"I WANTA BE A ZIEGFELD GIRL" ~ By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33

* NOW PLAYING * AT THE BIJOU *

"I Wanta Be A Ziegfeld Girl"

I wanta be a Ziegfeld Girl. I wanta swallow up glitz and sip the edges of glamahh and do somethin' more with my life than slammin' down countless cups of joe with the  stenographers and shopgirls of diamond rings and new linoleum kitchen dreams in the All Night Chock Full of Nuts Diner at 44th and Divine. I wanta glide when the orchestra glissandos, and I wanta swissssh silks and satins in all the personal places a goil's perfumed skin should swish her silks and her satins. And I want poils, oh gosh I do -- long twirly stringy creamy-whites to linger in the fingertip caresses of the pink passion manicure I can get half-price any Tuesday at Sylvia's Ladies Emporium. I wanta really reel'out snappy one-liners like I do with my bro, but ones that get big bounding belly-laughs center-stagin' Florenz's opening-night Follies show, and oh yeah, I wanta fan some of dose fancy feathers in all the right configgerations during my lavish cakewalk production numbers. Right now though, there's a hole in my reverie  ~  Ma's yellin' again --  "Mabel Jean Krenicky, it's YOUR turn to do the dishes!"

I think I'll need a stage-name too. 

" Dear Diary:                                                                      

~ Absolutely*Kate

She didn't die when they said she was to.

So it's easy to deduce without a Sherlock, Watson, that she sips pinot, tastes passion and savours possibilities while pushing away pointless logics. She careens through colours, lights candles rather than cursing darknesses, (crediting Eleanor Roosevelt each time she plucks that line outta her pocket), clinks a drink to regale a moment, heats up hoopla, and percolates the masses to a stirring cheer, somewhat akin to a fresh morning's cream pour into robust coffee -- you know that sensation of splash, don't you? Lingering fingering of caresses slow, slow tracing honeysuckle scented skin, along with eyes ablaze across a crowded room on some enchanted evenings (and afternoons), spark and jolt the joie de vivre which essences her whole. To go through motions, to put up with agita, to merely be mere, to echo-nod comprehensively when a knowing touch to a comrade's arm or a laugh which bellies up the whole room makes all the difference of the difference is what she advokates in a minute . . . as a weathered Judy Garland Christmas tune affirms, "Never let a minute sit there on the shelf, for there may be in it . . . all of Time itself".

* * * * * *

The best reason of this spirited season is that *magic* does exist ~ within and at unexpected edges and around any next corner and ALWAYS when your laugh *zings* up your eyes at the exact moment you hear Alvin and The Chipmunks tell you what they really want for Christmas ~ and you wonder . . . can Snoopy and the Red Baron be that far behind(?) -- well, that's why I'm wishing good*stuff, good*cheer into all your holidays this memorable 2009 year.

~ Absolutely*Kate, fully living the more,

with Joys and Perceptions of grand people like you,

who simply, thus strongly read this right through

I was troubled, inside kind of troubled, hide-it-from-the-world kind of troubled, the worst kind of troubled. Ambling through Stop & Shop's produce section, in quest-selection of perfect green peppers, on the way home from works on a Friday night, I sensed his presence, I felt his presence, but I couldn't see his presence . . . and then, there he was ~ a short, strong, older dark haired man, asking with a different kind of inner light, "Pardon, would you please show me where the smaller chilies are?". Instinct always rules when your spirit, even a troubled spirit, knows the grace of Open, so cart and purse left behind, I turned the proverbial corner with the mysterious gent to the hot pile of chilies, where his eyes danced and his hand grasped and pumped mine, tandem to an honoured blessing, "You are a warm and fine woman, undergoing some kind of trouble, yet instantly helped a stranger."

Perhaps the temperature changed or the warmth simply, (thus strongly) took on quantum frequencies, but in the next half-hour spent in fascination with the internal medicine man from Pakistan, my joining-in historical mate and I learned of four years of US citizenship, a most delicious curry recipe, Muslim influences into world-stretch, historical and governmental rhythms, injustices swallowed as pace of life, what classes of men are suitable for well-provided daughter matches, and the depth which intelligence furthers an individual. The parting was a hug and not a handshake; the proclamation, holding my gaze with his superb soft browns was, "Ah, you are a spiritual lady too?". Wanting to hold this moment, wanting this warming peace over where inner troubles fester, he answered my unspoken question, "We will meet again, when we are meant to."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I think he left Connecticut and went to Pennsylvania next, helping my friend Zelda out with her own peppered thoughts. I can only trust so.

~ Absolutely*Kate is unfestering her festers and turning her perfect peppers into a crazy salad at the confluence of two rivers which meander to the sea, as a Connecticut Yankee of Ohio home'thinking and always deep yearnings. She believes in believers and promoting-publishing Harbinger*33 to sail forth the talents of manifested authors and artists destinies . . .

~ from another Absolutely*Kate book to be,

COLLECTIVE CELLULOID MEMORIES
( where a picture tells a thousand stories )

The question is always 'who gets the girl', isn't it? Cherchez la femme, be it a dash through the park, a kiss into her eyes after dark, a long beach walk, dinner for two, a quiet getaway, a glance across a crowded room (on some enchanted evening), or even a chauffeur daughter's crawl around the carport from Billy Wilder's cinematic imagination into ours, the way only Sabrina can do it. Romantic comedies and classy reel-classic Audrey always gets to me. One of a kind always does, always will ~ guess it becomes its own kind of thrill ~ in class, glamour and fine effects still tracing their nimble grace upon generations.

This has been my movie moment.
What brings about your classic thrill?

AS PUBLISHED ON SIX SENTENCES and the classy domain of THIS HERE POSTEROUS for posterity and movie-musing . . .

DO SHARE your point of muse  ~ Absolutely*Kate

Monday, October 26, 2009

13 Days of Horror: Kate Pilarcik ~ Apparition

WELCOME TO THE 13 DAYS OF HORROR

at ~  "Listen to the Voices"

My next featured guest on the 13 Days of Horror is a writer with such a unique edge, her prose is a voyage through the magic and mysteries of spirit and psyche — she has muses working for her. Having collaborated thirty-three writers for the stellar venture, Harbinger*33, backed with her own witty, diligent, and talented works, she is a gale storm of splendor and a true comrade to many.

It is with great honor to introduce to you my next guest, and kindred spirit, Kate Pilarcik and her story, Apparition. ~ Erin

Apparition
by Absolutely*Kate

GO! CHECK IT OUT! AND ALL THE TERRORS OF ALL THE TALENTS WHICH ERIN HAS SCARED UP! THE CURTAIN ALWAYS RISES ON COOL*GHOUL . . .

~ This has been an Absolutely*Kate . . . "Aw shucks" promotional moment

The following was written by the friend who lost his friend, with many of us this day. The irrepressible Roger Pleasanton is within us eternally if not on this earth. The straight continual flow from the way that "Prof", Matthew Magda, did know this giant amongst men came from his pen and his hurting but telling heart.

To me, Roger didn't just walk on this earth for more than seven decades ~ Roger always strutted his stuff, straight at you. When you were in his larger than life presence, you had entered "Roger's Universe" and never forgot it.

Betwixt and between all your reds and burnt oranges and bright bright yellows, midst the myriad of jaunty ways you come to know and laugh at fellow good fellows, know this humble promotional writer pal is zinging you out to Discover yet the more, your inner best. That zest, your best, is what most likely led your writer's journey to come to rest here a spell (hmm, pun inclusive), and us'all to come upon one another in this craft we zen up and zing out as our *Writing Voice*. The best choice o'that voice sure seamlessly seems like the times when heaps of piles of leaves beckon our knows-no-age joyous jump right in. Explore that joy and take it to its peak-weekend highest ~ tis there your wellspring e'er gurgles up the mirth of your damn best stuff. It ain't rough that stuff, when you're not being tough but are just letting it out as Your Voice, in prolific rejoice . . . of autumnal glory, no matter what your story ~ you are fellow writer to oh so many worthies.

~ And for that I thank and honour you . . .

  ( Join me in a jump'pile of leaves? )

            ~ Absolutely*Kate