Brilliant!

“Dude those lyrics, are like, man, they’re like genius!”

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And that’s what we’re about today, on our very second-to last installment of Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday before sabbatical.

Now, I could literally run with this theme, five songs a day, for the next several years. But I won’t. And I also didn’t inflict any undue mental exhaustion by trying to choose the “best of the bunch” either.

No, what follows instead are the lyrical giants for me that deal with topics quirky, topics not normally brought to light in polite society. And to that end, I suppose we’d have to start with the grand daddy of them all…

Followed by a little gender identification sing-a-long…

Before we see if anyone would care for another dose?

Because we all know that we sometimes just don’t fit in…

Until of course, someone loves us true.

And for today’s bonus track, well, I’m hoping that at least some of you will have seen this one coming. I mean, the week’s prompt was about “genius lyrics,” after all…

Twisted Wind Down

Much like the ancient computer that eventually won out in forcing me to cease and desist from creating posts for this group, my heart is literally broken over the news that Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday will be closing its doors for a spell in three short weeks!

I’m going to try to participate in these final endeavors, though at the speed with which my ‘puter works, they may not be ready until Wednesday/Thursday time frame.

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Jen, you are still (in my mind at least) easily one of the top five people (give or take) in all of human history for creating this prompt, and I want to thank you for hosting our musical maniacal meanderings over the past year.

As this is the last “Your Choice,” prompt, I suppose none of us should be surprised that I went here…

Darin did it all. Really. Rock, pop, country, and folk. He even (as detailed here) could be said to have been one of the originators of the Gothic scene. Don’t believe me? Try some of this pudding for your proof…

Rock:

Pop:

Country:

Folk:

And yes, even “Gothic:”

You see, with B.D., we always got “the real thing.” With B.D., we always got more. Which leads me to my third-to last bonus track (there’s always a bonus track…), my personal favorite most favorited of all time, Darin tune:

PS: I intentionally avoided his more “popular” songs today as I was hoping to broaden horizons while applying my adept skills at music snobbery…

A Solitary Slice

My second foray into Write On Edge, I already prove myself a thief. For this prompt, I stole from The Word Pirate her post’s song, and her toaster. As she’s a pirate n’ all, I’m hoping she won’t be too terribly upset…

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He glanced only momentarily at the toaster before the heavy sigh, sitting ever-present ready to pounce at the back of his throat, made its escape.

It was hardly the toaster’s fault after all, but when he caught it sitting there all smug in its newness, he once again felt acutely halved. You see, the toaster allowed for two slices, but all he ever ate was one. So every day he dragged himself through the process of making his singular slice while the slot beside his sat – still functioning, but empty. And every day that damned empty slot would mockingly remind him of his similar situation, of his never-ending nor seemingly-chance-of-winning quarrel with the world: his emptiness, his “still functioning for no apparent purpose-ness.”

He longed to be able to share his new toaster with someone, and he was also acutely aware of just how foolish that sentiment sounded. But as he was alone in his own head, he saw no reason for embarrassment.  In this space, he once again configured her. Maybe she’d be a writer of books, or maybe a painter, or maybe – well – maybe it didn’t really matter what she was, he reckoned, just as long as she was.

He knew someday he would find her, or maybe she would stumble upon him, if in fact it was ever meant to be. If, in fact, that sort of thing even actually existed. By this point, he was none to sure, but still found himself clinging to a sort of hope about it all.

The sudden sound of popping browned bread bounced him from his revelry. And as with other mornings past, he found that he had unconsciously begun to sway to and fro with a nervous anticipation, whilst waiting for his appliance to function at half capacity. Almost dancing, he thought, but not quite.

With a second, less expressive sigh, he pulled his solitary slice from the toaster for two, and grumbled his slipper shod feet over to the table to eat once more, alone. Pretending and hoping that somewhere out there, anywhere, she was at that very moment also seating herself in a similar fashion, pretending and pining for him in a manner likewise.

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The Pirate’s Ballet

The Trifecta Writing Challenge is going out on a high note, and I’m now assured that I will never wear it’s coveted crown.

All that being said, I hope I am doing them justice with the following. To be sure, palindromes are no joke – and I must confess – I did cheat in finding mine. All the rest however, and as always, came from the heart.

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Longing to tell the secret things.

I have to scare her off.

‘Fore she falls.

‘Fore I fail.

I need to blow the lid off a daffodil,

‘Fore it’s too late.

‘Fore I’m pirated away.

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And just because I will NEVER be able to use this song – seriously – ever again without at least some sort of serious verbal or textual manipulation…

Love Anew

I’m pretty sure that we’re all aware of my current opinion regarding marriage in general.

And I’m pretty sure that we were all aware that I would still post this, the very first chance I got.

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Same love.

One love.

Love begets love.

Please, stop keeping score already, and simply let Love.

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