one tour, earlier this past spring, he never dreamed life at sea could prove so monotonous at times.

Poor Dylan, caught completely unawares, was startled from his thoughts when he heard a sharp cry:

“Attention!”

Immediately, Dylan turned round and saluted, only to see the pin-straight frame of Captain Samuel Bennett appear on deck, his arms tucked neatly behind his back, his uniform crisp and pristine. Now, Sam was a close personal friend of his mother, the Queen -- Sam was practically family, essentially a second father to Dylan -- but at sea... the captain was business as usual, and a well known sundowner to boot.

Dylan gulped, as Sam’s piercing blue eyes seemed to zero in on him. His fears were confirmed, when Sam slowly began stalking directly toward the young prince. As the captain finally reached Dylan, he stretched out his hand and brushed some specks of dirt off the boy’s uniform shoulder -- his expression conveyed an unmistakably profound disappointment.

“You look bored, Ensign. Can’t seem to find something productive to do instead of skylarking?”

“Oh, Sam --”

“It’s Captain here aboard the Triton.”

“Aye, sir.”

“What’s your assignment today?”

“Splicing rope, sir.”

The captain nodded, “Then haul your ass down to the Bo’sn’s locker, you bilge rat. Make yourself useful, and remember, you aren’t a prince here, Ensign. You wouldn’t rather be scrubbing the poop deck, or scraping barnacles, would you?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Then, go.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Jesus Christ, thought Dylan. Sam’s demeanor at sea was markedly different than his behavior back at home. The cocky, fun-loving, trouble-making prankster he had grown to love over the first sixteen years of his life had completely disappeared, and instead, standing before him, was this stoic, humorless disciplinarian. The prince resolved that it would be decidedly imprudent to press his luck any further, so he’d better hurry below deck right away. However, before he could comply with his captain’s strict order, Dylan was distracted by a another loud call -- this time from high above in the Crow’s Nest:

“Ahoy! There’s something in the water!”

Suddenly, the entire ship rocked with savage violence, leaning heavily toward the port side. Dylan craned his neck over the railing just in time to catch a glimpse of a massive shadow glide underneath them. The Triton shook again, this time teetering perilously starboard.

“Sea monster!” Someone hollered, and chaos descended upon the vessel.

Just a paltry few yards ahead of the bowsprit, a formidable water dragon reared its ugly head, rising from the sea.

“Holy shit!”

The beast was easily fifty feet in length, and its colossal mouth was opened wide, displaying an array of razor sharp, dagger shaped teeth. Two horns rested menacingly atop its head, which was set off by a large frill protruding from its thick neck. Armor-like scales in iridescent hues of various blues, greens, and purples covered its whole body. The dragon roared and hissed as it circled their ship. Where had his monster come from so suddenly, and how were they supposed to escape from this unexpected threat?

The crew stood in stunned silence for just a moment, before the beast helped itself to a generous piece of the bowsprit, spitting out jagged shards of splintered wood. After that, all hell broke loose, and the sailors began running amok and screaming wildly.

“All hands on deck! To your battle stations, men!” the captain cried over the confused din of the panicked sailors, and most of the crewmen sprang into action.

Temporarily immobilized from shock, Dylan remained with his feet firmly rooted to the deck, but Sam roughly seized him by the arm, and dragged the prince over to help man the waiting swing guns.

The dragon submerged again, and Dylan, perhaps naively, thought that the beast possibly decided the Triton and her crew weren’t worth the trouble, and swam off. However, the dragon soon resurfaced, practically directly in front of Dylan’s face. The sea monster stared at him with enormous, feral, red eyes; its pupils were two large black slits. It blinked, and the prince realized it possessed two sets of eyelids -- one being a sort of transparent film that protected its hellish eyes. The beast never seemed to shift its imposing gaze away from Dylan, and gradually, the young prince was overcome by a sudden realization.

“Wyrm?” Dylan whispered in disbelief, tentatively reaching out his hand.

“What the hell, Dylan?” shrieked Sam.

That’s when the first cannon was fired. The heavy cannonball missed its mark, however, and sailed clear over the dragon’s head, landing with a loud splash some ways beyond the monster. The beast, apparently, did not take kindly to this, and roared mightily -- before charging at the Triton. The crew immediately defended her, firing a volley of cannons at the dragon. In response, the creature quickly submerged once more, and disappeared somewhere beneath the ship.

“Stay alert, men.”

Dylan looked over his shoulder, and forgetting the respectful address of ‘captain’, he began, “Sam --”

The dragon soon launched out of the water, its long, tapering, ribbony body twisting acrobatically in the air. It landed with a great splash, drenching the crew with cold salt water, as they stood tensely on deck. The creature was swimming broadside of the Triton now, and Dylan was certain that Captain Bennett was fully prepared to defend his ship.

“Fire!” Sam ordered.

“No, wait --”

Yet another volley was launched against the monster, but seemingly undeterred, it continued circling the ship for some time, until it finally reared almost its full length directly afore the bow.

“Ready, men? Fi --”

“Hold fire!” Dylan shouted over the captain’s command.

“What?” Sam questioned angrily, his eyes narrowing.

“Please, Sam -- I mean, Captain -- trust me.”

“All right,” the captain groaned in concession. “Hold your fire!”

Slowly, Dylan advanced to the front of the ship, attempting to approach his old friend, Wyrm, as gently as possible. Sam, of course, was right behind him when the prince carefully stepped on the prow with the intention of getting as close to the dragon as personal safety and common sense would permit.

“Hey, buddy, it’s me -- Dylan.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Quiet, Sam. Use soft, gentle, calming tones, please,” Dylan warned, never taking his eyes off Wyrm for even a minute. It had been over two years since the last time he had seen Wyrm -- the dragon was likely unpredictable -- and the prince wasn’t taking any chances.

“Come on, boy, you remember me.”

Dylan slowly, and deliberately held out his arm toward the beast. It snorted a puff of hot steam at him, and viciously snapped its serrated teeth. The prince hastily drew back his hand, and thoroughly inspected his fingers -- thankfully, all of his digits remained perfectly intact.

“Dylan, have you lost your mind?” the captain erupted, raising his voice.

“Please, we’re using soft, gentle tones... remember? I’m trying to soothe a savage beast, here.”

“Unbelievable. You're risking your life!”

"Aw, don't worry, he won't hurt me... probably... maybe... hopefully..."

"This feels ill-advised."

"I know what I'm doing."

"If the Queen catches wind of this, she will positively skewer me."

"Wyrm," demanded Dylan, "Look at me, Wyrm."

"You seem personally acquainted with this beast."

“Come on, Wyrm,” the prince tutted at the monster, “remember that chat we had, previously, about not harassing any passing ships?”

Wyrm only snorted an even larger puff of hot steam from its nostrils; so far, their fraught situation did not appear promising.

“Does that thing breathe fire?”

“What a ridiculous question! Of course water dragons don’t breathe fire.”

“Thank Fortuna!”

“Wyrm expels scalding hot jets of water from two tube-like structures lining either side of his throat.”

“How comforting. Why can’t I blast this monster into oblivion?”

“He’s not a monster... he’s Wyrm... and we sort of raised him.”

“We? Who’s we?”

“Me and Cordelia, and --”

“My daughter! You dragged Abri into this?”

“Sam, lower your voice.”

“It’s Captain, and don’t order me --”

Unexpectedly, Wyrm spat out two long jets of that scalding water the prince had just warned Captain Bennett about, and the super-heated water unceremoniously seared a gaping hole straight through the middle of the foresail.

“No! Bad! Bad dragon!” Dylan chastised, clicking his tongue. "Do you see, Sam? I am doing my damnedest to diffuse this unfavorable situation, and now you've gone and set him off!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Then the prince snapped his fingers loudly at Wyrm, as if he could command the dragon’s undivided attention. “Down, boy, down.”

“When did you kids find the time to raise a sea dragon?”

“We found Wyrm half dead on the beach near the palace. We were about twelve at the time -- well, okay, Abri was elevenish... but you get the idea. Wyrm was only a little thing then -- he could fit in the palm of my hand -- initially, we thought he was just an ordinary lizard. We fed him worms we dug up from the palace gardens... that’s how he got his name.”

“Where did you keep it?”

“At first he lived quite happily in a glass tank in Abri’s room, you know, along with her collection of all the other creepy crawlers she holds so dear.”

“Are you seriously telling me that a dragon lived under your mother’s roof, and none of us knew? None of us knew absolutely anything about it? Not me. Not the Queen. Not your landlubber father --”

Dylan shrugged, “In our childish innocence, we truly believed he was an injured lizard, though we kind of figured out he was a dragon when we realized how rapidly he grew. Eventually, we moved him into one of the caves cut into the cliffs along the beach, but in our defense, he was a whole lot smaller the last time we saw Wyrm -- when we released him into the sea, about two years ago. Say, remember Rex?”

“Your Old English Sheepdog, yes.”

“Wyrm ate him.”

“We all assumed the dog simply ran away.”

“Nope. I found Rex’s collar in the cave Wyrm lived in. I found some fur and blood, too. It was a grim scene to stumble upon, for sure. Never told the girls about it, though. Didn’t want to upset them.”

Just then, Wyrm rose even higher into the air, and plucked poor unsuspecting Stanley from his post in the Crow’s Nest. Stanley dangled helplessly by one leg, screaming for his life, as Wyrm mercilessly shook the unfortunate sailor from side to side.

“No!” Dylan roared and stomped his foot as loudly as he could. “Put him back. Deep sea fishing only, Wyrm. Large squids and porpoises... and other creatures like that. No people. No ships. Got it?”

Wyrm snorted another puff of hot steam, but the beast relented and dropped the clearly shaken sailor back in the Crow’s Nest. Stanley, surely wishing to place as much distance between him and the dragon as possible, desperately scrambled down the shrouds, and quickly retreated to the stern of the ship.

“It’s time to go now, Wyrm. Dive deep. And remember... stay away from ships from now on.”

Wyrm blinked its large red eyes at the prince, but finally plunged back into the sea. The dragon’s powerful, rudder shaped tail was the last to vanish into the depths.

“You have some explaining to do, Ensign.”

Dylan simply turned, grimaced, and asked, ”Are you going to record all this in the Captain’s Log?”

“And let your mother know I allowed you to have a dangerous standoff with a sea monster? Hell no!”

“How are you going to write off the damage to the bowsprit and foresail?”

“I’ll have to think about it.”

Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but yet another cry from the crew suddenly cut through the still, salty air:

“Ahoy! Pirates! Two points abaft the beam, starboard side!”

“Mother of --” cursed Captain Bennett. “Today is not my day. Back to the battle stations, men! Look alive! Be ready for a fight! Goddamn pirates...”

“At least you can blame the damage to the Triton on the pirates, now.”

“Good thinking, Ensign.”

If I created a fictional character named Marijuana Pepsi, you’d have every right to poke me in the eye, stomp on my foot, and push me into a raging river after saying something like, “Why not call her Cocaine Dr. Pepper?”

Speaking of doctors, Marijuana Pepsi Vandyck, age 46, recently earned her doctorate from Cardinal Stritch University in Milwaukee. Her dissertation topic: “Black names in white classrooms: Teacher behaviors and student perceptions.”

Ironically, the newly minted doctor does not drink Pespi or use Marijuana.

According to her website ActionAsEmpowerment.com, Dr. Vandyck (a.k.a. MP) is the owner and founder of Action as Empowerment, LLC, a life-strategy workshop, coaching and retreat business specializing in guiding committed clients towards outcome based results. She has nearly two decades of work experience in urban school districts, university settings, life-coaching, and real estate. Her PhD is in Leadership for the Advancement of Learning and Service in Education.

But back to the point: How in the world did she end up with a name like “Marijuana Pepsi”? Her Mom Maggie came up with that.

Here’s what MP told reporter Jim Stingl back in 2009: “(Mom) said that she knew when I was born that you could take this name and go around the world with it.”

Quite a prediction—and not far off.

Maggie went with tradition in naming her other daughters: Kimberly and Robin.

Turns out Marijuana Pepsi turned out to be a little like Johnny Cash’s “Boy Named Sue”—all the attention she got because of the unusual name challenged “the self-proclaimed introvert,” as described by CNN.

In addition to CNN, MP’s story has been covered over the years by many media outlets, including The Washington Post, The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, NBC’s “Today” show, the New York Post, Hollywood Life, and the Daily Mail (UK), which quoted her as saying, “I’ve grown into my name because I am a strong woman. I’ve had to be.”

And, of course, her name trended on Twitter—prompting some cannabis–users to wrongly assume that Pepsi had launched a new product.

So let’s ponder this for a moment: “What if Marijuana Pepsi had been named Marie Priscilla?” She might still get nicknamed MP, but her life would have no doubt been different in many ways—and we probably never would have heard of her.

All this makes me a little embarrassed to admit that I used to complain about being teased becasuse of my last name: Lamb. Turns out, I got off easy.

Right, Marijuana?

PHOTO SOURCE: Jeffrey Phelps/Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel/AP

I recognize the taste

A mix of orange juice and regret

Grenadine interlaced

And something else that I forget

I can hear the crash of waves

Soft sounds of music through the din

And I feel the gentle spray

Of salt and sand upon my skin

As I slowly get my bearings

I’m puzzled by the warmth

The sun’s rarely so glaring

In the winter, in the North

A heatwave, I surmise

But it’s rather unconvincing

When I open up my eyes

The sunlight leaves me wincing

My apparel suits the heat

Tacky shorts, Hawaiian shirt

I stumble to my feet

Suddenly on high alert

This is not what I had on

When I left home the other day

My shoes are also gone

And my hair’s in disarray

And I may be incorrect

(It really wouldn’t be a reach)

But last time that I checked

My suburb didn’t have a beach

A group of people pass me

They appear to be Hispanic

And I regain some memories

Which send me further into panic

I had gone out to a club

I had been chatting up some guy

I should have sobered up

And turned in for the night

Instead I drank more fruity drinks

And accepted more champagne

Until he asked me what I’d think

Of a ride aboard his plane

I said yes – that’s my mistake

Because it always is the rich dudes

Who decide they’re gonna take

You to Mexico then ditch you

I cried my tears on the floor of my shower.

Wondering where the fuck I had gone wrong,

Thinking how can a world be so cruel.

To pull me away from every source of happy I find...

It's okay though because soon enough, I'll be mine.

And no one will ever own my smiles again.

If we were to sit, it would be in the sun.

Resting on the soft grass, eyes closed, nestled under the shade of the palms.

Feet from the scolding sand, we listen as the waves crash.

The breeze is salty but the air is sweet.

Blindly, I reach to find you.

Despite the heat, the soft curves of your hand find a home in mine.

All that we know is unwaivering peace.

The first snow

Early this year

The middle of November

Wiping away years

Of deprivation

Awakening the senses

Of cold refreshing renewal

As frozen water

Sprinkles down and

Melts against my face and clothes

Tiny sculptures

Crafted by nature

To enlighten the soul

A shower of fluff

A curtain of a

New reality

Carrying me away

As it coats the ground

With whiteness

And yet it engulfs me

Like a blanket

Of quiet and stillness

That only snow can bring

Settling my spirit

In a new state of repose

And a grandeur of

Quietude

Thank you snow

http://www.leaves-of-ink.com/2019/04/snow.html

www.brucelevine.com

https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07485W4Q1

They called us The Newlyweds.

I wore a white slip. My black hair in kinks and knots. My lips, ripe cherries. We always parked around back. We always left the car running. And I’d always go in first. He’d follow with the gun. We’d go in with an empty briefcase and we’d always leave with it full.

We checked in to separate rooms around noon. I had time to kill. I painted my nails and smoked one after the other until my room was cast in a dull fog. The smoke circled me, heavy. It was superstitious, but I never could leave until I’d had a sip of brandy and read his letter.

Penny,

Tonight we ride. Hold on tight.

All my love, T.

I tucked it in my stockings and made for the car. And just like always, he was there waiting. We parked in back. I pulled out my pill box and dry swallowed a blue one, then took the bump he had for me, giggling. He laid some out on the space between my thumb and my index finger for himself and then kissed me hard afterwards. His right hand slid between my thighs, and his left crawled up the small of my back, pulling me into him. My skin raised, hot and aching. And my hands grew too anxious and pulled through his hair. My mouth searched for his neck and my breath left in short gasps. And as my self control seeped out of me, he laughed low and pushed me slowly away.

“We celebrate after. You know that.”

I nodded, quick and small, straightened my hem, fixed my lipstick. I laid my forehead against his, my face still too hot and the skin between my legs wet. I breathed calm and deep. Kissed him light on the cheek. I took another bump and climbed out of the car. Maybe I’d taken too much but my breath was coming out in dizzy bursts, and the air felt too heavy around me. I turned before I rounded the corner to the building front and blew him one last kiss. He lifted his chin and smirked in acknowledgment, and I did my best to let the angst slip away.

My heels clicked and echoed against the marble floor. I waited my turn in line. I stood, a picture of patience on the outside. Just under the surface my emotions fussed about in restless fits. And as I came up on the wooden and gilt desk, he walked through the door. And everything melted away. He came up behind me and slid the suitcase across the counter, a flash of the gun sticking out just underneath. And he looked just like a ghost. Haunting and pale, in all black. Sunken eyes, slicked back hair, all wrapped in leather. And me with bloodied lips and my white slip, sitting in stark contrast to my skin. The straps of my dress barely touching my hollowed collar bones. You’d think that we should have worn masks. But people don’t pay attention to faces when there’s a gun around. People don’t watch your face when there’s a monster inside of you.

The girl behind the counter was all wide eyes. My voice calm and drawling like honey, “Sugar, I’m going to need you to go in back and fill that up for me.”

I winked and held one finger up to my lips. She sat, trembling in shock. “T? Help me out, baby?” I tipped my head against his chest, and he kissed the top.

He leaned forward and laid his hand across her shaking fingers. “Hey, now. You just still yourself. We just wanna get out of here as quick as possible. You feel me?” His words slid over her like thunder rolling. She took a deep breath, grabbed the suitcase from his hand, and headed to the back. She wasn’t gone long. When she returned she held her breath and handed the bag over to me. I nodded, handed it to T, and made for the door. Adrenaline was pumping through me hard. Between my quickened pulse and the harsh sunlight outside, my eyes couldn’t focus. I turned behind me to check that he was on my tail, but kept walking. Our eyes met, and something wasn’t right. I expected a wink. They were open and terror struck. And everything slowed. I made to spin around and see what nightmare lay behind me at the same moment that he reached to pull me out of the way. And his hand missed mine. And as my eyes came to rest on the scene in front of me, my sternum caught fire. In front of me were flashing lights. In front of me was a gathering of cars and men in uniform. In front of me there were a dozen guns trained on my face and his. And I looked down at my slip as the front blossomed wet and sticky. My breath stuck in my throat and my chest burned like inferno. And as I fell, it was his gun I saw staring straight at my center. And his eyes were empty and wet. And his mouth hung open. Despair etched across every feature. And my lungs refused to fill. And my insides kept pouring. And his eyes wept. And my baby shot me down.

i walk

these roads.

these pathways,

these halls,

alone.

memories

threaten to spill

out, pushing

against my mind,

invading

my senses.

regrets scream

past me,

reminding me,

digging

into my head.

regrets.

regrets of

actions;

taken

and not taken.

words

said and

not said.

digging

holding

rooting

never to leave.

ghosts

fill my eyes.

ghosts

of friends,

family,

me.

i scream,

wanting

to end

these visions i scream,

but nobody hears.

there is only

me.

Two years ago, we had this conversation.

Through a mediator, sure, but you heard it nonetheless.

I told you that we don’t take people into consideration when making decisions.

I told you that in this family, your choices are vacuum sealed, and placed where greedy hands cannot reach them.

Where did you find the courage to disregard my advice, and to let your disdain for me ruin you for so long?

May I borrow some?