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  • Featured Artist Featured Artist

    • From: camlette
    • Description:

      https://www.facebook.com/UART.Sanded.Pastel.Paper

      Featured Artist

      MAY 15, 2013

      Cameron Hampton is the UART featured artist for May 2013. Please see the Featured Artist photo album to learn more about her.

    • Blog post
    • 1 week ago
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  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Across Many Oceans by Allen Henriquez

      Part III

       

           The sea stirred and crashed about the rocks on a deep blue day in December with the winds clocking in the waves at some twenty knots, but with the upheaval and churning it was still a routine day for Orrin at the lighthouse.  He was however with a greater thought process than the sea’s intensity could put upon him.

           Orrin, during the course of his duties had a surreal dilemma to decipher from his dinner date at Abigail’s the other night.  Did he really discover the undead jazz musician Uno Imeman at Abigail’s home, alive, and married to a middle school principal in Queens? The answer had to be “No,” because with “No,” all was well, clarity returns.  He loved music, music and the sea, these were his great loves, with a seemingly natural bond and flow between the two.  Orrin, when he was seven, his grandfather, Patrick Willis, taught him the guitar.  Orrin’s hero on guitar was and is Earl Klugh, his grandfather’s was Charlie Christian.  The guitar is still Orrin’s close companion in the lighthouse when not engaged in his normal duties. 

           The interesting thing about Abigail’s stepfather, Arnold Orville, and his ability with a guitar isn’t that he plays it very well, it’s that he plays it the way the dead Uno Imeman played the sax; and he looks like an older version of the dead man.  

                                                      *     *     *

           It was a Sunday night in December when Orrin got a surprise visit from Clifford Miles.  Orrin invited him in and Clifford was very much appreciative, he with a bottle of good brandy in his sack with glasses.  He was a smiling, talkative fellow, so much so that he made Orrin feel inarticulate and reticent.  Clifford offered Orrin a drink, but he refused. 

           “So what brings you around here, Clifford?” Orrin asked with a smile.

           “I want you to stay away from Eva, Orrin,” Clifford stated, still smiling, but with the anger creeping through it.

           “Eva is very old news.  Seven years old, and from what I’ve heard that’s very close to the same timeframe for you,” Orrin replied.

           Clifford took a drink, waited for the impact to fade then replied, “I’m going to get back with her and you stay clear, Orrin, you hear?”

                                                      *     *     *

      To be continued…

       

    • Blog post
    • 1 week ago
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  • No Need to Worry No Need to Worry

    • From: ReginaT
    • Description:

      I have gone hungry, but never starved.

      I have doubted, wondered, questioned,

      But all I have sought I found in time.

       

      Patience has won many battles.

      Intelligence has dominated countless wars.

       

      There have been obstacles, struggles, betrayals,

      But I have smiled in the end

      Because…

       

      My enemies have destroyed themselves

       

      Each time

      I was reminded

      Answers were revealed

      I was fortified

       

      Faith is my anchor

      His love is my guide

      He remains at my side

       

      I smile knowing He has, does and

      Will always provide.

       

      - Regina T. Henriquez

       

    • Blog post
    • 1 week ago
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  • The Moment The Moment

    • From: electraglide
    • Description:

       

       

      My heart yearns,

      The Unknown

      The unknowable

      Solace washes over

      I embrace

      Mystery

      Fabric of my world sown

      Stitches

      Made to part

      Threadbare past

      Slips away

      Sounds of future

      Whirring

      The moment

      Passive

    • Blog post
    • 2 weeks ago
    • Views: 52

  • Exhibit May 2013 www.stevenwmi Exhibit May 2013 www.stevenwmiller.com

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Across Many Oceans by Allen Henriquez

      Part II

       

      It is not known from what source Eva Covington received word that her former, near to husband, Orrin was in a relationship with her friend Abigail Morris.  But upon getting the message Eva was crushed.  The information exploded in her head but unfortunately there were no items available to break or smash into smithereens, which made her feel deeply depressed.  The idea that Eva could be even mildly impacted by any news about Orrin, she being seven years removed from him, was strange.  But Eva’s reaction would be considered totally logical to a large number of persons who know that Eva’s break up so many years ago from Orrin was done not to end a loveless relationship, it was to so call elevate the quality of her companionship to the level of her status in the writing world.  A mere sea captain as a mate seemed a sacrilege, and the moments in past tense when Eva mentioned Orrin and his livelihood, brought swirls, sneers, twisted faces, and the utterance of  “Oh.”  Orrin’s replacement, Clifford Miles was not only more palatable he was ideal.  A successful writer with another established, if not as successful, writer.  But Clifford, although bright and witty was without the emotional depth she so needed to ground her existence with because he lacked sureness and clarity.  Six months was all she could take of the: high intellect, low patience, nervous, and insecure, chatter box, that was Clifford.  The idea of going back to Orrin was in her mind, out of the question, and would be viewed as provincial, with many challenging the so called avant garde persona that Eva had worked so hard to cultivate.

                                                         *     *     *

      On this Wednesday in December Orrin drove his gray jeep to Abigail’s home, a townhouse on Seagrit Boulevard just off of Beach 9th Street in Far Rockaway.  Abigail lives in this, fairly new, brown brick structure, with her mom, Beatrice.  Beatrice is an assistant principal at a middle school in town, she at age fifty-five, lost her first husband, Albert Morris, five years ago.  Albert, a dentist who had a heart attack, was a loving husband and father.  Beatrice married again three years ago to a fellow with a music shop onCentral Avenue named Arnold Orrville.

      Arnold a well traveled man of sixty-six, looked his age, but was a pleasant and extremely bright fellow.  Orrin, invited for dinner, wasn’t what would be expected from a young man meeting the parents of a lady he was seriously interested in, he wasn’t nervous nor was he a laconic sea captain turned lighthouse keeper type.  He was animated, upbeat, and comfortable, speaking as well as listening.  But the bigger surprise came not from Beatrice or Abigail, but from the stepfather, Arnold Orrville, not because he told Orrin, “If you’re smart you’ll ask this young lady to marry you before someone snatches her away from you.”  Yes, that was a very happy and hopeful shock, but the greater shock came from Orrin toward the end of the evening when the two men were talking music andArnoldbrought out two guitars.  They played jazz tunes, with Orrin, after twenty minutes realizing that he was playing music with a once very famous musician, who was pronounced dead more than thirty-five years ago.

                                                         *     *     *

      To be continued…

    • Blog post
    • 2 weeks ago
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  • Crush Crush

    • From: Strawberry Eyes
    • Description:

      The forbidden fruit i yearn,

      Like a child impatiently awaits to learn.

      Many adventures to discover,

      Many mysteries to uncover.

       

      Exploring every inch of a cookie jar,

      Reaching inside to take a bite.

      Driving me far far away to the stars,

      Hypnotized by beams of light.


      But this is no sugar coted candy,

      A very sour taste,

      Similar to brandy,

      That only goes to waste.

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
    • Views: 42

  • INTERVIEW WITH HORRIFIED PRESS INTERVIEW WITH HORRIFIED PRESS

    • From: animalmother16
    • Description:

      AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT

      Nathan J.D.L. Rowark interviews:

      Mark Slade

      Hi Mark. Thanks for agreeing to answer some questions for our facebook followers; about yourself and your work. 

      Q.) Why don't you start by telling us a little bit about the experiences in your life which helped you decide to become a writer...

      A.) Lots of T.V and my older brother, Doug. He read all the time and had a crap load of books. His fav writers are mine as well.

      Q.) In your contributions to ' Tales of the Undead – Suffer Eternal: volume II' (The Auction / The Three Hells of Guy Franklin). Give us a spoiler free insight to the concepts of your tales and what you feel inspired you to write them...

      A.) I believe those stories were written in two day spans, back to back. One was a writers prompt from Writers Café. The auction was that story, and the second tale (The Three Hells of Guy Franklin) was based on the thought; what if Richard Matheson had written a story with this plot.

      Q.) I like that, and it's what I was most excited about when this collection came together; so varied in content, the more traditionally told tales followed by the frighteningly modern and subversive. Where do you see your writing career going in... for example, let's say ten years time? Is this the medium you want to write for? Where would you like to be?

      A.) Just hoping to sell more stories, having fun writing these screwed up tales.

      Q.) Who were your literary influences, Mark?

      A.) Definitely RAY BRADBURY, RICHARD MATHESON, ROD SERLING DENNIS ETCHISON, CHARLES BEAUMONT, ED MCBAIN, CLIVE BARKER, JOE LANSDALE...too many to list.

      Q.) Top 5 Novels?

      A.) HELL HOUSE, SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY WAY COMES, SALEM'S LOT, BOOKS OF BLOOD VOLUME 1-3, THE DROWNING POOL by Ross MacDonald.

      Q.) Top 5 Inspirational horror movies that affected your own working style?

      A) HORROR OF DRACULA, DEVIL'S BRIDE (DEVIL RIDES OUT) HELLRAISER, THE EXORCIST, TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE.

      Q.) Your Top 5 horror icons?

      A) CLIVE BARKER, CHRISTOPHER LEE, PETER CUSHING, RAY BRADBURY, INGRID PITT.

      Thanks for taking part in our little Q & A. And don't forget, fans of the gruesome and grotesque, our latest horror anthology, 'Tales of the Undead – Suffer Eternal: volume II', is available from the 28th of May 2013 at Amazon.com & Lulu.com

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
    • Views: 60

  • welp been 4yrs but back!!! hi welp been 4yrs but back!!! hi all

    • From: BiancoSpider
    • Description:

      Been 4 yrs since been here, wasnt sure if it was still up and running since our cable company no longer has Ovation, but i am back.

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
    • Views: 84

  • Art for Sale Art for Sale

    • From: nappyheadart
    • Description:

      I spent most of Monday at Sotherbys Art Auction House in New York City. I was on personal business as they have taken the Keith Haring drawing and placed it in the September auction. I was invited to see the new prints of " Who's Who ' in the art world. Warhol, Picasso, Monet, the list is star studded. Really amazing art. The most interesting point of the day was seeing Picassos vases and ceramic art for the first time. For me, it was a trip through time, a journey into another world. I so enjoyed myself...if you have the time, please make a phone call to sotherbys to find out what days you can go view the work....

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
    • Views: 101

  • Exhibit Gertrude White Gallery Exhibit Gertrude White Gallery Greenwich, CT Opens Sat May 4, 2013 from 3-5pm thru 5/31/13

    • From: stefano22
    • Description:

      Please come to my opening on Sat May 4 from 3:00-5:00pm at Gertrude White Gallery 259 E. Putnam Avenue Greenwich, CT 06830 details at  www.stevenwmiller.com (203) 869-6501.  17 new abstract canvases in oil all approximately 50x50".  All are welcome!Smile

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
    • Views: 43

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Across Many Oceans by Allen Henriquez

      Part I

           A bright, clear, day swept over the sky.  The sea’s relentlessly violent, twisting and turning, finally done.  A complete calm permeated the atmosphere and reached into the water from its surface to its lower depths, and now ruled.  The day’s tranquility passed over Orrin Willis, a lighthouse keeper, along the shore ofLong Island.

           Seven years ago Orrin felt a calm that was greater than this, on this Wednesday, in November, at the lighthouse.  Her name was Eva, Eva Covington, a writer, fresh out of college.  They were engaged, Orrin was a sea captain then, but after a return from a weekend charter to Miami Eva broke off the engagement and Orrin was crushed.  He later found the reason for the end to be one Clifford Miles, a pleasant, urban, and witty sort of fellow.  Clifford was and is a published writer, a novelist.  Perhaps a better term would be a popular fiction writer.

           Orrin had since that time lost his job ferrying passengers into the city from Rockaways to lowerManhattan.  Drunkenness was the cause of his dismissal, a malady brought about, in part, by the loss of his fiancée.  The theory of this claim to Orrin’s descent into a state of occupational dysfunction is perhaps debatable.  The sea, in its splendor can be charged with the creation of visual hypnosis, creating a transcendental state of introspection, and perhaps disorientation.  Is that why sailors have such a big reputation for imbibing or is it the monotony of life at sea? Or was Orrin just a man with a broken heart? The strangeness to his life changing experience, with the loss of Eva, losing his job and getting one as a lighthouse keeper, is that he became a better man after the fact; a sober, serious and responsible person.  But he would find out years later that Clifford Miles and Eva Covington didn’t get married, in fact they were never engaged.  Eva detached herself from Clifford six months after she broke her engagement with Orrin.  Orrin didn’t find out about the break up between Eva and Clifford until seven years after his break up with Eva.  He was in a bookstore and bumped into an old friend of Eva’s, Abigail Morris, a thin, attractive woman, who is also a writer.  However Abigail’s area of interest was history, art and music history were her favorites, but she’d already written books on historic political and business persons.  But after seeing the ruggedly handsome Orrin again, she revealed the intense interest she had for him, after she’d given him an update on Eva and observed the indifferent look in his eyes.

                                             *     *     *

      To be continued…

       

    • Blog post
    • 3 weeks ago
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  • The House of Tomorrow The House of Tomorrow

    • From: archivephotoart
    • Description:

      T

      his may sound like a silly start, but bear with me for the next few sentences.  In the musical, Bye-Bye Birdie, there is a song entitled “Kids.”  This song is sung by a chorus of parents, asking this question about their teenage daughters and sons:  “Why can't they be like we were, perfect in every way?  Oh, what's the matter with kids today?”  This musical was written in the early sixties and the people who were teens at that time are now in their late fifties and early sixties and they are asking the same question about our current crop of teens.  Surviving archives tell us that twenty‑five hundred years ago, that same question was being asked by the Greeks.  More than one wise philosopher spoke of the declining abilities of Athenian youth – all but Socrates who was wise enough to know better.  Was this same generational finger-pointing done by the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Chinese?    Why can't they be like we were?  Yet, if each generation was truly inferior to the one before it and this generational degeneracy had been occurring for hundreds of generations, where would we be today?  It hardly seems likely that we would have managed to abolish slavery or go to the moon or win major battles against disease and pestilence.  It seems more likely that such a process would long ago have led to the total collapse of human society.  Why can't they be like we were?  Because, says Kahlil Gibran, because “...their souls dwell in the House of Tomorrow, which you can never visit, not even in your dreams.”  He continues,  “You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you, for life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday.”              Why can't they be like we were?  Simply because they aren't us.  If we do indeed live in the Countries of Time, what would we do without the House of Tomorrow?  Where would we be if each generation was a clone, en masse, of the one that came before it?  Where would we be if the benighted authority that cried out for the execution of witches and heretics had been respected and never challenged, never mocked or laughed at? 

                  Mark Twain, who might have been one the few grown-ups permitted to visit the House of Tomorrow, thought that laughter was a powerful weapon against ignorance, bigotry and hatred.   A subject such as witchcraft, he said, can be debated forever, learned theologians can claim to prove its existence, judges, black‑robed and be-wigged, can send its alleged practitioners to the gallows or to the stake, but only laughter can blow it to shreds in a single breath.  If no one lived in the House of Tomorrow, no such laughter would ever have been heard.

                  No nation or people has a history so proud or a tradition so sacred that it is beyond criticism.  If enough people, especially young people, are questioning authority, should we look askance at them or at the authority they are questioning?

      If a House of Tomorrow exists in the Countries of Time and everything has an opposite, there must be a House of Yesterday.  Unlike the House of Tomorrow, residency in the House of Yesterday is not confined to children – in fact, no children have ever been seen there.  Those who do live there are famous for an intoxicating mix of history and myth.  Sometimes they call it “nostalgia,” sometimes “revealed truth.”  Above the main portal carved in stone, are the words: “Welcome to the Good Old Days.”  The residents truly believe they have lost something and that that something can only be found in times that are gone.   Ray Bradbury could have had them in mind when he said,

                  “There is a country where it is always turning late in the year.  That country where the hills are rain and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. It is a country composed in the main of cellars, sub‑cellars, coal bins, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. It is a country whose people are autumn people thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain...”

      On a more progressive note, the same author also wrote:

      “I suppose one night, untold millennia ago, one of the first of our kind wakened to gaze on his sleeping family and thought of them and himself someday being gone forever.  Then he must have wept and put out his hand to his wife who must someday die and the children who would follow her.  With that knowledge came pity and mercy and a more intricate and mysterious knowledge of love.”

      When I first read those words about forty-five years ago, they had a profound effect on me.  There must have been some point in the past where human beings began to transcend their instincts in just such a way.  To me, that knowledge of what tomorrow would inevitably bring  was a turning point in human history at least as important as the use of fire. Without it we would never have followed the roads to the future, never have wondered about our place in the universe, never have rejoiced at births or mourned at deaths. 

      When a child is born, we rejoice in the possibilities of his or her life upon the earth.  When someone we love dies, we mourn, not as much the loss of their physical presence, but the loss of something deeper that has vanished from our midst.  And yet, we rejoice in the history that they have created simply by living, and this personal history is the most important inheritance that they leave to all who knew them.  The ancient Greeks believed that departed persons were immortal so long as the living continued to speak their names.

        Scientist, Jacob Bronowski called us nature's unique experiment to make the rational intelligence prove itself sounder thanthe reflex.  Instinct alone is ignorant of both possibilities and histories. Instinct transcends nothing.  Only thought can accomplish that.

       “Our ascent,” said Dr. Bronowski, “is always teetering in the balance. There is always a sense of uncertainty over what is ahead.  And what is ahead for us?  An understanding of where we have come from: of what we are.  Knowledge is not a loose-leaf notebook of facts,” he said.  “Above all, it is a responsibility for the integrity of what we are, primarily of what we are as ethical creatures.  We cannot possibly maintain that informed integrity if we let other people run the world for us while we continue to live out of a ragbag of morals that come from past beliefs.” 

                  The House of Yesterday is a roadblock to the reasoned thoughts of Jacob Bronowski, and yet it must be a place in the Countries of Time. 

                  I suppose The House of Yesterday seems charming enough from a distance, but on closer inspection, it is found to be a chaos of styles from long vanished empires of time.  The spires of gothic cathedrals soar above Rococo domes, the tumbled monoliths of sacrificial alters impinge on golden idols.  Inside, the pillars of slave markets rise in cave-like basements where our darkest superstitions were born and nurtured.  On the upper floors, we find that it is a not comfortable place to live at all, but a carnival fun‑house filled with distorted mirrors and labyrinths that lead to nowhere.  It is easy enough to enter, but hellishly difficult to leave.  There seems to be windows, but they are no more than clever paintings of scenes that never were and that never will be.  This lack of windows is unfortunate for those who live in the House of Yesterday.  If the windows were real, the residents could look out and see the outlines of a mansion far away across a plain and half-hidden by the mists of the future.  At night, under the stars, bright lights glow in the windows of this far mansion, and during the day, the sunlight that never touches the House of Yesterday bathes this place in light.  If those who live in yesterday could see this place through unshuttered windows, then even they might recall that once upon a time they lived there, that they too were children in the House of Tomorrow.

       

    • Blog post
    • 4 weeks ago
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  • Remember the Way Remember the Way

    • From: ReginaT
    • Description:

      You can not believe them

      Not a thing that they say

      They will lie and mislead

      All the time knowing the way

       

      Their goal is to weaken you

      To make you believe you are less

      To convince you that your best is not good enough

      Although you surpass all the rest

       

      Should you concern yourself with anything they have to say?

      Will what they think of you influence how you are judged on that day?

       

      In the end we all stand alone

      On each deed that we’ve done

      Like the devil they will fool many

      Make sure you are not one

       

      You can not believe them

       

      Please remember He has shown you the way

      You will be judged for what you do

      Not what anyone may say.

       

      - Regina T. Henriquez

       

    • Blog post
    • 4 weeks ago
    • Views: 77

  • Going to NEW YORK CITY and PAR Going to NEW YORK CITY and PARIS

    • From: modernsurrealartist
    • Description:

      Hi all could use some help, I am going to NEW YORK city and Paris in May, and would like to give out some of my cards that show my artwork on,, any suggestions on what galleries I swould give the cards to... as you know my art is abit different, do you know of a gallery that takes on edgy work ,

      Just for everyones info, my work does sell , The Tu Tu Tangos Rest. that I paint at in Orlando florida sells over $120,000.00 of artwork a year, and I hold the record for the highest paid for painting there..

      Do you think any gallery might take a chance on me in NY.?EconomyDeforestationCandlebush Flower

    • Blog post
    • 4 weeks ago
    • Views: 99

  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Rendered Nonexistent by Allen Henriquez

      Part XI

           The first set at the Cozy Corner was over with the band The Vargas Sound stretching out on a twenty minute break.  Miguel Aviles was with a sweat soaked exterior calmly walking toward the bar for a whiskey.  At the bar waiting to do harm to him were Laurie Pierce, Frank Abigal, a new arrival, Felipe Sanchez, and Oscar Reno, each person was like a runner at the starting line, on edge and ready to attack.

           However at the moment Miguel arrived at the bar with an arm up and motioning with his hand for the bartender, one Alicia Hammel, a tall and attractive blond with a strong smile that masked a stern demeanor, he, Miguel suddenly collapsed to the floor.

           The good, unknowing patrons at the Corner responded with shock and concern, while the knowing members looked on with dismay and disappointment, he having for the moment spoiled their plans.  The would be attackers watched and waited for a word on his condition, hoping still to get a shot at Miguel, but unfortunately they would not, because right there on the floor of the Cozy Corner Miguel Aviles died of a massive heart attack.  And so a hedonist extreme was dead, having lived and done what he wanted, got what he deserved.

           Carmen Aviles buried her husband Miguel without fanfare or pompous hypocrisy.  Present at the funeral, besides herself, was the band Vargas Sound, and the surprised addition Julio Zambrano and his wife Arlene Diaz, both feeling great pity for the talent, but destructive artist that was Miguel Aviles.

            Oscar Reno, perhaps Miguel’s best friend in life, was a no show, as was his wife Tina, who was too ashamed to even consider the idea of attending Miguel’s funeral.  Laurie Pierce however did show up later and spit on his grave.  She also, being a lady, did bring a sample of waste in a vial.

           She poured her sentiment on the fresh grave and it was closure, and she felt fine.  Frank Abigal didn’t show and didn’t do well after Miguel was gone.  He still loved and missed his wife Teresa desperately and with Miguel not available to focus his hate on he had only himself left to make the final payment.  Frank then with a used Chevy coup and just off the BrooklynBridge, aimed at a big fat utility pole. He fueled by booze, got that guy Frank one time good and done with: crashing into the pole, the vehicle exploding, and careening down an embankment, to his flaming fiery end.

           Oscar Reno’s end wasn’t so bold, and or dramatic, he just sat and read the daily newspaper, drank coffee slowly, oh so slowly, the bright light of: art history, music, and fine food, that was the center piece of his intellect dimmed to near nothing.  The nursing home or senior care spot that he found himself in three years later, heard little to no commentary form Oscar Reno.  Oscar went into the dark days of declining health with barely a whisper, until he was no more.

      The End

       

    • Blog post
    • 4 weeks ago
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  • Never Ending Never Ending

    • From: xspencer
    • Description:

      Down that abandoned road again
      Reaping the oats that I have sown
      I took the that walk, many times before
      With your hands guiding me with blind doors
      Through darkness, to open shores
      perils and pits ahead I climb.
      Your smile gave me light
      No getting ambushed from behind
      A sign dead end with nothing in sight
      No gates nor walls I entered
      Following sweet aromas at its center
      Lying softy beside your silky smooth skin
      Your eyes showing me love
      Something to hold onto within
      Memories  of your un denying heart.
      Teaching me to understand
      That God's Dead End Road
      Was my.. Never ending start.

    • Blog post
    • 1 month ago
    • Views: 92

  • Thank You Thank You

    • From: A_J_Steele
    • Description:

      I just noticed that I have been promoted to Community Ambassador. I must appologize for being unaware of this most prestigious title. My only excuse is that I have been very busy with some personal things, but I promise that in the future I will keep an eye on Ovation and plan to contribute more. Thank you very much for the recognition.

    • Blog post
    • 1 month ago
    • Views: 83
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  • Story Series Story Series

    • From: allenhenriquez
    • Description:

      Rendered Nonexistent by Allen Henriquez

      Part X

           The night of Miguel Aviles’ gig at Cozy Corner was without any unusual indications or illuminations.  It was a warm Friday night in August in the City of New York.  Oscar Reno was on the “F” train, looking neat and well groomed and headed toward the club with a pocketful of powder in his pocket to put his friend Miguel into silent song.  While Frank Abigal was on a cross-town bus looking calm and composed, but with an overwhelming surge of adrenaline hidden underneath.  Laurie Pierce, looking sleek and urban in a black pants outfit, was with her weapon in a small handbag riding the “N” train uptown.  Several male passengers, taken with Laurie’s appearance, tried to make conversation with her, but she was nonresponsive in a not rude, or angry, or frightened way, she was: just removed, zonked out, into the task at hand, and headed for the Cozy Corner.

                                     *     *     *

           The Vargas Sound is finishing up their first set at the club with Miguel in fine form.  He in fact is in high energy mode having arrived at the Corner lit up with a high level of liquor consumption, as he sings and dances while cajoling, carousing and soliciting the female patrons, oblivious to their male companions.  Sever fights have already almost occurred during the group’s songs, but were quickly diffused by the club’s bouncers.  One man, Felipe Sanchez, while standing at his table openly challenged Miguel to some “outside activity” in the nearest alley, he feeling totally disrespected by Miguel’s overture toward Sally Morales, his girlfriend.  So another combatant was now signing up for the big show of shows after the music ended.

                                     *     *     *

           So the first set ended for The Vargas Sound with the band’s leader Wilson Vargas, a trumpet player of many years, advising the audience that they would take a short break.  The band of: piano, bass, conga, trumpet and singer, walk off the bandstand with a profusely sweating Miguel, with no concern for hostile observers, walking toward the bar seeking a large whiskey, while a quartet, lead unknowingly, by Oscar Reno, followed by: Laurie Pierce, Frank Abigal, and the newcomer, Felipe Sanchez, walk toward him.

                                     *     *     *

      To be continued. . .

       

    • Blog post
    • 1 month ago
    • Views: 62
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  • The Greatest Place On Earth The Greatest Place On Earth

    • From: Strawberry Eyes
    • Description:


      Intro:
      There is a journey that we must go through once in a lifetime.
      There is a place that few of us know how to get to.
      Some do not know about their existence.
      Some would like to stay and others might wanna leave.

      It is the graeastest place on earth.
      A paradise, plenty of laughter,
      Plenty of love, plenty of courage.
      Where everyones voice is heard.

      If you want to go there
      All you need is a little seed.
      Water it, give it sunlight.
      Soon it will flowrish.

      Day by day it will grow.
      Little by little you will know.
      A flower you will see.
      A cherry blossom must be.

      Like a black hole it will turn.
      It won't even feel the burn.
      Try to bend it, tear it apart.
      Maybe stab it or even break its heart.
      Although you may cause a tear,
      That precious florwer will never fear.








      

    • Blog post
    • 1 month ago
    • Views: 120
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