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Post by wolf on Mar 26, 2020 0:59:05 GMT
Creative Writing.
Do you have something you need or want to relate?
Something you have written down before, and want to share now?
Or something spontaneous that you are compelled to get out and show off?
À story, a memory, a dream, an observation, an "Anything"?
An amusing or deep thought provoking musing?
Tragedy to comedy, and all points in between.
Bring it.
And share it here with your tet-mates.
It's all welcomed.
Get creative and share your talents and 'interesting' with others. Please.
(Friendly Reminder: Please abide by this Message Board's few and reasonable rules.)
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Post by wolfbear on Mar 30, 2020 11:34:55 GMT
OK wolf, so here goes. I call these kinds of pieces "Dreamscapes", mostly because they appear as such in my head. I am not sure what to make of them. But I think some of them are fun, while others are a bit ludicrous. I hope you enjoy them, whatever they are. Dreamscape #2 I was standing on top of a hill. The grasses were tall enough to reveal their kinship with the wheat and barley they so closely resembled. And they waved about in the wind as the waters of an ocean, in waves of brown, copper, and gold. The sky above was a strong pale blue that grew whiter as it reached towards the horizon, creating a ring of the purest white around the edges of the earth. Yet no sun was visible. Following a path that meandered down the hill side I became progressively shorter, so that when I reached the flat ground I was just about same height of the grass. I continued to meander, as did the path, until the sky turned purple. I ate some of the grains from the grass tops, used some grass to make a bed of sorts and lay down staring up at the purple sky, the fierce wind whipping the wall of grasses that surrounded me all about. I couldn't close my eyes and they became quite dry, yet try as I might I couldn't blink. And as I stared up, I saw what looked to be a thick ring of birds circling far above me. And they flew ever closer, the circle becoming ever smaller until I felt their wingtips brush against my head and the soles of my feet. I thought they would land, but instead continued circling as they passed through the ground, taking me with them. And then I was lying down in a pale blue sky, surrounded by a ring of what looked to be circling birds, descending slowly towards the forest floor below. When we reached the forest canopy, the birds became falling leaves, and as I continued to descend I grew in height, so that as I reached the forest floor I was about the same height as the trees, though lying down surrounded by a whirling ring of leaves. As I sat up, the leaves dried and burst into flames, a ring of fire tall enough to block my view beyond it. When the flames died down, I saw that I was sitting in a hole, black all around me, a deep purple sky above. I climbed up out of the black hole into the purple sky and saw that I was cloaked in feathery fire. The wind was blowing fierce, so I curled up, the wind spinning me round and round. I saw someone lying down in the grassy field below, and descended towards them, thinking to protect them from the whipping of the wind.... |
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Post by wolf on Mar 30, 2020 14:57:50 GMT
Dreamscape #2
"The birth and elevating of a new Hero, blessed and loved by the goddesses Demeter, Artemis and Hestia."
That's what that makes me think of, wolfbear.
I like that. I enjoyed that as much as your poems! You do write pictures.
Now I want to know what Dreamscape #'s 1 and 3 are.
I once made an illustration of Demeter, she was clad in a shining silk gown the same colors you describe the waves of grasses being.
And a long wrap of the same material in deep olive.
The winds, birds and leaves made me think of Artemis.
The bursting flames and feathery fiery cloak of course brought Hestia to mind.
Really awesome piece there. Thank you for posting!
I have two or three things, I've been thinking of.
I'll bring something as soon as I can.
Have a great week and stay safe. 🙂
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Post by wolf on Apr 14, 2020 22:22:23 GMT
I had this dream not too long ago. I've turned it into a sort of short story.
(Writing this spontaneously on the tablet, it's been rolling around in my mind for days now.)
The lamp in the far corner of my room is bright, still there are soft shadows in the other 3 corners. It's night now, the day is done, and I'm emptying my pockets into the unused ashtray on the coffee table in front of me. Loose change, keys....clink and clank against the glass, a receipt lays on top of the pile. I'll decide if I really need to keep it or not later.
I haven't lived in this house for a very long time. It looks and feels so very familiar, comfortable, but at the same time, off. Like I'm not sure I'm supposed to, or want to be here. To my left is my window, it has light sheers drawn across it. The window slides open horizontally, and as I look over at it I see fingers at the sill, poking through an open crack and about to pull my window open. I am angry at seeing this, and I know who it is. It's the dark haired man. A long time ago my grandmother took his money, and he lived....lurked....in the back of this house. I don't know why. But he has no business being here now. I know that he has been around. Breaking in through windows and doors, behind my back. I have felt him around. Trying to hide from me.
In anger I stomp over to the window and through the sheers I slam my balled up fist down on his fingers before he can slide open the frame. At the same time, with huge aggitation, I rip back the sheers out of our way. He's staring at me through the glass. Though there is a reflection, I see him clearly. Collar of his jacket up, longish dark hair and beard. He is shadowy, except for his eyes, they are a smoldering hazel but brilliant and they have glints in them from the lamplight. Both of us together tear back the window frame, eager to confront on eanother. We can see each other ever so clearly now, and I do not hesitate, my arms shoot out, and open palmed, I hit him hard squarely in the chest, pushing him back. He's strong and only moves a few inches, my heart beats hard, but I refuse to feel fear. "You're not to be here!" I spit out at him, quite viciously. He glares at me. My attention is fully focused on him but I am very conscious of the fact that my peripheral vision is still sharp and I am using it. I see the thin light haired dude walking across the yard towards us on my left. "Leave!" I scream at the dark haired man. He says nothing, just keeps staring at me. There's a knife in his hand, and I know it's not meant for me. He used it to pry the window a crack open, so he could get those fingers in. After a long moment he screams back at me, his arms thrown open wide, looking almost like an invitation, "Well, do you have any money!?" That angered me even more, "NO! Get out of here!"
The dark haired man pivots to the right, staying close to the side of the house as he storms away, in the shadows he heads down the street. The thin dude who is a friend, comes up to me, reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. Again, on my left. He smiles calmly looking down the street after the dark haired man, and he says to me,"He's gone. You know he can't hurt you." I look at him and his eyes are blue or green or maybe both. I'm starting to calm down, but still angry. My scowl isn't for the thin dude and he knows it as I tell him, " I know. But he doesn't need to be doing this sh!t."
- Wolf
....dreams are surreal and their images flow and blend in melting ways. Here I just made the details sharper, and put an order to the sequence of choppy events.
I do have another thing I will bring soon wolfbear , I'll go ahead and give the title: "Angel And The Demon". If I write down the title, then I will make myself get it all done that much quicker.
I hope this dream story was fairly interesting.
And I hope you and yours are doing alright in your particular "CoronaVille".
Stay safe and God be with you.
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Post by wolf on Apr 26, 2020 18:02:27 GMT
" Angel And The Demon"
(Part I)
Mid-May. The days are getting hot, sometimes reaching the 90's. But the nights and mornings still hold onto an uncomfortable chill. The window was left open last night. It was too warm for the heater to be on, too cool for the A/C to be running. The Angel woke just before dawn, under a layering of heavy blankets. A warm cave, that the chill managed to creep into.It was this mornings alarm clock."Damn, cold spots" the Angel quietly muttered in half sleep. Tomorrow the clock would probably be the singing of the birds. It usually alternated like that. For now they were still sleeping. The coldest hour of the black night is always that hour before the sun rises. Blanket cave is climbed out of, coffee is made and a hot shower is taken. The bedroom window is left open and Angel throws on a loose shirt and jeans. Barefeet pad back down the hall. Long hard stretches in the kitchen, and coffee is poured in a large cup. Angel takes the steaming drink and the Marlboro's from the galley's counter and heads for the front door to watch that sun rise.
The house is small and Spartan, what little amount of furniture is there, is comfortable and useful.Exactly what is needed and what fits the living room. Walking a dog trail that lays between the love seat and television, the Angel goes to and raises up the Roman shades covering the picture window beside the front door. That always tells anyone in the neighborhood, who might be looking on, that the Angel is up and it's safe to come calling. Opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch, Angel looks up to the sky. The small house faces East. The stars and blue-black of night are just starting to fade into a deep blue violet. The dawn is beginning. There is a humble straight backed chair right outside the entrance. Leaving the door wide open, so night chill can escape as new days warmth slips in, Angel takes the seat. The favorite place, where all can be seen and carefully watched....and guarded. The first cigarette of the day with the first cup of coffee always tastes the best. And the blue violet expands, turning into a new red violet, beautifully and silently heralding the coming golden orb's brilliance. There is no breeze this morning, the trees stand perfectly still and no one else is out yet. It's one of those moments that everything is simply at a stand still, and time has pleasantly stopped for awhile. Then one of a pair of doves coo's softly, breaking the moment free, starting time back up and running again.
Across the street the Angel see's that the workaholic has already begun his work day. His tool and shovel laden pickup truck is gone, and he's moved the gooseneck trailer from the back of his property. It's parked on the street in front of the house, so he must be coming back soon from whatever he's gone to do. And the red violet is giving way to a whitish yellow flame color, that is seeping into a deeper brighter more golden hue. Some long thin white stratus clouds drift over the ocean spanse of gold, their undersides glowing an electrifying orange. It is a gorgeous display of colors and the Angel laughs softly while thinking, " ....oh my!...Apollo has greatly pleased Eos this Dawn's tryst." With that thought the arcing top edge of the sun's disc appears just over the tree tops behind the houses across the street. The Angel basks in the growing warmth of God's good sun's rays, with gratitude. The wicked chill in the air was rapidly dissipating.
And the workaholic's wife now opens her picture window's mini blinds, telling anyone in the neighborhood who might be looking on, that they are all up inside, and starting their day.
-Wolf
(Part II in next post)
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Post by wolfbear on Apr 27, 2020 4:09:46 GMT
" Angel And The Demon"
(Part I)
Mid-May. The days are getting hot, sometimes reaching the high 90"s. But the nights and mornings still hold onto an uncomfortable chill. The window was left open last night. It was too warm for the heater to be on, too cool for the A/C to be running. The Angel woke just before dawn, under a layering of heavy blankets. A warm cave, that the chill managed to creep into.It was this mornings alarm clock."Damn, cold spots" the Angel quietly muttered in half sleep. Tomorrow the clock would probably be the singing of the birds. It usually alternated like that. For now they were still sleeping. The coldest hour of the black night is always that hour before the sun rises. Blanket cave is climbed out of, coffee is made and a hot shower is taken. The bedroom window is left open and Angel throws on a loose shirt and jeans. Barefeet pad back down the hall. Long hard stretches in the kitchen, and coffee is poured in a large cup. Angel takes the steaming drink and the Marlboro's from the galley's counter and heads for the front door to watch that sun rise.
The house is small and Spartan, what little amount of furniture is there, is comfortable and useful.Exactly what is needed and what fits the living room. Walking a dog trail that lays between the love seat and television, the Angel goes to and raises up the Roman shades covering the picture window beside the front door. That always tells anyone in the neighborhood, who might be looking on, that the Angel is up and it's safe to come calling. Opening the front door and stepping out onto the porch, Angel looks up to the sky. The small house faces East. The stars and blue-black of night are just starting to fade into a deep blue violet. The dawn is beginning. There is a humble straight backed chair right outside the entrance. Leaving the door wide open, so night chill can escape as new days warmth slips in, Angel takes the seat. The favorite place, where all can be seen and carefully watched....and gaurded. The first cigarette of the day with the first cup of coffee always tastes the best. And the blue violet expands, turning into a new red violet, beautifully and silently heralding the coming golden orb's brilliance. There is no breeze this morning, the trees stand perfectly still and no one else is out yet. It's one of those moments that everything is simply at a stand still, and time has pleasantly stopped for awhile. Then one of a pair of doves coo's softly, breaking the moment free, starting time back up and running again.
Across the street the Angel see's that the workaholic has already begun his work day. His tool and shovel laden pickup truck is gone, and he's moved the gooseneck trailer from the back of his property. It's parked on the street in front of the house, so he must be coming back soon from whatever he's gone to do. And the red violet is giving way to a whitish yellow flame color, that is seeping into a deeper brighter more golden hue. Some long thin white stratus clouds drift over the ocean spanse of gold, their undersides glowing an electrifying orange. It is a gorgeous display of colors and the Angel laughs softly while thinking, " ....oh my!...Apollo has greatly pleased Eos this Dawn's tryst." With that thought the arcing top edge of the sun's disc appears just over the tree tops behind the houses across the street. The Angel basks in the growing warmth of God's good sun's rays, with gratitude. The wicked chill in the air was rapidly dissipating.
And the workaholic's wife now opens her picture window's mini blinds, telling anyone in the neighborhood who might be looking on, that they are all up inside, and starting their day.
-Wolf
(Part II in next post) Enjoyed - before I even had my morning coffee! A good piece to wake up to 😁 |
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Post by wolf on Apr 28, 2020 15:07:18 GMT
Thanks wolfbear, I'll bring part II as soon as I can.
Been a little bit hectic here. But okay.
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Post by wolfbear on Apr 28, 2020 15:12:16 GMT
Thanks wolfbear, I'll bring part II as soon as I can.
Been a little bit hectic here. But okay. I am also hoping to post some stuff too, hopefully soon. Can't wait for part 2 though. |
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Post by wolf on Apr 28, 2020 15:34:31 GMT
Thanks wolfbear , I'll bring part II as soon as I can.
Been a little bit hectic here. But okay. I am also hoping to post some stuff too, hopefully soon. Can't wait for part 2 though. |
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Post by wolf on May 3, 2020 0:06:00 GMT
"Angel And The Demon"
(Part II)
To the close North the Angel hears a door open with a small creak. It's the chef next door. He ventures out groggily, standing on his own porch and yawning. Sitting back tight against the wall, Angel goes statue still, doing the invisible thing. The chef looks around while lazily scratching an ample shirtless belly. Like every morning, what little black hair he has stands straight up and out, looking like a punk mess that has been out partying all night and left the rest of him at home. The Invisible chuckles silently, liking this comical, good natured man so much. Chef turns towards the small white house and sees the wide open door and the empty porch chair, as Angel lights another smoke and with a light blow of breath hides the unmistakable sharp metallic quick click of the Zippo"s lid. The man yawns again and goes back inside to cook up breakfast. And the rapidly rising sun is clearing the tree tops in front of the houses across the street. The Dawn's purples and gold's are disappearing and the skies day blue is growing.
Back at the workaholic's house, the wife has pulled back the curtains of her kitchen window. Opened the long drapes of the kids sliding glass door, and let's the morning sunlight pour into the back of their home. Eagle keen angelic eyes see all their sillouettes moving about. The slower, sleepy, taller sisters and the bouncing littler brother. Tarzan, the Angel calls him. The chef prefers to name him Mowgli. Soon the girls emerge, uniformed and back-packed, heading for their bus stop which is the North corner street sign two houses away. Tarzan jumps out the door and bounces down the side walk after them, he's clad in only a pair of brown shorts. The younger girl, almost always irritable, turns and stamps a foot at him, shooing him back into their faded blue house. No school for him yet. Angel is still invisible, so they don't see, just like the chef couldn't see.
Out of the corner of one eye the Angel catches sight of a standing figure, head turns and faces it. The chef's wife. He left his front door open too, hence no give away small creak. She smiles big and waves, and Angel can't resist smiling back and waving. She's special, this little timid woman. She has kind eyes and a good gentle soul. Very seldom does she speak. She doesn't realize it, but her big smile is practically saying, "....ah! I caught you..." in a sweetly mischievous way. Angel is very fond of this one, and likes the fact that she is one of a rare few that can see past and through the invisible thing. Chef's wife collects a bunch of mint sprigs growing in her flower bed under the couples red rose bushes. She waves again and "See you later" says the grinning Angel as she goes back indoors.
Now it is all quiet again and no one is out. The Angel releases the invisibility. Finishes the coffee and heads back to the kitchen for another cup......just as something else is waking up.
- Wolf
(Part III in next post)
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Post by wolf on May 25, 2020 21:31:32 GMT
"Angel And The Demon"
( Part III )
Pouring the second cup of coffee, the Angel felt a painless ache in the side of one hand. It was an old injury, a boxers break, that happened a long time ago. The Angel knew what it was, that was thinking or talking about the seraph in that moment. And it was sure that those thoughts and words weren't good. Angel wasn't worried by any of it. Cup in hand, the Watcher walked the dog path through the living room again, going back outside to the chair. Now the sky is fully day blue, the sun well above the trees and rising higher. It's warmth spreads lovingly, drying dew on the grasses and kissing open the flowers from their sleep. A very light breeze blows, it is quiet and the Angel can hear EVERYTHING. Two doors away South, a familiar nerve rattling squeal and heavy metal spine shaking clang sounded. The noxious noises are unmistakable. They come from the rusted, unoiled hinges and latch of the side gate leading to her poisonous back yard. The Demon is up and out early this morning.
Angel leaned forward in the chair, resting elbows on knees, listening for more. Getting ready for whatever "ridiculous or absurd" that may very well occur today. All is calm and stayed quiet for a long time, as the coffee is drunk with another one of the Marlboro's. Looking back across the street at the gooseneck trailer, the Angel wishes the Workaholic would hurry up and return to move it and take it with him back to work. Just then, further South down the street, another front door opens and closes. A second later, a car door opens and shuts. It's Old Girl. Tarzan was the one who named her that. She's a fun happy thing and everyone likes her, especially Tarzan. But the Demon? Oh.....how SHE hates the pretty and long legged, that is so the opposite of her. Angel knows what's coming next. It's the same thing that happens every morning, except this morning the Demon is awake and out early. And the sun is serenely continuing it's climb, and a few small clouds leisurely sail by.
Down the street the car starts up and it's radio plays loudly, having been left on the last time she got out of it, and of course the car windows are all down. Like always. Angel breathes in deeply and sets the coffee cup down on the concrete beside the chair leg carefully. Gently leans forward a little more to get an even better view. And while slipping the Zippo into a front pocket, the watchful goes invisible once more and decides it is probably best to stay that way for a while. Old Girl is about to get someone's, and something's, attention. She pulls out of the driveway and heads down to their end of the street, singing along with Robert Plant, she declares, "... Valhalla I am coming......"! Angel smiles, knowing what comes next, and keeps on smiling, though knowing what will come after that. Tarzan bursts out of his front door, milk dripping from his chin and his cereal spoon is still in his hand. He points it at her imperiously as she passes by blowing him a kiss and waving. Jumping up and down furiously he shouts as loudly as only he can, "Old Giiirrrl!!" and then, "Rock and Rooollll!!" He tumbles across the lawn, still whooping and hollering, until he comes to a full stop, laying spread eagled out on the cool green grass. Flat on his back, he acts likes he's just killed himself. Angel just has to laugh. Tarzan manages to stay dead for a whole half a second, then screaming, "Rock and Roll!!!" again, he gets up and bounds back into the house.
........ That's when the raucous nerve rattling gate opens quickly, and violently slams shut. The Demon makes her unwanted presence, and ever strong and healthy hatred known.........
- Wolf
( Part IV in next post)
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Post by wolfbear on May 31, 2020 15:03:02 GMT
"Angel And The Demon"
( Part III )
Pouring the second cup of coffee, the Angel felt a painless ache in the side of one hand. It was an old injury, a boxers break, that happened a long time ago. The Angel knew what it was, that was thinking or talking about the seraph in that moment. And it was sure that those thoughts and words weren't good. Angel wasn't worried by any of it. Cup in hand, the Watcher walked the dog path through the living room again, going back outside to the chair. Now the sky is fully day blue, the sun well above the trees and rising higher. It's warmth spreads lovingly, drying dew on the grasses and kissing open the flowers from their sleep. A very light breeze blows, it is quiet and the Angel can hear EVERYTHING. Two doors away South, a familiar nerve rattling squeal and heavy metal spine shaking clang sounded. The noxious noises are unmistakable. They come from the rusted, unoiled hinges and latch of the side gate leading to her poisonous back yard. The Demon is up and out early this morning.
Angel leaned forward in the chair, resting elbows on knees, listening for more. Getting ready for whatever "ridiculous or absurd" that may very well occur today. All is calm and stayed quiet for a long time, as the coffee is drunk with another one of the Marlboro's. Looking back across the street at the gooseneck trailer, the Angel wishes the Workaholic would hurry up and return to move it and take it with him back to work. Just then, further down the street, another front door opens and closes. A second later, a car door opens and shuts. It's Old Girl. Tarzan was the one who named her that. She's a fun happy thing and everyone likes her, especially Tarzan. But the Demon? Oh.....how SHE hates the pretty and long legged, that is so the opposite of her. Angel knows what's coming next. It's the same thing that happens every morning, except this morning the Demon is awake and out early. And the sun is serenely continuing it's climb, and a few small clouds leisurely sail by.
Down the street the car starts up and it's radio plays loudly, having been left on the last time she got out of it, and of course the car windows are all down. Like always. Angel breathes in deeply and sets the coffee cup down on the concrete beside the chair leg carefully. Gently leans forward a little more to get an even better view. And while slipping the Zippo into a front pocket, the watchful goes invisible once more and decides it is probably best to stay that way for a while. Old Girl is about to get someone's, and something's, attention. She pulls out of the driveway and heads down to their end of the street, singing along with Robert Plant, she declares, "... Valhalla I am coming......"! Angel smiles, knowing what comes next, and keeps on smiling, though knowing what will come after that. Tarzan bursts out of his front door, milk dripping from his chin and his cereal spoon is still in his hand. He points it at her imperiously as she passes by blowing him a kiss and waving. Jumping up and down furiously he shouts as loudly as only he can, "Old Giiirrrl!!" and then, "Rock and Rooollll!!" He tumbles across the lawn, still whooping and hollering, until he comes to a full stop, laying spread eagled out on the cool green grass. Flat on his back, he acts likes he's just killed himself. Angel just has to laugh. Tarzan manages to stay dead for a whole half a second, then screaming, "Rock and Roll!!!" again, he gets up and bounds back into the house.
........ That's when the raucous nerve rattling gate opens quickly, and violently slams shut. The Demon makes her unwanted presence, and ever strong and healthy hatred known.........
- Wolf
( Part IV in next post) |
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Post by muskrat on Jun 8, 2020 17:51:32 GMT
Oh, wow, we can do stuff like this here? Sling a lil bop prosody word salad gonzo style just fer gigs and doo-doos? Good, ‘cause I’m BORED to death, and feel like boring you people, too, heh heh. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it clean, if not entirely legible. Gimme a few, I should have something soon...
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Post by wolf on Jun 8, 2020 19:05:23 GMT
Oh, wow, we can do stuff like this here? Sling a lil bop prosody word salad gonzo style just fer gigs and doo-doos? Good, ‘cause I’m BORED to death, and feel like boring you people, too, heh heh. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it clean, if not entirely legible. Gimme a few, I should have something soon...
Yeah buddy. Bring what you got.
On the home page, in the very bottom 'General Discussion's section, are the boards rules and 'disclaimer' that allows everyone to post our original works.
Get after it! Looking forward to anything you want to bestow upon us friend.
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Post by wolf on Jun 8, 2020 19:46:27 GMT
Yeah man, now we're cookin' with gas....
Will get back into the neighborhood frame of mind and bring Part IV soon as I can.
In the meantime.....everyone else "Get it on"! 
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Post by muskrat on Jun 8, 2020 19:58:16 GMT
Cool. Thinkin about a serialzed account of my adventures on the continent with ol Colonel Mearle Neville and his Wabash Indianians, told dime novel style complete with original woodcut engraved illustrations and detailed maps of our travels—not to worry, I’ll leave out the raunchy sections and only over embellish every other scene. Gonna need a fresh bag of belladonna seeds and a quart freshly mashed Artichoke ale, yep, that’s the ticket. Now, where did I leave my nickel-notebook travel diaries and daguerreotype photo album? Gimme sec...
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Post by osnafrank on Jun 8, 2020 20:19:52 GMT
Cool. Thinkin about a serialzed account of my adventures on the continent with ol Colonel Mearle Neville and his Wabash Indianians, told dime novel style complete with original woodcut engraved illustrations and detailed maps of our travels—not to worry, I’ll leave out the raunchy sections and only over embellish every other scene. Gonna need a fresh bag of belladonna seeds and a quart freshly mashed Artichoke ale, yep, that’s the ticket. Now, where did I leave my nickel-notebook travel diaries and daguerreotype photo album? Gimme sec...
Fine by me as long as you don`t become political. |
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Post by muskrat on Jun 8, 2020 20:37:01 GMT
Cool. Thinkin about a serialzed account of my adventures on the continent with ol Colonel Mearle Neville and his Wabash Indianians, told dime novel style complete with original woodcut engraved illustrations and detailed maps of our travels—not to worry, I’ll leave out the raunchy sections and only over embellish every other scene. Gonna need a fresh bag of belladonna seeds and a quart freshly mashed Artichoke ale, yep, that’s the ticket. Now, where did I leave my nickel-notebook travel diaries and daguerreotype photo album? Gimme sec...
Fine by me as long as you don`t become political. |
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Post by osnafrank on Jun 8, 2020 20:43:11 GMT
Fine by me as long as you don`t become political. |
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Post by wolf on Jun 8, 2020 20:45:44 GMT
Fine by me as long as you don`t become political.
......I'm sure he'll get over it.
Lol, better to be miff- muffed, than miff-muffed on. |
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