Bad Old World

Where some see doors, others hear voices. And just as doors can be either opened or closed, voices too, can be listened too or ignored. And in either scenario, every once in a great while, a person can have that glimpse backward, one just long enough as to realize that they will never return to the bad old world…

That was where this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt took me, and here is the hundred plus words that resulted from that train of thought. I hope you enjoy…

100_7320-1

Copyright – Rich Voza

Justin… I can’t stand it anymore, the jumble-fuzzy goin’ on up in me ‘ead. It’s too noisy, a right muffled-roar cacophony, it is.

C’mon, you’ve gotta get yerself outta there, is what.

Outta where?

Outta your ‘ead, is what. You’ve a bad case of listening too much to yer own voices, mate, n’ not nearly enough to others.

What others?

Yer friends. Yer tribe. Yer voices of reason. Y’know, all them blokes what tells you how nice n’ good n’ beautiful on the inside you is.

Oh… But they’re just being nice.

Right they are! And why’dya think they’d be doing that, then?

Hmmm. Supposin’ it’s maybe they be taking a shine to me?

The real You, they do!

Justin… Are they right in doin’ so?

I suppose you’ll never know, not until you do likewise.

•••

(yes, you’ll have to listen to the song to see how the story ends.)

Advertisements

The post is too relaxed for a title

Sorry to double-dip on the Liza, but she needs to make an appearance here this week as well.

You see, for this installment of Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday, Jen tasked us with providing for you, (5) delicious slabs of musical mellow. Just (5) ditties that would relax and soothe, while jamming so, in a slowish-like nature.

Me and slow jams get along about as well as – well – about as well as whatever analogy you’d like to insert here to indicate that slow jams and I just don’t get along well at all. As such, this is most likely the first week where I will not even meet with the (5) song standard, based solely on my belief that it really is all about the quality, versus the quantity.

And those of you who were going to use that last bit, to now make a disparaging comment about Liza, can just go and stuff it! Slowly and soothingly, of course.

Speaking of, here’s Liza, talking about my favorite time of the week…

And here’s Dusty, talking about my favorite look…

And finally, here’s Stan and Charlie, talking about my favorite one note…

For your bonus track this week (what? You don’t actually need 5 songs first, in order to get one, ya know), I decided to avoid Herb, but only because I had already tapped into Stan and Burt. I also avoided a whole host of others that I feel are actually much more mopey than mellow (in large part, this is why today’s post is pretty much new wave-free, in fact). That being said, the following is probably one of my top-ranking “go-to” relaxing slow jams, even though it is neither slow, relaxing, nor jammish in any form or fashion.

It is however, Bobby. So I think that’s pretty much a “nuff said” right there. Here’s hoping your skies are of a similar hue this week…

•••

mixtape-jenkehl1-300x300

Briefly…

The words I want to write, I shouldn’t. So the words I want to write, I won’t. But the words I want to write, are the only words available just now in my little head, and they steadfastly refuse to allow any new visitors to come in until they’ve had their say.

And that, my friends, leaves me in a bit of a pickle.

Now mind you, I normally quite like pickles, especially if their refrigerated and crispy-dill (mmmmm, pickles…), but in this instance, I am none to fond. Honestly, I feel as if writers block is an easier ailment, as it is with that, then at least you know that there is nothing to say. A mental ghost town so to speak, where normally words and ideas are busily bustling about their day.

So whatever this thing is called (literate-logjam? post-pickled?), I was very glad when Leeroy came along with a 100 Word Song that I could have some fun with. While not a particularly huge fan of The Cure, this choice provides plenty of play space, and we even get to break with the 100 Word Rule (for this week only…!) and use a “wrong number” word count instead.

All good signs, so I’m going off on a bit of a diversionary and unbeaten path for a spell here, hoping that in doing so, I – as RuPaul has so famously said – “don’t fuck it up.”

Here is this week’s 100 Word Song.

robot-badge

“Is there room in your life for one more trip to the moon?”

What?

I said…

No, I heard you. What did you mean by that?

Oh, nothing.

I was just wondering if that was what he sang just now, and if so, what it meant…

Got me.

Got me too.

Hey, do most of our conversations go like this?

They totally do.

They do.

I like that, though.

I do too.

So, what do you think it means?

That we talk like this?

No Silly! The lyric!

Umm, I’m thinking that it means he wants to go to the moon again with you.

Would you?

Would I go?

Yeah.

Maybe not with him, but sure. There’s always room for another trip.

That was pretty cool, what you did just there.

Bringing the conversation full circle.

Yeah, I know. I do “pretty cool” all the time.

•••

The (Singing) Gay Divorcee

OK. As Jen decided that this week would be a “free for all” Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday, I came up with an idea.

And then I had another idea. One that trumped the first.

And then a strange thing happened. And that strange thing was this. I went to oHIo (no, that in it of itself, is not the strange thing) in order to finally meet My Best Friend Ever Whom I’ve Never Met Before, and see with her the drag queen diva’s from RuPaul’s Drag Race perform live. I had a wonderful time with both her and another dear friend of hers as well, and it did my heart an immense amount of good to see that there are people out there, who truly are honest with you in mind and spirit, to the point where you almost know what even their inflection will sound like, before you ever even meet face-to face. People who – though they might live multiple states away  – are Good friends, vital to your survival, or at the very least your sanity. Ones that love you, simply because (and in some instances despite) of who you are; rather than who they one day hope you will be.

OK, so I suppose in retrospect, none of that was very weird at all, now was it? I mean, other than the fact that I lamented for hours over just the right outfit to wear to the drag event, and upon arrival, decided promptly that I had chosen incorrectly.

Regardless, the experience did make me scrap my second idea in a way similar to the first. Just a little more urgently, as I decided that the final draw for this week’s “free-for-all” would be inspired by my overflowing bucket of Joy resulting from last weekend’s adventure (one which we eventually decided to refer to as our “Big Gay Weekend,” or #BGW for short), in that the (5) songs will all be of a caliber such that, should you ever obtain a key and break needlessly into my sub-par apartment, you might very well catch me dancing about all girly like, while lip syncing the lyrics. And yes, if you found yourself peering into my private world in this fashion, just before I had you arrested for breaking & entering, you WOULD be thinking to yourself that I was Damned Good. So just relax, shut up and enjoy the show.

Beth, this is for you.

AND, because Ru’s tune didn’t actually count as a bonus (boys can’t technically “drag” to boys), here’s yours for this week. Possibly the most underrated song (drag or otherwise) of all time, and one that’s a sheer blast to “perform” to…

•••

mixtape-jenkehl1-300x300

Thousands Are Sailing

OK Friday Fictioneers. I know that by the mere fact that I’m “mashing” these two prompts together, I’m foregoing any publishing possibilities. But still I felt strongly enough that you should all know of Red’s “Flash In The Pan” series, as I see this as a worthwhile endeavor, deserving of your unbridled talent. That being said, here’s my response to both Flash In The Pan‘s “Regress” prompt, as well as this week’s Fictioneer photo:

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

Copyright – Jan Wayne Fields

Disdain.

He couldn’t quite explain it, but disdain was exactly what his mouth tasted at that very moment.

The dull roar of clamoring footsteps, in slow regress through the main hall, made him simply want to scream while listening inattentively to the thick accent standing before him. It muttered under muddy breath, “Von Stoffen.”

“Von-wha?”

“Von STOW-FENN.”

What in the hell sort of name was that? Stupid krauts. Every last one ‘em would be looking for a handout. He knew it.

Scribbling hurriedly on the form, he barked dismissively, “Well now you’re ‘Stover.’ NEXT!”

Disdain. Yep, he could taste it.

•••

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

Welcome to “Flash in the Pan”

PS: My thanks to you both, Red and Rochelle, as any excuse to use The Pogues for my song of the day, is a worthy excuse indeed ;)

691 Words Plus A Sentence.

I’m uncertain as to whether I am understanding, and as a result, responding accordingly to a recent Daily Post prompt. But in all honesty, they never pay me any attention over there anyway. So I suppose that it doesn’t matter if I’m spot-on, or off-target to the point of looking much like Mr. Magoo shooting a potato gun backwards into a wind tunnel.

Yeah, you’re trying to envision that now, aren’t ya?

I DO however, know that I’m well within stated regs in regards to Master Class 2013, and I’m also certain that the Professor pays attention to me over there. So much so, that it behooves me to regularly ensure that all my “i’s” are crossed and my “t’s” dotted, before publishing.

Having now done so, following is my response to both prompts. As always, please play along, and also as always, I hope you enjoy!

Copyright: Robert Hunt

Copyright: Robert Hunt

It was only a duck pond, at the back of the farm.

But it hadn’t always been that way, no. It had started its life as a crater; blown out of the earth from a shell that had hoped to slam itself noisily into the building that actually stood several hundred feet from where the missile eventually took root instead.

As these things go, the crater was quickly made useful as it filled with soldiers, huddled together in a cold, wet, quivering mass; all in the hopes that their proximity to each other, combined with their quasi-concealment, would somehow prevent them from taking similar shots – from much smaller, yet equally deadly shells – to their own bodies.

As the scout furtively raised his head over the brim to see if they were alone, the round that blasted arrogantly through his skull quickly provided both him and his comrades with dramatic evidence of the answer that they were hoping to not receive.

Leonard wanted to vomit as Scout’s blood and brain sprayed across the pit, covering the other soldiers faces and mouths. But he found that he’d no more substance to expel, and even less energy required to carry through with the exercise anyway. In fact, he’d done so so often, that Leonard could honestly not see where he should ever need to vomit another day in his entire life, once he got out of this unholy mess.

If he got out of this unholy mess.

“Martin…”

“Yes Lenny?”

“Do you… well, do you ever wish that it was over?”

“The war? Of course I do, you dolt!”

“No, no. Not the war, Marty. Everything.”

“Everything? You mean like, the world, the universe, time itself? What are you doing mate? Going all philosophical, at the very moment Jerry is trying to blow our fool heads off?”

“Well, we might not have any other time to do so, you see…”

“Blimey! We’re trying to get our arses out of here! Not start a debate with the High Lord Above and His Boy over the meaning of life. The ‘meaning of life…’ there is no meaning to it at all, if we can’t get out of here with it still in our pockets!”

Leonard knew that his chum was right of course, and as the clamor of explosions protested closely overhead, he realized once again how true it was, that the next serving of splashing brains could be his to provide, if he found himself unable to get his head out of the damned clouds.

But still. How he wished that it were all over. Over and done, and everyone assigned to their new and eternal dwelling places. Of course, there was still that certain fear that his would be the dwelling place less desired. But war had an odd way of making a man fear hell less than heaven, as it is common to fear the thing you don’t know, over the thing you do.

Leonard’s reflective fog dissipated abruptly as Marty roughly jostled his shoulder while shouting, “Oi! Time to go laddy!”

Taking a fools gamble on a sudden lull in the general chaos, the band of men rose haphazardly from the shell-blown trench, only to be met by an unexpected and fresh swarm of projectiles, buzzing through them in a newly formed river of red, like a metallic wind hell-bent on creating of itself a tornado. Leonard wasn’t the first to fall, but by the time the round that would pierce him did, he’d seen enough of his comrades crumble as to make him aware that this very day he could well be seeing the High Lord Above’s Boy in person. As he lay in the bottom of the crater, his blood pumping ever efficiently through the two new gaping holes torn through his neck, he murkily realized that he had received his wish after all. If nothing else, it really was all over now. Just the Reckoning left, he reckoned, and then he could call it a day forever more. As the blood continued to burble out, he inexplicably smelt the pungent odor of pond water permeating his dying nostrils, while swearing to himself that he could hear the faint murmur of approaching ducks…

•••

From Master Class: “Tara of Thin Spiral Notebook… was asked (some time ago, honestly) to choose the assignment for the next class. I gave her no specific instructions, and she chose…” from Neil Gaiman’s “The Ocean At The End Of The Lane.”

To The Eye of The Beholder

Daddy… Are you crying?

You’d be surprised at how often I hear that question.

And you’d be similarly surprised at how often I am forced to squeak out a dishonest “no” from my phelgm-filled throat, whilst hastily wiping away any evidence to the contrary from my moistened eyes.

Today, Jen’s Tuesdayer Army celebrates “Beautiful” on Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday, and for this prompt I could literally litter you with song samplings to last well over the next several months.

But I won’t.

I haven’t enough tears.

My song bucket this week is filled with choices that to me, express my belief that beauty lies in hope. But it also lies in sorrow. It lies in the sun, and it lies in the thunder storm. It lies in victory, and it lies in defeat. In short, beauty lies at either end of life’s spectrum, versus the muddy monontonous middle – the very area where most of us feel “safe” enough to normally reside. Following is a mere sampling of what I see Beauty as being.

First, we have hope…

Followed by sorrow…

Then we have sun…

Followed by thunder…

Victory…

Then defeat…

And then, if you are among the very bravest of the brave, and the wisest of the wise, you recognize the aforementioned belief that the middle is the very last place to be, as it’s both ends of the spectrum that bring beauty to life. For it is only through the constant interplay between this absolute darkness and the purest light – the sun and the rain – that the brilliant rainbow that Life truly is, can come bursting through…

•••

And to the eye of this one beholder at least; that, my friends, is what Beauty truly is.

mixtape-jenkehl1-300x300