She is…untimely



Victoria sat back in her over the top, overly worn, found by the side of the road, Big Joe, reclining bean bag chair.  With the precision of an avid Hippie, she took a long haul off the pipe, leaned back quietly, and tuned into 92.9, the oldies station.

Along the lines of her eyes were visions and thoughts, swirling about…like a Big Rubber Ball.

untimely 1

“What ever happened to that illusive, simpler time?”

92.9 was not classic rock.  It did not adhere to Lynyrd Synyrd or Aerosmith.  It wasn’t even close to those ‘other’ bubble gum stations.  Stations that made vain attempts at similar ‘vintage’ music.  Tunes from the 80’s!

Funny, Victoria, never really thought of, Cyndi Lauper or Adam Ant, as, old.  But than again, she very rarely, thought of herself as…ancient!

92.9, if you were in the mood for silliness and fun, was and is the place to go.

‘Hello, Lamppost, whatcha’ knowin?’

‘Walkin’ in the rays of a beautiful sun.’

Stuff of Hall of Famers, such as, Unchained Melody, Blueberry Hill, and, Sittin’ at the Dock of the Bay…

With eyes closed, an a time out from the four legged circus that had been what Victoria and her wife called home, time slipped gently back.  Back to the day before yesterday.

What an awful message her mother had left!  Though, Victoria’s mother, Ann, had always summoned guilt.  Particularly when it came to the ‘phone’ calls.  Yet, somehow, without notice, Ann, mastered the fine art of Skyping guilt!

With fingers posed on the keyboard, feverishly writing nothing significant…Ann’s freckled face appeared on Victoria’s Chromebook screen.

An up close and personal visual, that was enough to scare the saint out of anyone!northern pass 4

“…she went into the woods.  Maybe, you saw the police across the street.  Two shots to the head in the backyard.”

Had Victoria known this neighbor of her mothers?  No, not really.  Perhaps, in passing, maybe a nod hello…she, the neighbor, always seemed, illusive.

No matter, the ‘neighbor’ and/or ‘she’ was making her impact felt on Victoria, current day.

“What happened to simple?  Asking for help?  Hadn’t Victoria known her share of persons…equipped with the ‘overly aware’ gene?”

The overly aware gene, being, those of us who have felt the need to take life into their own hands.  For better or worse,  no matter the attempt, most of those she knew, did not succeed.

In other words, they still clung about life, to this day.  Wavering in the good light, never dancing in the darkness…

Still, with radio on, quietly coaxing too much thinking from Victoria’s, wanna be blank, mind…

Still, with the high lingering above, easing the pain, the shame, the WTF?

Still, with all these precautions…

the constant gardener called, the sensitive mind, dug up the following thoughts:

Why?  Didn’t her husband know?  Could he have stopped her?  Fuck!  Victoria, didn’t know when Megan tried.  Or, maybe, she knew, but pretended to not be there…during the fallout.  Did he throw his hands in the air?  Like Victoria did!

Course, Megan still tinkers in the dark art of sadness.  Not often.  But often enough.  Often enough that the blow to the stomach is still there.  The crash of a large objects still makes Victoria shake and sweat and scream out-

‘Are you okay?  Did you take your meds today?’

That poor woman, out in the woods, loosing what was left of a ‘simple’ life.

Funny, how the action of just one person, one almost stranger, can affect and effect the lives of others.

Victoria closed her mind down with the gentle nudge of her cat, Towanda.  She managed to turn down the heat of yesterday’s sadness with the easy pat of a loving animal.

Slowly, drifting up to the stars, the room became a simple song.  And, a simple song…became the room…

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Think of your fellow man
Lend him a helping hand
Put a little love in your heart
You see it’s getting late
Oh, please don’t hesitate
Put a little love in your heart

And the world will be a better place
And the world will be a better place
For you and me
You just wait and see

Another day goes by
Still the children cry
Put a little love in your heart
If you want the world to know
We won’t let hatred grow
Put a little love in your heart

And the world (and the world) will be a better place
All the world (all the world) will be a better place
For you 
And me 
You just wait 
And see, wait and see

Take a good look around
And if you’re looking down
Put a little love in your heart
I hope when you decide
Kindness will be your guide
Put a little love in your heart

And the world (and the world) will be a better place
And the world (and the world) will be a better place
For you 
And me 
You just wait
And see

People, now put a little love in your heart
Each and every day
Put a little love in your heart
There’s no other way
Put a little love in your heart
It’s up to you
Put a little love in your heart

-Jackie De Shannon

I Want a not STRAIGHT answer

Wham Rap! (Enjoy What You Do)
Wham Rap! (Enjoy What You Do) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

This is how the story goes. The whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me Ellen DeGeneres. Mid evening I had found my foot submerged in a flavorful pungent punch…Blueberry Twisted Tea. Had I planned for this to happen? Most likely not but my body and mind move under the guise of freak powers. From the sticky an unclean feeling to the moment I felt stuck to a cooler floor. OCD and paranoia in overdrive…’oh, shit, so this is how I’m gonna die…smelling like a brewery and twelve years sober just trying to make a living…’
Always not a opptomist but the alignment of tomfoolery and shifts of shenanigans being what they were. I remained positive. Thinking, hey, whatever happened to Fats Domino and Chuck Berry and what about learning to do the twist…that was fun..
let’s twist again like we did last summer…let’s twist again like we did last year.”  Or, ‘I found my thrills on Blueberry Hill‘.
I had warm fussy thoughts of watching my mother provide kindness via the oldies station and dancing her way around the kitchen floor. Twisting and singing. Singing and twisting.
Then like being found in a rest room in the middle of a lewd act…George Michael‘s I Will Be Your Father Figure accosted and raped my sense of musical taste! The Jesus…stop wearing Sandals…blueberry soaked sandal ordeal left my pea brain quickly and rearranged itself into this thought:
What exactly does that song mean?
That’s All I Wanted
Something special, something sacred –
In your eyes
For just one moment
To be bold and naked
At your side
My father and I are close yet…I do not believe either one of us would like to be bold as a newborn baby in each other’s arms…

Wham Careless Whisper
Wham Careless Whisper (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Sometimes i think that you’ll never
Understand me
Maybe this time is forever..
Say it can be
Okay, I have to agree there, no I didn’t and still don’t believe my father will fully understand my freakishly weird behavior. And, yes, I do believe that at this stage in our adult child/elderly parent game…that statement will last forever.

I will be your father figure
(oh baby)
Put your tiny hand in mine
(i’d love to)
I will be your preacher teacher
(be your daddy)
Anything you have in mind
(it would make me)
I will be your father figure
(very happy)
I have had enough of crime
(please let me)
I will be the one who loves you –
Until the end of time
I tend to go on and on when awe-struck by adults who believe that songs with a good beat do not need to have subsequently…good lyrics.
My hand is bigger than my father’s now. His have grown small from arthritis most likely incurred while spanking my white ass in the 70’s and 80’s. Usually a discipline I deserved but fought ever inch of the way.
Is that a crime? Now a days, yes. Back when LP’s were spun…the threat of ‘you wait ’til your father gets home’ meant an ass whoppin’.  A crime?  No, just a miscarriage of parental justice.

If you are the desert
I’ll be the sea
If you ever hunger –
Hunger for me
Whatever you ask for
That’s what i’ll be. .

So when you remember the ones who have lied
Who said that they cared
But then laughed as you cried
Beautiful darling
Don’t think of me

English: A frisbee made by Wham-O.
English: A frisbee made by Wham-O. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What is this desert and sea crap? Growing up in my family there was no poetry. Just a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.
The last stanza does intrigue me. George must have had the same older brother and sister I did! They lied constantly about my drinking and obsession with matches. Daily laughing at my expense because the Wizard of Oz had been on the tube and I hid from that nasty ass bitch with a big nose.
I did my usual amount of bullshit research on George. And, my gut instincts were correct. As they always are fifty percent of the time. He has no children and his father and him do not speak very often. I suppose the song could have been a cry for help. Honestly though I’m no fool…George is was up to no good before he came out of the closet. Those damn homosexuals had nothing to do with his weirdness…it had been that unruly lot…the heterosexuals!