If you don't know Kate, you'll think I gush too much; if you do... you know I speak the truth.
Not only does Ms Kate write with a mythical authority but she also spends her extremely valuable time promoting the work of others. Do read her extended Bio below EROS ERRORS for places to meet with her, share with her and be inspired. But if you don't do anything else then take the time to dally at The Bijou where Noir is the order of every single day.
And now, I give you...
Light doth hark though heralds dark.
Trajectories sublime hover joy o'day
yet ironically, swallow bitter dismay.
Once upon a Myth, Truth became a fragile Reality. I have lived to tell this tale, but barely, just barely, and delectably, with pun ensconced. Let's make that firmly ensconced, where Cupid, ne'er stupid, made good his golden mark 'pon my naked truth.
Amazing what flies in one's open window on a deep-sleep moonless night. Son-of-a-bitchin' son of Venus became my plight . . . but ahhhhh, my pleasure too. Therein lies the rub. His rub, his reach, his grasp, his touch, his lurid tongue, all to lure me in, to make me his Psyche . . . sensually, his soul-felt mate. Eros' arrow lost potency to do the deed his maniacal mother bade proceed. Vexed rose vainglorious Venus when sunny sonny boy botched his midnight mission. (Even more so, when her cosmos of spy-minions chortled on about our conflagrant positions.)
Cock-sure was Eros, where his potency did excel. He lusted me as his heaven ~ I knew him as my hell. Skin against skin, depth surging depth, eyes screaming 'Yes!' to permissions unwhispered. Like butterfly wings our animated force beat on as breath of Life itself. But what price to pay, for natural beauty sensating his way? You've no idea what damage a riled up goddess on a rampage can do, do you?
Mama Venus, by her lopsided Aphroditian soul, had access to the wilds of the four winds, and the ear of zany Zeus. She conjured plots of torment and avidly let loose. Oh she did. And she did some more. Twas majestic for immortal gentry to see, though for me to abhor. I mean, who was I - just a gal minding her own earthly business, setting her womanly wiles on betrothal to a run-of-the-grist Alexander or Barnabus, Damon or Gregorious? But come the vivid rage of Venus, no one reigned victorious.
The world itself floundered without Love begot from Cupid's arrows, for Eros -- as he was known at the best Greek daises -- went on strike. He resisted the persistence of his mother's vile insistence. The floundering world withered, cold to touches which now did not come. Eros came though. Again and again, invisibly so. He hunted the locale where I was secreted away. The good god of the west wind, sage Zephyrus, turncoated loyalties as he suited, and whisked me to higher safety, a mountaintop away. There, night after night, Eros entered more than my chambers. Passion's darkness beaconed his insight.
Greater insights though were needed for our erotic coupling to see eye to eye. Eros coulda, shoulda, woulda seen barricades to my being his beloved, but mama-boy gods are not consistently clever. Have you truly looked up into menacing skies on a stormy day? The Underworld hath no fury like a furie scorned. Venus on rampage through the heavens did emerge. Nevertheless, tough love is tough love and I went searching for potency in answers.
"Will you help me, to a together-ever-after . . . for your son, certainly you see, is enamored of me?," squeaked the tentative tenacity of my ardent plea.
There then, the mother-lode of a bitch showed true her colours -- envy green and pitched black to taunts testing me. "Separate these grains in this basket before the nightfall! Retreive golden wool from the field where the killer sheep graze! Make water flow from a serpent-guarded rock-cleft impossible to see!" Verily, Venus staged set-up shots and torment traps deigned for my mortal failure. Only sheer valour conjured fortunate what my spirit called forth in mystical aid: An ant busied his little self with dissection of the grains. A river-god warned of the killing fields, pointing instead where branch and bark beckoned rubbed off wool for the gathering. I was no goddess' fool. I thanked all these spirits heartily, including the soaring eagle who winged about my water divination. But salutations aside, Venus veered one more task, a greater task, a greater risk. "Go into the Underworld, Girly. Bring me back a box, bountiful with bits of beauty."
How I muttered low, how I glared at the mother goddess so. "Go connoiter your own cosmetic challenges, venal Venus!," I wished I'd shouted. Upon my descent to the Underworld of Hell, how I regretted not telling her where to go. But I muddled on. Will Love conquer darkness? This time I prayed aloud, for an oracle of an outcome. A tower of power came to my aid and this task too, I muddled through. But I was tired. So tired. Bone tired. Stop in my tracks up out-of-the-horrors-of-the-Underworld tired. So I peeked into the bit of beauty box, for any small touch of revival.
Zap! Zowie! An eternal infernal sleep arose to my head with such a clatter before my battered senses bade what was the matter. Then there, in true courses due, on blitzing, on dashing, the fate of my Eros/Cupid flew. By Jove and by Jupiter, we got this thing right! A celestial council was convened. Heavenly, the democratic vote careened. Gods and goddesses, bless those Greeks and their political discourse ~ of the mortals, by the mortals and for the mortals. Celebration lit the heavens. They served me ambrosia and immortality. As I said, I'm no fool. I sipped full of both. We wedded. We bedded. We honeymooned on Mount Olympus.
When our daughter was born, Grandma Venus and I ultimately saw it best to see eye-to-eye. Intuitively gleaning less power as adversaries. we femme-fataled a truce of peace. Doubling our pleasures insured that the world prospered . . . the ambrosia flowed . . . the democracy of the Greeks would garner a model of political genius . . . and for centuries to come, many would play good sport upon Mount Olympus.
~ ~ ~
ILLUSTRATION: L'Amour et Psyché, by Francois Edouard Picot
No, not at all. Only the beginning of a brazen beguine.
Eros and Psyche named their girl ~ Voluptuas.
In translation, to all immortal days ~
'Sensual Pleasures' lives on.
Bio: Absolutely*Kate? Prolific author and promoter/publisher of innate design flair with moxie. World needs more moxie. Her writings flow as shadows shimmer Noir, as creamy poils on Ziegfeld Goils, and in synergistically researched decades-of-distinction from the roaring 1920's to the swinging '60's. All on stage at her theatre for the mind creation, AT THE BIJOU ~ "Where Writers' Raves are Readers' Faves" ... There, Believing in Believers, and authors taking authors higher in their soar, Kate deftly adjusts spots and kleigs so worthy writers rise. The smash sensation "THE SHADOWS OF OUR NOIR" is currently in its 4th month of intrigue, highlighting international authors' tales.
Bookings? Absolutely*Kate is published online at Thrillers, Chillers 'n Killers, other literary and crime scenes, including 'spirited' appearances at Femme Fatale Erin Cole's. One of the authors of GRIMM TALES, by Untreed Reads Publishing; ("You Dirty Rats"), Absolutely*Kate is also co-author with Harry B. Sanderford of Sweet Chili Philly . . . co-writing THE 1976 SOCIETY with Irish/Frisco muse Kevin J. Mackey and . . . co-rollicking/writing SPY-SIDE ECONOMICS with the illustrious AJ Hayes. Absolutely*Kate is editing for publishing in eBook and print ~ IF THE GUMSHOE FITS and "HOLY MOXIE!", while working on her physics time-travels novel, THE VILLAGE SMITHY.
Promotion? Absolutely*Kate launched on Valentine's Day, the "Brevities" Salon site of WOMEN, LOVERS, FRIENDS & MOTHERS, to attract lively interactive readership flow to know and follow fellow authors. Early reviews were sensuous and exciting! She goes 'live' this week inviting millions of women readers through channels her silver spade has been digging.
And The Best Is Yet to Be ~ HARBINGER*33, sailing the destinies of 33 stellar authors, with 3 stunning artists, 3 sensational 'authenticators' . . . featuring 33 noted author salutes, 33 ports of call to writerly havens, and a *Treasure Chest* to behold . . . watch for it in this brave new year.
Coming Up? Mais Oui! Absolutely*Kate joins promotional ranks with author/marketing whiz Kevn Michaels. Shhh, Lily's secret: It's the ultimate RIGHT ARM ~ "Authors' Reach Marketing", finding a need and filling it ~ taking authors' books in today's markets to tomorrow's intended reach. Holy Momentum!
Absolutely*Kate recharges energies with coffee, jazz, loving her Prof man, walking at sea, and realizing the fortune of daily jivings with authors and publishers she greatly admires. She's on a Quest this year to read and review all fellow authors' books on the rise -- thus putting in a new bookcase, at the historic home at the confluence of two rivers in Derby, Connecticut.