#“ ⍀ verse i. « a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

[pohlepen]

       she'd thought about cutting her hair, taping her breasts down, rolling over and submitting to him in any way he'd wanted.  making herself more boyish, less feminine, less woman.  maybe that'd make him stay. maybe that'd make it easier for him (  for both of them  ).  but he doesn't want her as much as she doesn't want him, nothing will change that.  they're wading through this grief together, nearly drowning in it.  she can't help him as much as he can't help her.  all they can do is continue to hurt each other and share in the mutual misery of it.

       he never stays when it's over, when they've kissed and bit and sucked dream's taste from each other.  she can't blame him.  he is not who she wants in the wee, lonely, desolation struck hours of the morning.  he is not who she wants between her thighs and in her mouth and biting feverish, desperate marks across her freckle-woven skin.  but he is here, hate and all.  and so is she.  there's little more they can ask of each other these days.

       he goes to the bathroom, maybe to vomit the taste of her from his lips, and she follows like a kicked dog.  a begging mongrel, whimpering for any sort of contact.  she'd learned long ago that touch is touch, however disagreeable.    ❝  fuck him,  ❞    she doesn't move, knows he could push through her if he really wanted to but remains despite it.  despite his disinterest, his disgust, his distance.  he's still here, after all.  he still comes for her all the same, every noxious night.    ❝  make him wait.  ❞    make him suffer.  make him pay.  make him half as miserable as he's made us.   ❝  we don't have to do anything else, we can just…  ❞    the arms she’s crossed across her chest drop, they were only ever there to hide herself from him.  to make what they’d done to each other somehow more palatable.    ❝  please.  ❞

@nightmarecountry cont. from here

[pohlepen]

       ❝  jesus, that was a bad one,  ❞    and she considers herself an expert on falling, having done so drunk ( and mostly sober ) more than a few times.  cigarette dropped, cherry crushed between the heel of her shoe, she leans down and offers a gentle grip to the kids elbow.     ❝  ’s not your fault, this street’s needed a new pave job for years.  thank god our taxes went to that fancy new stadium, right?  those fuckers.  ❞

o p e n

It all happened very suddenly, really. One minute he's walking along fine, and then next he’s caught his foot on a bit of gutter and is now sprawled face down on the pavement. Graceful.

Groaning, Flynn rolls into a sitting position - hoping against hope that no one saw that, and at the same time wincing at the sting in the hands he'd used to break his fall.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XII)

Chapter 12 : Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again

Hi! Here is new chapter! This one is… interesting… Whiskey is very dangerous, indeed…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2527

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body        love what it loves. Tell me your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

Mary Oliver, Dream work, 1986

You ended up at your place with Andrew. After that awful dinner you both needed some emotional support.

You didn’t talk about the meal though. He didn’t mention how Frank had hurt you, you didn’t talk about how Andrew deserved better than Sam.

That was your final conclusion after the evening. Andrew deserved better than her. You didn’t know all the details that had drawn him away from a professional career in music, but you knew that it had been a tough decision to make for him. The way Sam made it sound, Andrew had simply given up. And yet, his eyes still lit up every time he talked of music.

You sat down on your couch with a bottle of whiskey, getting lost in thought as you replayed the conversation through your head. You had noticed how Sam had stopped listening the second you had started talking about your job, about music… about things Andrew loved. And perhaps you were too busy grieving for him, but was Frank the same with you? Because Andrew deserved someone who listened, someone who actually cared…

What did both Andrew and Frank saw in Sam that you didn’t? The question was relentless, spinning in your head again and again, a fly trapped under a glass trying to escape. What did you lack that she had?

You watched Andrew as he downed his first glass of whiskey. Neat. No ice or anything. He didn’t flinch, merely let out a long exhale as he let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch.

“God… that felt good. I needed that,” he sighed, pouring himself another glass while you drank yours as well.

You winced slightly at the burn of the liquor, but silently asked for more anyway.

“What’s next on the list of things to ruin?”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“I reckon we haven’t really ruined anything yet… but… I guess not much until the New Year. You’re still coming to their party?”

“Of course,” you sighed. “We need to make a plan for this. We need to ruin something and then save the day.”

“We should ruin the champagne.”

“And replace it with another excellent one? Good idea. That could work for you.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know… Maybe help Sam. That would impress him.”

“Hmm… a knight in shining armour? Ruin her dress and you fix it?”

“Oh…. That’s nice! You’re very good at this Andy, that’s a little scary!” you joked, nudging him. “I could give her my dress, and wear some disgusting clothes instead. The self-sacrifice will make him grow fond of me.”

“I’ll make sure to have the worst change of clothes in my car.”

“Perfect.”

“They said they wanted to organise the party in some sort of club…”

“Hmm… I bet you love the idea.”

“I’m already panicking at the mere thought.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

You thought yourself silly for offering such a useless argument, but Andrew didn’t seem to think of it that way. Instead, he gave you a grateful smile.

“Why are we doing this again?” you asked, question aimed the ceiling as you sighed, Andrew shifted by your side.

“Because we love them.”

His voice sounded like a lie. It was true though. It had to be, somehow…

You drank again, tried to think of something else, let silence settle instead. It was okay. Silence with Andrew felt comfortable, like the world shushed under a blanket of snow. Natural. Slow.

And outside the world kept on turning, as if you weren’t in pain, as if you weren’t grieving. Wasn’t that a strange truth? Frank had left, and the world hadn’t stopped with him. You wished you could feel it spinning again, look at the rest of the world and feel its beating, and be part of it once more. Maybe, if someone listened to you, and understood you, and made you feel safe again… if you could be yourself with them…

“I’m glad you listened to the record,” Andrew spoke after a while and another emptied drink.

“I loved it.”

“It’s one of my favourites. My father listened to it often when I was a child.”

“Is he the one who made you love music so much, your father?”

Andrew nodded.

“He was sick when I was a child. Bad surgery on his spine. He never recovered.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He was a drummer, back in the days. And even after everything changed he just… I don’t know. No matter what we said to each other, how angry we were, how much we argued… we’ve always had music in common. Even when we couldn’t communicate properly, we would put on a record, sit in silence and listen to it, and then we’d discuss it, and things would get better.”

You knew that he was blinking tears away, heard him sniffing. He wasn’t looking at you and you were still staring at the white ceiling. It didn’t matter. Perhaps it even made it easier.

“I just… I didn’t… I made a choice, back in the days, you know? I wasn’t being a coward or something, I just… I didn’t want to tell other people’s words; words that I didn’t care about, I wanted people to listen to me. I wanted to make something that was true and earnest. I wanted… I wanted for someone to listen to me…”

He sniffed. You reached across the couch for his hand, easily found his fingers. He held your hand so easily, like it was obvious, like your hands were meant for that gesture, for holding onto each other. His so large, yours so small in comparison…

“I thought she used to listen, but I don’t know anymore. She wasn’t listening tonight. She hasn’t listened in a while. Do you think…? Do you think she ever listened to me? I had so much to say that I couldn’t express, I didn’t know how, I still don’t know how… I wanted her to listen… God I wanted for someone to listen, just once… just once…”

You tightened your hold on his hand, and you hoped that he would understand what you meant by this simple gesture. That you were listening now. That you listened. That you understood him. That you were there…

“Thank you.”

His voice was a mere whisper, but it was enough.

You struggled with your own tears as you spoke again, your voice shaking.

“I don’t understand why Frank needed to wait for me, and not for her. What… I feel like I’m lacking something…”

“You’re not.”

You felt his stare on you now, but you kept your own gaze set on the ceiling.

“You’re not lacking anything, stop it. Frank is the one who left…”

“Because he saw something in Sam he didn’t see in me. And I don’t know what it is. And I’m scared… I’m scared that I thought he cared about me, and he didn’t. I’m scared to have built my life on that kind of lie. And the worst is… I still want it. I want the life he promised me.”

You were surprised when Andrew let go of your hand. But then you felt his palm cupping your cheek, the brush of his thumb drying your tears.

You finally turned to him, he gave you a sad but soft smile.

“Don’t cry over him. Please, don’t cry.”

You sniffed, let him caress your skin for a moment longer. It felt reassuring, anchoring. Soft and tender. Safe. You felt safe with him…

You shook yourself, moved to the bottle of whiskey again.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t cry,” you nodded, drying your face on your arm. “Let’s get hammered instead, that was the deal!”

Andrew silently agreed by handing you his empty glass for a refill.

“Tell me something silly,” he requested.

“Something silly?”

“Something about… your college days. Those are always worth a good laugh.”

“It’s good craic,” you agreed with a chuckle. “Alright… I’ll tell you a couple of stories. But you’ll have to tell me some as well!”

“Fair enough.”

You exchanged a smile, united your glasses with a cling.

And then you talked about yourself. And he listened.

Your head was spinning, you weren’t sure anymore if it was because of the alcohol or how much you were laughing.

You let yourself fall back into the sofa, holding on your painful stomach, tears in your eyes and on your cheeks. God, you hadn’t laughed so hard in… you were about to think ‘since Frank’ but you couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard with him.

“There was this one time,” Andrew went on. “I was playing with a band… Alex thought it would be hilarious to hide my guitar… I was so fucking panicked, I fell down the stairs leading to the stage and almost broke my neck…”

You doubled over with laughter, and he followed you close.

“How did you pay him back?”

“I told the girl he fancied he couldn’t read music, and she went on to teach him…”

You were hysterical at that point.

“And then…” Andrew choked on his own breath, and it took him a moment to recover and speak again. “Then, he was too afraid that she would push him away if he said anything, so he pretended he didn’t know and let her teach him all over again…”

You were both laughing too hard, the alcohol blurring your senses and making the stupid jokes and silly stories funnier than they ought to be. You looked at the bottle of whisky, admired the empty part of it, felt the burn of its effects on your cheeks.

And you looked at Andrew who was drying his cheeks, his long fingers spread across his stomach. He took off his glasses, they were wet with happy tears. He put them down on your coffee table and leaned into the couch again, slouched and comfortable, with his cheeks flushed with the liquor you had been drinking through the evening. His hair was held back in a messy bun, that had only become messier along the evening.

Damn, you couldn’t help the thought when it crossed your mind, because he was so bloody handsome…

He felt your stare on him, turned his attention fully to you. Focused and expectant, as if he knew you were about to say something incredibly interesting. And this black shirt he had on…

There were butterflies in your stomach and stutters on your tongue while your heart was pounding. You didn’t think. You didn’t think at all, you only felt, and wanted and easily yielded… and perhaps it was just the liquor, you would blame it on the whiskey in a few hours, but for now, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow morning. And for the first time in three months, you weren’t thinking about Frank at all either. Instead, you were thinking of Andrew, of how gentle and warm he looked sitting with you on your couch, how inviting his lips were, how you longed to touch his hair and his beard and him and…

… and then your lips were on his.

You felt him raising his eyebrows, but when you leaned closer and let your fingers find their way to his cheeks, the brush on your cheekbones told you he had closed his eyes too. And there you were, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, your mouths moving in perfect unison somehow, despite a first kiss and too much alcohol. He pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, while his other hand came up to cradle your face. The long fingers soon moved to your hair though, pulling you closer while he deepened the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck in a slow, lazy movement while you kissed, gasping for air every now and then, but your lips always connected again after a mere instant. You weren’t sure for how long you kept on kissing, too long for it to be meaningless, and yet you refused to think for now.

When you at last opened your eyes again, Andrew blinked at you, seeming a little shocked, and you weren’t sure if it was a good sign or not. You felt dizzy… dizzy with his scent, something of wood and a tinge of spices. Dizzy with his taste still on your tongue, a mixture of whiskey and something that was just him. Dizzy with the burn of his beard against your skin, with the heat of his body against yours.

Dizzy with him…

“Y/N?”

The way he whispered your name, his words a little slurred because of alcohol, and yet it sounded so good, tender, like he cradled the vowels and the consonants in his mouth, with tenderness in the way he spoke it out loud…

He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go, his hands on your waist and in your hair still, and you held onto him for a moment longer, admired how your kisses had reddened his lips.

Why did it feel so good to hold him? Why did it feel so good to kiss him…

“Erm… You… you kissed me.”

“Yeah… yeah, I did,” you whispered, refusing to pull away, remaining in his arms and your lips only centimetres away from his.

“You… I mean… We…”

You felt him leaning closer again as he took a deep breath, felt the brush of his lips on yours… but just when you were about to lean in, he pulled fully away, moving further away on the couch.

“Wait… what’s going on?”

You blinked up at him, regretting his brown curls between your fingers and the warmth of his breath against your mouth. But then your brain kicked in again, and your eyes grew round as the realization of your own movements sank in.

You had kissed him. You had kissed Andrew…

Holy…

“God, I’m sorry,” you stammered. “I… I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. God…”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you, but it was obvious that he was shaken.

“That was so out of line, I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s okay… I… I think we’ve both had a little too much to drink.”

“Yeah… yeah, I think it went to my head.”

Why was your heart aching when you thought he regretted it. He should have regretted it. And you ought to regret it too…

“Frank and Samantha…” you mumbled under your breath, thinking out loud, but Andrew caught your words and nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, we… they are the ones we want.”

He slowly nodded, ran his hand across his face, as if to clear his head.

“You… you were just drunk. Just drunk…”

He looked at his watch.

“God…it’s almost 2 a.m. We should go to bed…”

You nodded again, but stopped him when he pulled out his phone.

“I have an extra bedroom, you can stay if you want.”

“I can take a uber.”

“It’s late. You can stay, if you want to.”

Slowly, he nodded.

You let him head to the bathroom, and hid inside your bedroom, resting your back against its wooden surface as you closed it.

What the fuck was that?

[wherevermybiketakesme]

The Last 56 Days

Ella Bloor just took words right out of my mouth in the recent column posted on MAAP's site. She talked about how cycling is more than a physical activity; it's what helps her find the inner space, a robust ground for reflection and growth. Touching on the subject that brings to mind the cult of productivity and the hustle culture, she wrote: "For me, the world slows down when I ride my bike." Homerun, I wish I'd come up with a line that sexy.

For real, though, her story resonates deeply. The beauty of cycling is that it’s not just a means to explore what’s outside, a way of engaging with geography. It’s also a path to travel inward, into one’s inner landscape and topography. Riding bikes offers a piece of the world we can traverse with our own human power, and in the process, we enter a state of flow where everything falls away—it’s just you, your mind, the bike, and the world.

It reminds me of the passage that Rebecca Solnit wrote in The Faraway Nearby:

Despair compresses you into a small space, and a depression is literally a hollow in the ground. To dig deeper into the self, to go underground, is sometimes necessary, but so is the other route of getting out of yourself, into the larger world, into the openness in which you need not clutch your story and your troubles so tightly to your chest. Being able to travel both ways matters.

Through cycling, I discovered many places, both near and far. But the most important discovery is the voice within that's not so critical; a voice that tells me, with such kindness, that it's okay; the voice that, from time to time, recites a verse from Wild Geese:

You do not have to be good You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves

Not a single day passes that I’m not grateful I found my way to cycling.

I felt strong during the ride this morning; I even dared to aim for a PR on the nearby Ciburial loop, besting Ci Megi on one climbing segment. Then again at the gym, I asked Cece to give me three sets of upper body and core workouts instead of just the usual two.

This sudden surge of energy, only the follicular phase could bring. Nothing compares to the feeling of being strong in your body and calm in your mind.

Meanwhile, the moon is in her waxing crescent phase, like a sliver of a sweet smile in the clear sky tonight.

Until tomorrow.

Bandung, November 6, 2024

[dailyaudiobible]

03/02/2017 DAB Transcript

Leviticus 25:47-27:13 ~ Mark 10:32-52 ~ Psalm 45:1-17 ~ Proverbs 10:22

Today is the 2nd day of March.  Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible.  I'm Brian.  It is my pleasure and it's a joy that we can come together like this for the next step forward.  That's what we’ll do by first going back out into the wilderness among the children of Israel as their laws and customs are being initiated.  We’re reading from the Names of God Bible this week, Leviticus chapter 25, verse 47 through 27, verse 13 today.

Commentary

In the book of Leviticus for the last several days we’ve been hearing as the laws and the customs and the rituals and the festivals are being instituted by God through Moses to the people.  Where his tabernacle will be in the camp, what it is supposed to look like, very detailed, all of the things that are required to make this people who are just slaves from Egypt, they don’t really know how to govern themselves. They’ve only been slaves for four centuries.  There is this massive horde of over a million people out on the desert floor, out in the middle of nowhere and they are being utterly transformed.  Every little detail about what their culture is going to look like, they need to know these things.  They don’t know how to be anything but a slave.  A lot of people think this patch of scripture is sort of tedious and yet, man, when you dig into it, you realize there is just a lot there. There is a lot to apply to our own lives.  There is a lot to understand just historically where this story is going, why this is happening.  When we understand why this is happening, it all makes sense.  

We get today to a place where God is kind of recapping.  Alright, here are the things that I’ve told you and here are the blessings that you can expect by obeying these things.  And, conversely, here are the curses and punishments that you can expect by not.  Which brings us to consider the laws of the Lord, the things that we are to do and the things that we are not to do, the things that will bring upon us blessing and the things that will bring us dire circumstances.  We wonder how do we do all this?  And we wonder why God is controlling everything in these people's lives and why do we feel that way from time to time?  But is that really what is going on here?  Do we think that God wants to control us?  Because that would pretty much fly in the face of everything else he has ever done, beginning in the Garden of Eden.  Did God control Adam and Eve as they lifted their hand and plucked the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?  And then did he force that hand to bring the fruit into their mouths and did he contract their jaws so that they bit in rebellion?  He did not. He does not.  So what we find often in the laws and rules is something very fascinating, because embedded with them is blessing and life.  So yes, they are commands, but also invitations.

God isn’t up in heaven just trying to dream up new rules for the people of earth.  He is saying, look, Eden has fallen and we have what we have, but let me show you the narrow path that leads to life.  Let me show you the way back to yourself.  Let me show you the narrow path that will lead you back to who you were created to be.  If you will stay within these parameters and not look at them as a cage but look at them as a path then you’ll understand what I'm doing.  I'm setting you apart.  You are different.  You are mine. You are holy.  

That intertwining of God's Holy Spirit, divinity within our humanity can change the world.  It is supposed to change the world.  We are not here accidentally on some aimless, unfathomable journey that does not make any sense whatsoever and then we die.  We are here to participate in the restoration of all things back to God as they were intended from the very beginning.  If we will listen to him, if we will listen to his word and walk with him in spirit, he will only lead us to life.  He is the source of life.  He is love. These are the paths that he will lead us upon because he delights in us.  He loves us.  

So yeah, we’ll find plenty of opportunity to encounter the idea of cursings in the Bible, judgments in the Bible, and it's very easy to move through some of this territory and go like, ‘Man, that's a vengeful God there,’ but these are reactions.  God is simply saying, ‘Look, because you chose otherwise, this is what is going to happen.  You don’t have to choose that way.  You don’t have to walk into your own judgment.  It is just out there.  The choice is yours.  There is a path that leads to life and then there is a much larger path that doesn’t. What road are you on?  What road are you going to choose?  I'm doing everything I can possibly do to show you the path that will lead to life.”  So often what we do is try to find our own shortcuts to lead to life.  It's just that when we get there, what we were looking for and what we were looking at is not going to give us life and we find out we’ve slid off the narrow path.  

So when we encounter these passages of scripture, may we keep this in mind because it applies today.  It's not that esoteric.  It applies today.  What is the narrow path that leads to life for you today?  Well, that would begin with intimacy with God, fellowship with God today and then choosing to walk in his will and in his ways.  In other words, to obey him in the things that he has given us as signposts, as mile markers on our faith journey.  

Prayer

Father, thank you for showing us these parameters.  Thank you for illuminating the narrow path that leads to life.  We apologize for the times that we have chosen a different path.  We humble ourselves and repent for the times that we have rejected your invitation into life, choosing otherwise, choosing flashy, blinking, cardboard imitations.  Forgive us for that.  You have offered us the real thing and we have gone in search of some sort of easier substitute.  But there is no substitute for the real thing and we want the real thing.  We want to be as we were created to be and this is what the gospel offers us.  So come, Holy Spirit, indwell us.  Rise up within us.  Help us to choose life this day.  We pray in Jesus’ name.  Amen.  

Announcements

Www.DailyAudioBible.com is the website.  It's home base.  It's where you find out what is going on around here.  There is always something going on, so be sure to check it out.  

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if the mission that we share to bring the spoken word of God to anyone who will listen, anywhere on this planet, any time of day or night and to build community around that rhythm so that no one is alone, if that has brought you life, then thank you for your partnership in allowing us to continue to bring that life every single day, continually trying to shout in the  streets the word of the Lord to anyone who will listen and heed it. Well, that's what we’ve been trying to do, so thank you for your partnership.  There is a link.  It is on the home page of www.DailyAudioBible.com.  If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible App, you can press the More button in the lower right-hand corner.  Or the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996, Spring Hill, TN 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or comment, (877) 942-4253 is the number to dial.  

And that's it for today.  I'm Brian. I love you.  I do.  And I’ll be waiting for you here tomorrow.  

Community Prayer Requests and Praise Reports

Hi, it's Alicia in Kansas calling for Max M.  I just let you know that, brother, I heard your prayer request today. It's February 26th and I am praying for you.  And I heard your cry, the Lord is there with you.  Depression blinds us.  It isolates us and I believe that if you can hook up with a Christian therapist, somebody you can talk to, get outside, get air, get around people, make sure you’re getting some human touch.  Coming off those medications can make it even worse than it is, but God is there.  Just keep saying Jesus.  Just keep calling out his name.  He is there.  Those are lies.  The chemical reactions in our brain can take us to different places.  I'm praying for you and I know there are hundreds if not thousands of others that are praying for you, brother.  Please just keep calling out for him.  I love you.  I'm praying for you.  You are on my list and I will not stop.  I ask that you do the same.  Blessings, sweet brother.  Bye-bye.

Hi, this is Charlotte calling from the UK for Max M.  I heard your call and was really moved by just the emotion in your voice.  But this is from God, I believe.  There is an old song called Cast Your Burdens on Jesus, For He Cares For You.  It's an old song and I think it is based on one of the Psalms, Psalm 55 which is cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you. He will never let the righteous be shaken.  I just really encourage you against the depression.  Just meditate on him because he is very close.  He's super close, in fact, and he loves and if you just rest in him, feel the burdens just lift off of you.  Rest in his love and knowledge that he will take these burdens from you if you just keep pushing in and resting in him.  And also for Justin in Sacramento, thank you for your encouragement, message.  One of my friends was needing to hear that so deeply, so it did get through and it did benefit them.  Thanks. Bye.  

Hello Daily Audio Bible listeners.  I am Cornelia here in Sydney.  Thank you, Brian, for your very interesting readings from the Old Testament which I find, you know, the ones that are painted quite hard to read and you make it very interesting with the way you express the Old Testament generally. I'm just putting out a point forward for Max whose prayer request I heard on the 25th of February. Max, I understand you wanted more help for solving an issue you have with depression and that you feel really, really at a low point about it.  I just want to say that answered prayer comes in many different ways.  Just would like to suggest something.  I'm a health practitioner and deal with people with depression and Jesus speaks to us by giving us answers in many different ways, but I thought I would give you my email address and just give you a couple of ideas that you could follow with your church community for yourself.  My email is CG_Shepherd.@bigpond.com.  Okay, that's it.  I heard a lot of other people really asking for prayer and I'm in prayer with them. For the gentleman with the brain tumor and also that had a kidney tumor, and I hope you can take some good supplements or things to strengthen your body during this period of time.  God bless everyone and I love…

Hi, this is Victorious Soldier and I'm calling tonight to pray for some of the Dabbers.  I want to pray for Nancy from Rockford, IL.  Her husband's health has declined and he has had the kidney tumor.  I just want to pray for you, Nancy.  It is such a blessing that the two of you are together and able to do this.  I'm praying for you, Nancy, that God will continue to open up doors and bless that you all can enjoy each other.  Lord, I want to pray for Pamela.  She was talking about the drought there in California.  I have a son that is down there too in Oroville with that flood and I'm praying for you all, that the water won't overflow for you, that you will get the rain that you need.  I want to pray for Anthony with depression.  Lord, I pray for my brother Anthony.  Lord, the depression is bringing him down.  I pray for him and I pray for Byron and also his wife, Lord. O Lord, in the name of Jesus, Lord, you lift them up.  Father, you touch them in the mighty name of Jesus.  Lord, they need you.  You are their present help in trouble.  Lord, let your word give them the joy.  The joy of the Lord is their strength.  O Lord, have your way with Byron and Anthony and his wife, Lord.  O Lord, in the name of Jesus.  Lord, you touch Nancy's husband, Lord.  O Father, in the name of Jesus, you are a doctor that never lost a case. Father, you are Jehovah Rapha. Lord, you heal, Lord, in the name of Jesus, that they can have their lives together, Lord.  In the mighty name of Jesus.  Lord, you bless your people, Father.  In the mighty name of Jesus, you touch them and you continue to bless, you continue to…

Good morning DAB family.  This is Jackie in New Jersey and I'm calling with the most wonderful praise report ever. Our daughter has reconciled with me. I am so happy.  Thank you, Lord!  Thank you, Lord!  Thank you for your prayers.  Today is the 27th of February and this is a Monday and Saturday I took my grandson.  Thank God for him.  He is doing excellent in school.  My granddaughter's birthday was on Saturday and I had taken her a card, so I took my grandson over there.  He wanted to be with his sister.  And my granddaughter came out to get her card and this was the first time I hugged my granddaughter and her and I hugged in the car and it was just such a wonderful feeling.  I started crying and she said, “Grandma, this is a new year.  Stop crying.  This is a new year.”  That's what she kept reciting to me, so I looked over her shoulder and my daughter was standing out of the car and my granddaughter got out of the car.  She said she loved me and my daughter got in the car and oh, it was such a wonderful feeling.  She hugged me and told me to stop crying and stop crying and she said, “Mom, I love you.”  And we just hugged and I told her I loved her back.  She got out of the car and I left, but I smiled all the way home.  I was so excited.  Thank you for your prayers.  I appreciate everything.  I love my family.  I love my DAB family.  Amen.

Well good afternoon Daily Audio Bible family.  My name is Dionne, the Radical Midwife, and I have been a Dabber for the last three years.  This, however, is my absolute first time calling.  Brian, I just want to tell you thank you for your act of obedience, first and foremost, for your lovingkindness, and for sharing your precious wife with us, Miss Jill. I'm sorry for the loss of your mother. I know it has been a couple of months. I have a prayer request, if I can. I have a 14-year-old son who was diagnosed with brain and spine cancer on August 19, 2016.  We have been constantly battling, but I am yet encouraged in the Lord.  I am trusting and believing that God is going to use his life to get the glory.  I am believing without wavering.  It has been a long arduous road, but I know that God is able.  To all of you that call in, Miss Warrior Princess, Honey, you bless me all the time. I thank God for you.  And I believe it's Blind Man, the Poet, thank you for sharing and encouraging and checking in on people.  And lastly, there was a young lady that called and is suffering from depression and anxiety.  __________ to the abuse of her father.  I just wanted to encourage you, young lady.  Life is full of challenges, but the word declares that we are more than overcomers.  The word says guard your heart with all of your diligence for out of it are the issues of life.  I just want you to believe that God is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him and he's more than able to heal you.  Be encouraged.  God bless you Daily Audio Bible.  

[pohlepen]

In the darkest part of the night he stood, the only thing defining him out the shadows he blended with; the glow of his cigarette tip. The flaming cherry flare reflects off his nocturnal eyes. Stepping out, suddenly visible, he speaks; his voice matching the smoke that billows from between his lips, “Howdy”.

       a shudder runs along her spine as she steps into the bite of the night, lighter stuttering in her hands at the broken pledge of a nicotine fix. her frustration shifts to errant surprise, a hiccup of unease help in her chest held like a pinky promise at the wraithlike figure looming in the near dark.  the dread of any prey animal keeps her still, but pulse-thumping self preservation kicks in and her mouth curls up in a toothy smile. she knows him, doesn't she?  he's like a flavor of something breathed in another room, behind a closed and locked door.  but here exists a whispered familiarity.   ❝  it’s a little late, if y’wanted a dance,  ❞    cigarette plucked from between her lips, she shrugs.    ❝  but i guess i can make an exception, if you let me borrow your lighter.  ❞    her eyes don’t leave his face, doe-eyed and deliberate.    ❝  help a girl out.  ❞

[pohlepen]

       ❝  do you like it?  ❞    she pulls her arm to herself quickly, fingers around her wrist tightly.  it's a thing to self soothe.  to keep her from extending her arm to him, palm facing up in delirious offering.  it’s the only thing she can do to keep herself from touching him, from drowning herself in the depth of his physical contact.  in the most wanting and desperate part of her mind she imagines him cradling her gently, bringing her hand closer to smell.  she can almost feel the tickle of his nose on her skin, the flutter of his lashes.  𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭.   it would be perfect.  instead, she takes a few painful steps away from him and begins to rifle through her purse for a pack of cigarettes.  the perfume is new, something she’d picked up off the drug store aisle because she’d like the bottle.   𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝. hopes it smells too sweet.  or maybe she smells too much like the ash of the cigarettes she smokes.  she hopes he says something about the perfume, says something about her too.  give her a reason to get angry so she can be inflammatory and stoke his own in return.  so she can crush this thing brewing between them before it’s even had a chance to properly steep.  he’s still so unknown to her and that makes him fascinating.  it makes him interesting beyond all else and that scares her.  the intensity in which she wants to know him, not just carnally, scares her more.     ❝  i was thinking of throwing it out,  ❞     𝑠𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛’𝑡.    ❝  i’m not sure i like it.  ❞    she does, even more so now that it seems so have caught his olfactory senses.

cont. from here / @formshaper ( dream ♡ )

[pohlepen]

       it's hot.  that’s the first thing she notices when she wakes up, skin nearly bare and tacky with perspiration.  the AC unit's been on its last leg for months, tonight's misfortune was having to listen to the machine sputter and choke like a dying thing until the early, blazing wet hours of the morning.  humidity clings to her, hair coiled at the ends like a burned piece of paper.  across the street, flood lights trigger at the fluttering of moth wings and half lit shadows swallow the street whole.  her curtains are too old, too thin, they do little to shield her from the brightness of the night outside.  a groan escapes her, fingers jamming clumsily on the nightstand as she fumbles for the ringing phone and answers without really looking at the caller ID.  a male voice speaks on the other end,

              ❝   a heads up that i was thinkin' about you.   ❞

       this is the first time he’s called before showing up, she knows what that means. can guess, at least. so she gives him a sleep husky reply and rises, shrugs the sheets, wanders barefoot and yawning into the little kitchen and presses the oven on with one finger.  she sets out two glasses, mismatched in tint and size, but that’s most things in her home.  liquor is something she’s always got in plenty, so she places a few options on the table.  some cheap, some expensive- all do the same thing in the end.  when a rapt sounds on the door almost twenty-five minutes later, she opens it without hesitation.  the body on the other side of the threshold is tired.  he appears like a shell, a struggle-worn haunt.  he looks like one too.  lack of sleep and sun is evident in the hollowed, dark space below his eyes, and she wonders if even the short walk to the dining room is going to be too much for his drained frame. ❛  hm, ❜ a  soft murmur cuts through the unceremonious silence of night, she offers it as a greeting.  her fingers rise and curl against his neck, palm splaying flat as it slides down between his shoulder blades and applies a light pressure.   ❛  come in, come in.  ❜

@benbraeden / starter. ♡

[pohlepen]

       ❝  it's not irrelevant, ❞    she's quick to argue.     ❝  he hurt you, it matters.  ❞     but that doesn't mean it's easy to talk about.  god knows there's shit she doesn't want to tell him, things she'd rather be out of reach.  she's never asked him how far he's delved into her mind, her dreams.  her nightmares.    ❝  it matters to me.  ❞    anger is easily replaced by guilt, why would it matter that it mattered to her?  her opinion on his suffering doesn't make it real.  it already was.  but he has her support, whatever that means, and she wants him to know that.

       ❝  come here,  ❞   a gentler tone as she gathers him to her, wraps her arms around his shoulders and leans up on her toes to see him better.    ❝  you can tell me whatever you want, good or bad.  and i'll...   be quiet.  i'll just listen.  ❞    not everything needs a response, some things just need to sit between them.  though she'd be lying if she denied the spark of anger in her chest at something like that happening to him.  her prison with her mother was only 8 years, a much shorter sentence.  but 100 years?  that's two lifetimes for people like her.  the thought of that isolation is enough to churn her stomach.     ❝  i'm here now,  ❞    her palms find his face, his jaw between her hands.    ❝  i won't let that happen to you again.  ❞     he's powerful, godlike, there's something unnerving about hearing how that was taken from him.  and she's delusional to think anything she could do would stop it.  maybe that recollection should stop her, but it doesn't.  he can protect himself alone, but now he doesn't have to.

@formshaper cont. from here

[pohlepen]

       fired is such a permanent word.  she prefers exiled, shunned.  stripped of her licensure and title and tossed back into the sorry hole she’d crawled her way out of.  that somehow makes it all feel less real.  it's not like it was undeserved, she had been skimming off the top of the pyxis system, pocketing all sorts of narcotics and benzos for her own desires.  her firing and subsequent punishment was deserved.  but tonight isn't about that and she's determined not to let it ruin the mood, so what if she's higher than god off some weed she bought from a kid barely old enough to spell marijuana?    ❝  yeah,  ❞     the joint is extended toward the other woman.    ❝  and this shit hits like a freight.  ❞

does squint suspiciously. that doesn't sound quite right. hadn't frankie just gotten canned? perching on elbows, valerie toes frankie's shoes with her own. "you high already, babe?"

[pohlepen]

       her only response is a hum, of course that’s his answer. it’s a slightly disingenuous sound that emits softly from the back of her throat as she tilts her head toward the open aperture, letting the wind sweep the heat from her cheeks.  she knows little of huck’s employer beyond vague mentions here and there.  he has money, he pays huck to complete jobs.  frankie gets to reap the benefits with none of the labor; besides occasionally coating herself in huck’s blood, finger deep in his muscle to retrieve a stray bullet or shard of something shiny and hard.  she’s getting better at sutures, they can probably both agree to that.  if he doesn’t want to tell her, can’t tell her, she knows better than to pry.  their arrangement is heavy with secrets and saturated with things they both willfully ignore.    it works best like this.

       she slips the belt where it bisects her chest and pulls her legs up beneath her on the seat.  for only a moment, she considers leaning her torso out the window to let the sticky summer air kiss her dry.  but trying to negotiate such a movement with the cigarette in her hand seems like too much effort.   and in this tacky heat, it hardly matters that her skin is still damp with motel pool water.  legs bare, save for where her sundress brushes against her thighs, she's only slightly pink.  with a handful of new freckles, it’s a testament to the sun and the pool he'd all but had to drag her from.  frankie grew up swimming, probably could have been someone if she hadn't preferred sneaking joints in the girls locker room to any sort of competitive drive.  but that was always her problem - a clear lack of motivation in regard to anything academic or self bettering.  anything she didn't consider fun, anything that didn't bring her instant gratification was a bust.

       eyes red-rimmed from chlorine or the weed or both, frankie offers him a keen smile.    ❝  i always wanna participate, you just never let me do any of the cool shit,  ❞    incessantly expressive, she shifts and hovers the cigarette in front of his mouth.  it’s extended toward his lips in offering, but held firm between her fingers.  she’s not actually bothered, it doesn’t actually matter what she does so long as she’s there.  the company is enough, though she holds the cigarette hostage between them with teasing negotiation.    ❝  so you really can’t tell me anything?  ❞

@pohlepen she reaches over and plucks the cigarette from between his lips before he's even allowed a proper drag, ashing it out the car window before sticking it in her mouth. "what's this job about anyway? you're not usually so secretive." nosey as ever, she offers him an expectant look.

racing winds rage against the windows of the customized black chevy silverado. barreling down the freeway at speeds a little too fast for anyone to think of stopping it. the texan sits relaxed int he driver's seat , single marlboro resting between his lips , barely lit he's only been able to take the initial hit --- so distracted by things inside and outside the cab of the truck to pay attention to the vice of nicotine. he's busy thinking, or so he tells himself the reality quickly washing away the minute that he feels delicate fingers pull the cigarette from his mouth only to place it in her own. a single brow raises at the action for a moment , insulted she wouldn't even think of asking before taking it from him. ( he shouldn't have been surprised --- requesting permission wasn't exactly a part of this friendship ) still he hadn't even gotten to enjoy it.

the thoughts are washed away briefly by the question spoken over the roaring winds. he has to pay extra attention to catch it , and he considers for a moment raising the windows but doesn't. her hair looks nice dancing in the makeshift storm , and the feeling of the gust against his face is more relaxing than he'd like to admit. ❝ this one isn't for me , can't really share details. ❞ mostly because he doesn't have them. the explanation comes simply. huckleberry is usually in charge of his own targets , but the benefactor at times will guide him in the right direction. and often leaves him only a name with no explanation of their crimes , and the blonde knows better than to ask.

❝ the job's always the same. ❞ eyes light up behind tinted rose sunglasses and he pulls them down a little to catch her own , ❝ why ? you feelin' like participating this time ? ❞

[pohlepen]

       ❝  it was a good effort on your part,  ❞    the compliment is genuine, even if she looks a little too amused.    ❝  but i think you should probably get a gun. just a little one you can fit in your purse, it’ll be cute.  ❞

open starter

“ – Okay, in retrospect, I realize that throwing the whole can of pepper spray at someone’s face isn’t how they’re supposed to be used. I just panicked –”

[pohlepen]

       ❝   let’s perform an exorcism   ---   i think that’d be fun.   ❞

"We have no plans for Halloween and this feels like a sin. We need to find a party to go to, or movies to rent, or something. We can't not celebrate."

[pohlepen]

       ❝  he didn’t hurt me,  ❞    a lie, clearly evident by the freshly blooming bruises on her cheek and jawline. like spindly purple spiderwebs and cracked alabaster. with a wince, she pulls bella’s hand away from her face and presses a gentle kiss to her fingertips.    ❝  i’m fine, really,  ❞     the digits of her right hand are clutched closely to her chest, knuckles red and scratched. she babies the appendage. his jaw had made a satisfying crunch when she'd collided with it,  [  kept colliding with it  ]  ---  that's what matters now despite the lingering ache. her anger had taken flight like a bird, the flapping of wings equally as quick as the stomping of her heels into the man’s skull. it strikes her now, far too late, that she’ll have to throw these heels away. and this outfit. and she’ll have to come up with an alibi. cozying up to bella with a hand around her waist, mostly to hide the tremble of her form, she tugs the other woman a little too urgently to be considered casual.    ❝  doesn't matter, baby, let's go.  ❞

@pohlepen said " before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

It certainly looked suspicious, but Bella's focus wasn't on the man on the ground. Instead, she stepped close to Frankie, cupping the other's face tenderly, tilting it gently as if for inspection.

"I don't care if it was. Did he hurt you?"

If he had, it was a good thing he was already dead. Whatever Frankie might have done was nothing in comparison to what Bella would do.

[pohlepen]

      ❝  hmm?  ❞    head in her hand, index finger twirling circles in the sand, she laughs gently at the compliment and turns to properly face bella. eyes soft, possibly uncharacteristically so, she leans in to press a chaste kiss to the other woman’s jaw before extending a hand and inspecting it carefully.    ❝  jealous?  ❞    she questions with a wry, half-heady look.    ❝  or hungry?  ❞

@pohlepen | did nothing but Bella has Frankie on the brain.

"You have beautiful skin." Bella says, as though this is not a wildly outlandish thing to say, especially unprompted. She's too busy looking at Frankie's collarbones, anyway, where freckles are smattered like constellations. "I'm a mite jealous."

[pohlepen]

       sometimes he texts her back.  and sometimes he doesn't.  she knows better than to expect consistent communication from him.  it’s not something she takes personally, because she’s just as guilty of setting her phone down and forgetting it for a few hours or days or fucking weeks, even.  but something about this time, this ‘see you later’, felt different.  it went down as easily as gravel, sat heavy like rocks and preemptive grief in her stomach the entire time he’s been gone.  it gnawed and ate at her yesterday and the day before that and all of today into the muggy, dark hours of the morning.  and that’s what spurred her unannounced visit, key twisting in the lock a few times in warning.  she makes enough noise to be heard, at least she thinks she does.

       evidently not.

       she half expects to take the butt of the gun to the face, but that'd be her fault wouldn't it?  she knows better than to sneak up on him sleeping, or anyone sleeping for that matter.  but especially him, wound so tightly that he’s more coil than person at this point.  her palms raise in a show of obvious good will, nothing she has can hurt him.  eyes wide, hand withdrawn, following his jerking form with her heartbeat in her throat, she offers a casual,    ❝  i called you.  ❞    like that should be enough of an explanation to her presence.  but with the gun aside, recognition falling across huck’s features like the setting sun, relief pools heavy in the sag of her shoulders.

       ❝   i just didn't want to be alone,   ❞    frankie answers his question, makes it about her own strangling fear of isolation to feel less stupid about worrying over him.    ❝  just go back to sleep.  ❞    she states it like an order, direct but gentle.  sure, she could probably inspire him into fucking because she wants to, but he does really looks beat.  like something half hollowed out, half someplace else.  or maybe this is just what everyone looks like when they’ve been startled awake.  he could ask why she's not working tonight, she could make up a lie about getting into a fight with the bartender and getting taken off the schedule for a week.  she could make up a lie about anything.  instead, she's grateful for the dim light of the apartment and the way it hides the yellowy-purple bruises healing on her chin and knuckles.

       ❝   lie back, ❞    her hand on his chest applies just enough pressure to ease him back toward his original position on the couch, slight encouragement to relax.  though it's easier said than done, she gets it.  she’d offer him a pill, but he wouldn’t take it.  she’d ask if he’s alright, but she knows just how predictably he’ll answer.  instead she slips off her shoes, abandoning them on the floor and joins him on the couch.  her knees press into the cushion on either side of his waist, straddling his lap briefly before tossing her jacket aside.  her hips roll a little as she settles her weight on him.  her leg nudges his apart and she tucks her own knee between them, and then she sinks down onto him so fluidly that she’s almost melting.  head on his chest, she can hear the thump of his heart and it soothes her so suddenly and fully that it almost hurts.  the ticking against her cheek like an old clock reminds her of a memory she didn’t previously recall.  it leaves her quiet and sentimental for a moment.  if she's too heavy, he'll tell her.  or maybe he won't.  but she's not staying here the whole night anyway, she's not really going to sleep.  she just needed to see him alive and as well as anyone with his job and his life can be, and he is.    ❝ i’m not gonna bother you, promise, ❞    more than she already has tonight.  she’s just going to close her eyes for a second.    ❝  just go back to sleep.  ❞

vices are often indulged in the dead of night , but that's not the reason that he's given frankie a key. passed out and covered in bruises , the veteran sleeps halfway on the couch in the loft's living room. boots kicked to the side , remnants of his work kit scattered from the entrance to the couch. half drank glass of whiskey on the coffee table , likely to leave a water stain from neglect. no frankie has a key because of the cactus that sits on the kitchen counter , his only companion in this life , and one that he'd like to keep alive at least as long as he can. and with him traveling so often , the houston loft is more often than not left empty. unused , as huck finds himself in hotel room after hotel room scattered throughout the states and ( at times ) even aboard. he doesn't mind though. or he tells himself as much. if he can make a difference in this world he's going to. sometimes it's just a little more exhausting than he remembers. things like these were a lot easier when he was twenty-four , it hasn't even been that long... but thirty-two feels like a lifetime.

especially in this line of work , knees and backs went bad fast. last time he went to the doctor they told him his cartilage in his knees would give out if he didn't start trying to rebuild it and taking it easy. huck had at that point resigned to the idea that he was going to run his body into the ground. how could he stop ? his whole life revolved around saving the innocent , helping the very man overcome the injustices of the world... even if the methods were often unconventional. without that ? who was he. he wasn't anybody. without it --- he might as well kill himself , which was the plan when his body gave out anyway.... maybe that's why he'd given frankie a key. the only other person that had a copy was currently trying to arrest him. something about him finally crossing the line. a story for another time... his dreams were too busy to focus on things that would just upset him, too busy retelling old war stories... to busy reliving trauma.

it's the light touch on his shoulder that startles him , a lighter touch than he's used to. eyes flutter away as he's jolted from his dreams , all two-hundred plus pounds of him flinching away at the touch. a moment the pistol at his side is gripped with a strength that's turning knuckles white. but red hair coming into light instantly causes a sigh of relief. he can see it in her eyes , the concern that falls over her at the sight in front of her. he doesn't like it. wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand he moves to get up. using the couch as leverage so he doesn't look like he's weak or struggling... he doesn't want her to see him like that. he never want's anyone to see him compromised but especially not --- people he considered special.

❝ darlin' , i wasn't expecting you... ❞ a yawn , he's exhausted. ❝ did something happen ? ❞ the concern in his voice is evident , just as , the fact that he's likely only been asleep for a couple of hours.

[ check ] sender reaches out to touch receiver, expressing concern for them from @pohlepen