A Musical Crush

On any given day I will often find myself in the mood to not only "hear" but also to listen to and to be "romanticized" by a particular song. Whether the tune is slow and deep or hard, fast and shallow, the need is vast and like a person whose strings are being pulled by some kind of higher being puppeteer, it becomes my sole mission to incorporate this song as part of my day and thus, my mood.

Once the song has ended and served it's purpose of helping me move along in a meaningful, mind blowing direction, I feel like a man possessed and the undying need to hit "repeat" becomes bigger than my person. In a way that can be best described as "emotionally orgasmic" I strike the necessary button multiple times just so I can be enveloped, transcended, lost and once again found by the musical revelation that for that very moment defines me.

"Am I right side up or upside down?"

Pistol Waving Goodbye

We made our way through the woods. We arrived through the use of a dirt road. Each side was littered with the carnivorous Venus Flytrap. I'd never seen anything like that. Who KNEW that plants had teeth? I was enthralled. I shot a gun that day. I was fucking six years old. It was loud. The sound was piercing. I didn't like it. I felt no power. I was just doing something.

We made our way through the woods. It seemed like such a long walk. We ALWAYS walked. He pissed everyone off. We'd have to get out of cars and walk. We'd have to leave the house and walk. Sometimes I felt trapped in his abode and wished I could walk while he slapped her but I didn't know where to go. So, I'd pick up the phone and cry.

We made our way through the woods. I saw bones covered in leaves and pine straw. He assured me they were the bones of an animal. Today I'm still not so sure. They were white. Probably bleached by the sun. Hidden beneath trees and clouds they didn't look real. I hated that day.

The woods seemed to never end. To my left was a clearing. To my right was trees and brush and ahead looked to be a cliff. It was water. I knew that river, bayou or creek ran further than it looked and I wondered why there was no bridge that brought me to it. I looked. I saw ripples and he said, "See it?" And yes there it was. The alligator. I didn't know that it could kill me. I didn't know it would want to. It drifted on the current just as I did through the woods: Silently.

We never shot at the thing. Apparently it's teeth were not as sharp as the plants from Venus we'd seen earlier. Shooting guns. Breathing. My heart skipped a beat that day and yet my pace quickens.

I wonder if 1976 will catch up?

Cutting Through The Missing Ink Penned Colored Sky

There's a cold, white January sky. It's the end of the month and the view outside is fitting. The horizontal blinds through which I am peering provide a stark contrast to the pale air that looms above and I tilt my head in various directions as if I'm cutting and dividing what I see. In the process, I'm able to bisect into sections my favorite tree and I can remove entire floors from the building across the street.

Even if only "I" can see a difference, I am still making changes.

In the distance there is water. It appears dark and empty and I know the depths could swallow anything that was willing to take a dive. If I so desired, I could send my mind adrift in it's currents but because I now live with what seems to be a perennial chill I prefer another option.

Cerebration carries me to this morning. My thoughts flowed under the pouring hot water from the shower's reign. It trickled down upon my body and for just a few moments I was able to lose any shake that I was feeling. Although my eyes were closed, I could still envision the steam as it clung to the window and the mirror where as a kid I'm sure I would've written my name...

However, at this point in my life, leaving a mark is more than just a hand written expression.

So why am I such a bloody mess when I cannot find my pen?