singing man

This week, well the last two, have been about as much as I can take on this ride. But its fortunate I have a vast collection of music to shuffle through my mindPod (and actual shite too if you must know… between the collections is about two solid months of non stop tuneage) and I happened to land on Austin Lucas. Ahhh Austin Lucas. Not a well known musician, though he should be. And today, he is my hero. His style may not be for all but he was exactly what I needed. Most specifically his song Singing Man.

The past few weeks have been that of feeling weak and inadequate. Regardless  of what anyone said or did I wasn’t going to get it. That is the nature of the little car that whirrs me round. But when its quiet and I can’t hear anything I tap my dbase of songs and here it is… Austin Lucas. So today was my dad’s birthday (dude! 69 – he’s gonna throw that around all year because he’s dirty… GROSS!). I hate family events for more reasons than I can tell you today but the short version is because my sister somehow  – with her super powers (do you get those during child birth? if so I may have to rethink shit) – flip-floped me in the line of birth order and is now the oldest instead of youngest and has a complete vulcan mind-meld hold over my mother. I think its because she is married and has a child and I myself have neither, in fact I do not want child and I am divorced, thus I am broken. so there’s that… So I couldn’t go. I just couldn’t. I know I disappointed my bro, and I hate that. But to be fair I was unwell on Sunday but, it was made all the worse by my anxiety. I felt well…. weak and small and like I mattered little. My solution was to say hey, I’ll come over on his actual birthday! So the last three days I kept hearing the words…

‘I had followed her on
Until breathlessly she said
Here’s my hand, won’t you take it, won’t you?
Oh
You are not weak
And not small
In my eyes you are mighty’

I realized its only in my own eyes that I am weak and small. I may not be the singin man but I cause my own shit storm sometimes. I need to realize she is the youngest, I am the oldest, I am not weak and not small but rather a person who is mighty…

 

this is just him which to me is more pure, because if you are struggling within – you don’t hear harmony. I sing and I don’t hear harmony. Though the link above has the harmony’s with the female voice (who I’m ashamed to say I don’t know).

[youtube]http://youtu.be/F41Ddw1Czuw[/youtube]

 

Thanks Austin, needed you this week and thanks for the tweet…

 

WoW: Exercise 22 – Select a piece of music that reflects the mood of writing you’d like to aim for. Press play. Start free writing. Write the first words that come into your head. When the music’s over, so is the writing. I’d recommend finding out how long the song is before you start the exercise. You may feel cheated in your writing time if you pick a song by The Ramones. Of course, if you feel like writing a short, punky piece by all means, go for it!

WoW: FuckSox Friday on Wednesday

A Blank page is staring at me. It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is a further desire to be funny or profound or informative or shit just funny… But I have a story and FuckSox Friday needs to have some stuff in it stockings. I have some crazy shit to share, shit that makes the track of my bipolar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

Becca had this lovely flow, this prose-esk way of writing her Familial Friday and starting with “I remember…” I love that. It took me with her back to her space, along with her to her memory. I don’t have anything quite so lovely, but I have something familiar. Sorry it’s not short, but then, we were told word count wasn’t the goal (yay for you!)

Write on Wednesday: Make it Better…

A FuckSox Friday piece on a Wednesday.

Sometimes it’s just like that… you’re almost 12 and your Mom is doing her best to embarrass you with her dead on Billy Martin impression. She’s screaming at the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring the winning run for your team. Little did miss catcher girl know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up and sitting your blubbering ass on the plate, before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about how little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport ma, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic meltdown and the fact that you can’t breathe is barely enough to cover your shame ad embarrassment. Your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are really thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and had enough sense to find your inhaler.

This was pretty much the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I was not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. Over time when playing here and there, I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I’ve grown older I learned that Billy Martin Ma wasn’t reserved for the softball field. She is a protective bitch (probably the only time you will hear or see bitch and my mom in the same sentence and it is a respect thing). In fact being protective is a trait she passed down to me, kinda like being ‘her daughter’ would follow me always. Just like looking back on the incident that day, being her daughter isn’t a bad thing. It is a major part of what has shaped me. I don’t sit on the bench and watch those I love get kicked in the shins by some stupid bitch in plastic guards. I don’t give a shit if I get kicked out for saying what I think is right even if my voice is sometimes at the wrong tone. And even though I may not be in the best place with her at that moment, I am never ashamed to be introduced as her daughter. Because sometimes it’s just like that… you get totally boned by life one way or another only to realize your mom is still a badass.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 18 – Look through your previous WoW posts (or select a short writing piece that you would like to work on). Read through your piece carefully and let’s attempt to make it better. Look for redundant words, clichés or overused phrases. Chop and change. This is not an exercise in word count; it’s not about simply whittling it down. Make it a better piece of writing. Post your original and edited piece. THEN, throw it to the*wolves. Ask for advice from WoWers. With  help you can make your writing shine. **

Original:

A Blank page is staring at me.

 

It’s been this way for a week and it’s unnerving. There’s this unseen pressure about where to start and what to fill it with. So I go read other peoples pages… oops, not the best idea really… now there is this pressure to be funny or profound or informative… But I told Becca last week on her post I wanted to steal Familial Friday. (Probably because if I called it FuckSox Friday no one would know what it was about… or think it about something else entirely! Maybe I don’t care and FuckSox Friday it shall be.) I have some crazy shit to share, beyond my normal bi-polar express, and this may be the push I need to do it. So I will attempt to make the page not blank. As always keep your rose colored glasses handy.

 

Sometimes it’s just like that… You’re goin on 12, and your Mom is doing her best Billy Martin impression with the ump at home plate because the opposing catcher kicked you with her shin-guards in a futile attempt to keep you from scoring (what would ultimately be) the winning run for your team. Little did she know that your 6′ tall mother, who was managing your team, would have no problem charging the field, picking you up, sitting your blubbering ass on the plate before screaming at the ump with her thick and getting thicker Boston accent (this is California – they think you are making sexual advances when you just want to eat your lunch) about little miss shin splints should be banned for life for unnecessary roughness. (um I think that’s a different sport, but thank you for playing) At this point you have gone into full asthmatic mode and can’t breathe, your mom is ejected from the field, your dad has no idea how to handle any of it and you are just thankful that someone’s mom knows that you put ice on a shin to keep it from swelling and found your inhaler.

This was close to the end of my oh-so-illustrious softball career. The point where I became known as “that lady’s daughter” or “hey, isn’t your mom the one that…” and my favorite… “dude, you got totally boned at home plate and your mom is a badass!” I admit I am not the greatest athlete, but I enjoyed the game. I even learned to deal with my nicknames having to be printed in a mini-font and taking the entire back of my jersey… I learned to embrace being her daughter.

As I grew older I learned that she was protective and that was a trait she passed down and that being her daughter would follow me always. In my adult life (oh yes, 20+ years later) I learned to get used to being introduced as “her daughter … Oh I just love your mom” or “Have you met sars? no? Oh, she’s her daughter. OH!”

Write On Wednesday

 

3am…

She worries about how cold it is and how lonely he must feel outside.
Every time she pushes him to that place and he turns from her.
She screams at him ‘let me in.’
And he stares at her with that blank look that says ‘…I just, I just can’t.’

And he walks away.
So she stands there… spent. For what seems like days.
Waiting for something, anything.
Crying tears that leave sandpaper trails on her cheeks.
Wondering if this was too far to push…
this time.

They are both hurt, scared, alone.

The mirror shows the blinking clock by their bed, it’s late.
But he’s across the house, alone in another room, hurting within himself.
The tears have dried, their mark only visible in the bags beneath her eyes and when she looks in the mirror.
Softly the rain begins to fall.

She goes to him, lying there in the dark, listening to the sound of the rain.
Beside him, she hopes for tomorrow, and the sleep comes.
Finally the sleep comes to them.

[youtube]http://youtu.be/jcgunQft0Tc[/youtube]

3am performed by Rob Thomas (I don’t like the video but this is the acoustic version from story tellers where he gives the real background… kinda defeating the purpose. but for those of you who need the eye candy find him here.)

Thanks to  ink paper pen for this weeks prompt.

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:
Hadge says: Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song

Write On Wednesdays

~I don’t write fiction, though this is not entirely true. Of course a bit of a departure from my usual style as its a rather prose-ish piece. ( I really only write poetry when I am at the bar with um a glass of potato juice…) so I am open to anything anyone has to say.

its 2am, do you know where your children are?

Thanks again to inkpaperpen for another Write on Wednesday…

Write On Wednesdays

via fb” “I’m not really sure if I slept at all last night or if I just dreamed of not sleeping… either way there is not enough coffee in the world to wake me up”

I am a notoriously bad sleeper. I am known to be awake at 3 am twiddling my thumbs and wondering why I didn’t just break down and take a sleeping pill say, 6 hours ago. But then oh… that would have required forethought and I don’t do that. Plus there is that whole bait-n-switch thing that happened when they told me ‘no, no… you have to work at 7am not the 8:30 you were promised and just for shits ‘n giggles why don’t you come in at 6am a couple days a week.’ You know, because I am do so well on no sleep and an inability to procure coffee that doesn’t taste like they scraped it out of the bottom of the pot before I have to be shiny and happy on the phone for 8 hours. Maybe I should re-think my strategy. Maybe I should install a key to un-wind my brain or maybe I should subscribe to my brother’s method of relaxation and start subjecting myself to reality tv! That’s enough to lobotomize you or in the very least give you enough pause to (does the weighing air gesture) remember,oh wait! I have tea, and a hot bath or my friend zanax or even a really long stick to shove up my nose so I don’t have to suffer through this! yay. Go to bed snookie.

WoW: Write the Music

So I stumbled across Write on Wednesdays. I’m gonna make an attempt to sharpen my skills and get some writing done. We’ll see how it goes…
 
Write On Wednesdays Exercise 5: Write the Music – A bit of choice this week: Pick your favorite song and write down the first line of lyrics OR turn on the radio and write down the first line of lyrics you hear. Then set your timer for 5 minutes and write the first words that come into your head after your writing prompt.  Stop when the buzzer rings! Do this exercise over and over if you wish. 

“Mark out anything that takes no time….”

I was reading one of those psycho-babble, analyze yourself and then you can fix your own bullshit books. I sort of think of those like chose your own adventure, but I’m not sure that they ever really help myself. Today, however, I think that one of the things I read may have merit. (please do not fall off your chair, I will deny all liability) The passage had to do with whether we seek instant gratification, delay gratification or have a healthy self-discipline when it comes to what satiates our own needs. All this is illustrated by how we eat cake – frosting first, frosting last or with the cake simultaneously. When I first read it I decided I was a self denier but enabler of others (I don’t usually eat the frosting at all, but give it to the person who likes it. This usually corresponds with a person of girth, thus the “enabling”.) This may be partially true, but really, I think I have been living with my speed lever switched to 45rpm, even though I should be running on 33rpm. Its like this intense desire pushes me to make sure everything is done as quickly as possible so that everyone is taken care of. (Did you hear the ah-ha and see the light-bulb?) I do not delay or deny, I bypass completely!! There are things that take time that I’ve not completed for myself. I’m too busy. Until I sat and really thought about it, I didn’t give weight to the idea that the reason may very well have nothing to do with my own gratification at all… but more that I don’t like cake! Okay maybe I need to finish the book and get a better picture or listen to the rest of the song…
 


Denali: Relief

Write On Wednesdays