Crazy.

He was a client. Just a client.

Why am I sitting here, crying over the news of his sudden death? Why did he have to die while vacationing with his bride? Why did he have to die at all?

And the other? He was my sister-in-law’s father.

I knew him better, but that fact didn’t save his life. Maybe he’s spending time with dad now, maybe not.

Am I crazy for crying?

She’s a client as well.

One who’s been holding onto a very dark secret for far too many years. A secret she’s no longer willing to live with. A secret she shared with me. Again, impotent tears roam my pallid face.

And the one I’m supposed to be protecting?

Well, she won’t even protect herself. At the grand age of 14, she’s decided that life is a waste, bettering yourself, for chumps.

Am I crazy for trying?

Am I?

•••

Listen, I apologize if this one is all clunky and amateurish in nature. It’s just that here it is September already, and still 2012 continues to shit itself down the throats of my friends and loved ones. Shoving pain after pain into their lives while I sit idly by – a personally unaffected and powerless passenger on a bullshit scenic drive through the streets of Miserytown, population: too damned many.

And then Fay dropped “Crazy” by Patsy Cline as her latest song prompt, the very day I found out about one client, three days prior to other client’s unexpected and violent death. As one who seemingly can’t let any damned thing go, thoughts of these two brought to mind the other two. And the rage builds. The anger boils. The frustration, the God damned frustration… Part of me wants to fall down at His feet, and the other part wants to sucker punch Him in the gut. The 150 words laid down today aren’t a testament to Patsy’s lost love so much as they are an affirmation of her feeling like she’s crazy. Anyone who lets love in is crazy. But maybe crazy is the way to be. Maybe crazy is the sole path to salvation, the route to being reborn.

I don’t know, and to be honest, I’m not actually in the mood to care just now. Just now, all I want to say is “hey, Big Daddy Death and Uncle Devastation, fuck you. I’ve had enough of the both of you this year. Quite enough. Give it a rest already, will ya? Leave my friends alone. Leave my family alone. Just leave us alone.”

I’m terribly sorry about all the pissy posts as of late kids. I’ll try my best to find a better place, and write from there moving forward. For now here’s Patsy with “Crazy,” one of only (3) country performers I’ll ever admit to listening to on a regular basis…

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Briefly…

I was upset with my phone this morning, as the song prompt it was playing kept gagging. But then I realized: my phone was playing a song prompt.

It wasn’t tethered to the kitchen wall nor adorned with a clunky roto-dial. No, it sat comfortably in my passenger seat as it played a video (no worries, I only listened) of this weeks prompt for the 100 Word Song challenge.

Speaking of, here’s this weeks 100 Word Song.

And don’t forget, you can grab the whole mess of it here.

Isn’t it odd, as times change and technology expands – instead of looking on in wonder, I’m more prone to become frustrated over the “brave new world’s” perceived inadequacies. Instead of relishing in the fact that my phone even plays music, I become frustrated that it can’t do so correctly.

Looking cool, hanging with nepaliaustralian

I’m not sure.

You see, it might be. Based on the idea that my other efforts were more “reviewish” in nature then they were actually “guestish,” you know?

Know what? I’ve no idea what we’re talking about. You do this all the time. You start a conversation, only after you’re halfway through it in your head already.

Sorry. What I was saying is that I’m not sure if today’s post is the first time I’ve ever done an actual guest blog or not. Do the book reviews count? Because if not, then I can get all excited and giddy while telling everyone that this is my first time ever!

And if the book review posts do count?

Well then, I guess I’ll just have missed my opportunity altogether.

In that case, then no. They don’t count. Now, get all excited and tell everyone. But make it quick, as you’re far too old to be acting like this.

And oh – by the way – you DO realize that you in fact did tell everyone that your first review was also your “first guest post,” right? Thus making this entire conversation irrelevant, and a waste of everyone’s time.

Well, yeah… But I mean, I highly doubt anyone’s ever gonna read that far back to realize that I did – so let’s just keep it ‘tween ourselves, OK?

Ummm… sure?

Great. Thanks!

Hey everybody – lookie, lookie!  Right here! My first-ever guest blog post! Awesome!  I really hope you like it bunches! Woo-hoo! Yay me! *clap*clap*clap*clap* Yes, YES!

•••

Sorry kids, but you’ll just have to read the linked post to understand the reasoning behind today’s tune…

Briefly… The Fay Moore Song Prompt edition

You knew it was coming. You heard the wind slapping itself madly against the window of your mind. The memories, now turning crimson and gold, now in the wind, dead, now gone, trampled under foot.

You knew it was coming, because you’d seen it before. “Not me,” you said, just like all the others, the “not-meers” who came before you, all of whom disintegrated in the final scene.

Your sun burnt hands begin to shiver as the cold sets in. Your sun burnt hands… are they yours? Are they someone else’s? The memories drift farther away as your mind recedes into it’s own dark closet, the black hole that is slowly eating It’s way outward.

The winter song becomes louder, blaring its rickety tune. It’s calling for you now, you know. One last memory before you heed its call – leaves, drifting by the window, leaves tumbling, red and gold…

•••

My Blogging Buddy Fay Moore was nice enough to use my suggestion for one of her ongoing song prompts. In a rare example of not being a total and utter douche (and because she usually otherwise uses songs that far exceed my ability to play along), I decided to throw in my two cents on the matter this time. I was about a sentence in when I realized that instead of the love lost I thought I would be writing about, my 150 words (I’ve no idea – 150 just sounded about right) would be instead about the good people in my life who I’ve seen fight, suffer with, and die from Alzheimers disease. You knew me without ever knowing me, but this is for you, Jack.

Now, here’s Keely and Louis, performing the bestest version of “Autumn Leaves” that has ever been slapped down on wax:

Just One (more book review) Fix

Hey, are you there?

Pfft, no.

Why? Why not?

Because I’m here, of course. On the mollyfocking bus. Where I’ve always been, where I’ve never been before. As always. Come on, click the link. Take a lookie. Tell me what you think.

A book review?

Yeah. A book review, about junkies, and drugs, and the movie. THE MOVIE. Just one of 1,001 to read before you die.

Oh.

Well, will you ever come back here?

I suppose. Why?

Just wondering.

Hey, when?

When the bus stops, of course.

Oh. Ok then. See you then.

You might rabbit, you might.

Hey, what’s with the post title anyway? You gonna do something expected, like end this with a blatantly anti-drug anti-song?

Duh rabbit, duh.

(im)Possibilities

Looking up, I realized that the sky was impossibly blue, which as a phrase, is an utter and bold-faced lie. I mean if it were an impossibility, then my eyes would’ve never been caressed by the hue that they were in the first. Turns out, the blue of the sky was quite possible after all, despite any negative terminology I used to describe it.

This of course, could call into question a couple of things. First off, the idea of just what’s possible. Besides men giving birth – or my ever understanding the lure of shows like “Jersey Shore” – I see damned little on the human level that is impossible, and yet we’ve not accomplished quite a bit due to the concept’s existence. Could it be that everything is possible, and we only throw the little “im” bit in at the beginning to ensure that we never have to make it so? I’m none to sure. And neither are you or anyone else. Because in a world of possibilities, we find ourselves constantly strapped down with phrases like “it just isn’t done that way,” “it’s never been done before,” “I can’t see why it would work,” and of course, “it’s impossible.”

Not that I’ve all the experience required to make this next statement, but I’ve never really observed anyone put forth the effort required on anything (besides my ever understanding the lure of shows like “Jersey Shore”) to actually validate the impossibility of something. Even in my own life, when I found myself sitting at the airport – weeping over the fact that stupid weather and union pussy regulations were keeping me from spending time with friends I haven’t seen in something like a hundred years – getting there wasn’t actually impossible, I just deemed it to be so after looking at the logistics of the thing. “Impossible,” I’m thinking is a snow job we allow ourselves to get suckered into, every time we feel we’re too weak, unworthy of, or just don’t give a damn about a particular possibility. We don’t care enough – or feel as if we can – make the world better, so we say that any effort to do so would be “impossible.”

Which then leads me to my second “thing,” the power of words. The idea that by simply saying something, it must be true. This is most prevelent in politics and religion of course (and yes you atheists, I talking about you as well), but it also washes across our daily lives. I’m constantly blown away that simple words have such power. It’s sort of like the power of money, in that something of no worth is given high esteem. Of course, unlike money, words can have worth, if spoken from the heart. But so often they’re not.

I’ve a friend who calls me both a music and a word whore. Right on both counts, although I feel better about my musical whoredom. You see, lyrics notwithstanding, with music all we can do is build. By its very nature, music uplifts, creates, caresses and provides us with more at the end than we had at the beginning. Words do very much the same, but they can also be used to the opposite affect as well. Words can destroy. Words can abuse. Words can be twisted so that they spread hate, all while appearing to be spreading love. Words can – and do – tear us apart from each other, build up barriers between classes, and provide those gifted in intellect – but not soul – with endless ammunition with which to destroy their opponents. In short, words are dangerous. But then again, anything we hold power over is.  The difference between a person yielding a hammer and another yielding a pen however is that while the one with the hammer can only clobber one opponent at a time, the one with the pen can literally wipe out an entire race with just one little stroke.

So, when one who is gifted with words says that something is impossible, most-to all of us will be inclined to believe them, without ever first giving it a go ourselves to see if they’re correct in their assessment. Again, the world suffers, simply because someone somewhere decided that the logistics of the matter were just too much effort to actually make the idea a reality.

As for me, I’m tired of “impossible,” whether it be the color of the sky, or something loftier. I’m tired of being told that this, that and the other thing cannot be done, because it simply isn’t done in that fashion. I’m no Punk Rock Warlord, but I agree with Joe Strummer that I am stuck in my mouse trail – and maybe even you in yours – and it will only be when we crawl out of our impossible little ruts, that the Possible will be realized.

Sorry Mr. Como, but while it was a close call, in the final analysis the boys from Carter USM beat out your “It’s Impossible.”