47 in 46: Wild World

Jumping back one year to 1971, we are joined by Cat Stevens, speaking more fluently in just over 3 minutes time of his heartbreak than I ever could, even if I’d seventy-times seven times as long to do so.

Now if “Spinning Wheel” was a song that caused my mind to stumble over it’s meaning, Mr. Stevens “Wild World” left me little doubt as to what was to come once “love” bloomed. Sadly, many more times than I would have anticipated.

To follow is what bubbled up while using this track as my prompt, and as always, I hope you enjoy…

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She’s gone.

She meant everything to me, and now she’s gone.

I can’t.

I just can’t. I can’t even go on. I can’t because of all the people in my life; she’s the one I thought would be mine forever.

Mine…

MINE!!!

Why can’t she be mine?

Why can’t she just still be mine?

I love her. I love her as I love the sound of the springtime birdsong on a late winter’s day. I love her like I love the taste of hose water in the dead raunch-heat of summer. I love her as I love the smell of warm pumpkin pie slathered in whipped cream during the crisp fall, with air chill just enough as to beckon forth fair warning of the dead season to come. I loved like this, and in ways indescribable. I loved her in a fashion that mere language fails to comprehend, let alone express.

And now…

Now…?

Now she’s gone. She’s gone after another, or after no one. She’s gone and moved on to whatever adventure she felt I could not be a part of, and my heart is suffocating at the thought of it. My mind reels over the impossibility. My soul moans over both her not being here with me, and in her being happy wherever it is that she is now.

Please, don’t misunderstand. I want her to be happy.

I do, really.

I just wish, I wish… Well, I wish that she could be happy with me. She was my everything; my life and my love. I just can’t imagine being alive anymore without her presence and her scent to comfort me, her smile and laugh to warm me, her strength and her bravado to shoulder me, and her innocence and grace to inspire me.

Damn it, she meant everything to me, and now she’s gone!

And I am so alone.

So terribly, frighteningly alone.

Of course, there’s also the family and friends to contend with. What do I tell them about us? How do I ever break it to everyone that she’s gone? How could I possibly explain in a way that would make even a fraction of sense out of this senselessness? I’ll let them blame me of course, for even in her deserting me, I couldn’t stomach to see her slandered. No, I just couldn’t.

I love her that much.

I wish her well, truly I do. And I mean her no harm. Not even after how deeply she hurt me; scarred me. No, not even after all that. Not even though as a result of her treachery I will never love again…

I just don’t know what I’ll tell everyone yet though, to break this news disastrous. But I do know that I need to get out from under this funk just long enough as to come up with some sort of story. I mean after all, the school year IS almost upon us, and of course last anyone knew, we were joyfully together as a happy couple when second grade came to a close.

I just can’t even imagine having to start third grade without her…

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Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven

I apologize for posting twice in a row so closely together, but you see, a couple of things occurred.

First off, I had to get myself out of the fumes left behind by my last piece as quickly as possible, so as to let the past be past. Secondly, the Friday Fictioneers prompt this week almost screamed at me an immediate conversation, held between two mates (and quite possibly dolt-savants.) A conversation that – after a ton of whittling to get it down to the 100 word limit – follows…

copyright – Adam Ickes

copyright – Adam Ickes

Right. The arrow’s quite obviously pointin’ upward, now i’nt it?

But whatuvit?

Weellll, obviously it implies we’re goin’ to ‘eaven.

Bah! Don’t mean that a’tall. The bloomin’ thing IS red after all, i’nt it?

And whatuvit?

Well, i’n’t red the color of ‘ell itself?

Not like they’ve got that copyrighted or anything.

Don’t know ’bout that. I’m still not goin’.

Then what? You’re gonna stay ‘ere? Be a ghost?

Yeah. Reckon if this WAS really ‘eaven’s gate, it’d be otherwise constructed anyhow.

How’s that?

Way I figure, He’d make it more accessible-like, seein’ as He KNOWS I’m deathly scared of bridges regardless

•••

I hope you enjoyed – and today’s song is “Reader’s Choice!”

Choose from either Loretta…

Or from Love…

Chokehold

Copyright – Janet Webb

Copyright – Janet Webb

She look better now?

What?

You had a few drinks. Does she look better now?

I suppose… maybe a touch?

So, she might be your type?

Maybe? But listen, I’m not really in the…

Oh yeah you are. They ALL are.

Are what?

“In tha market.”

Honestly, I’m really quite…

Happy? Yeah, they all think that too. But that’s only cuz you haven’t met “The One” yet.

I really don’t think that I need…

Oh yeah, you do. You ALL do.

Say… what’s your game anyway? Are you some sort of devil or something?

Devil? I’m no devil chump. I’m freakin’ Cupid.

•••

Combining the cocktail with the woman seen “through it,” I decided to have just a bit of fun with this week’s Friday Fictioneer prompt, in honor of what is possibly the most non-sensical holiday we have as a species. I hope you enjoyed!

Raised On The Radio (& Heavy Metal magazine)

Bravely yielding my six-string axe through a fiery inferno of hot rock and barely clad large breasted Amazonian women. All of whom are fighting amongst themselves, in a sweaty, hot, fornication-promising heap, over who will be the victor in having the honor of straddling my leg, as the nerd painter – decked in floods and flannel and dreams – creates my muscle-ripped mountain-top-commandeering portrait, replete with crotch-covering lion’s fur and a backdrop of gloomy and hard volcanic ejacu… Oh hell! I guest authored today on wicked cool Jen’s site, and here’s the wicked cool link to take you there.

Please pop on back and tell me what you thought about my wicked cool, Heavy Metal-doused diatribe!

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•••

Interrupting All Programs.

So on Tuesday, this happened:

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I Won The Internet, 8/20/13

Just thought you all should know, you know, just how cool it is to be reading me…

Thank you Tracy =)

The Final Scene

When first tasked with writing about the musical 90’s, I was a little depressed to realize that I could no longer speak of The Clash. And then I remembered, I began the 90’s in Okinawa. And in Okinawa was where I first heard this:

The Blue Hearts were termed by many as “the Japanese Clash,”and while they’ll have no further say in this post, I just couldn’t leave the 90’s – or Okinawa – without a shout out to them.

As we discovered last week, not all were part of the club kid scene of the decade. But there were others to choose from, and it could be safely said that there wasn’t one singular breathing person on the planet’s face – sans a certain Richard and Judy Stover – who did not at least dip a toe into a little known scene coming out of the Seattle…

Now did I just use the same band there twice? I believe I did. But in all honesty, I never felt as if the Mother Love Bone end of their existence received its proper due. So there.

Of course, if that scene didn’t tickle your musical funny bone (or if you simply preferred over-sized rain gear and floppy hats, to flannel and torn jeans), you only needed to look to Manchester, England to find a slightly more refined sound…

The “Madchester scene” as it came to be known, opened the door just enough to allow for yet another British invasion of sorts. An invasion that. also never really received its proper due…

Of course, telling people in the U.S. to kill their television is akin to going to India and asking for a cheeseburger. So while all this madness was being thrown at us from without, we were busy at work creating a bit of it from within as well. In addition to grunge, the indie scene kicked it up a notch in the 90’s, with the aid of some pixies and a chick named Jane…

“So t, did you actually get into all these scenes?” You bet your sweet parachute pant-wearing booty I did! And then some!  But as the 90’s drew to a close, I was back in the states, and I was busy making babies. Babies that would quickly eat up my time, my attention, my love, and – sure as hell – any budget I had previously had in place for new music. As such, I had just one last scene to attend to, before the decade drew to a close.

It was a scene that incorrectly gave the credit to The Mighty Mighty Bosstones. It was scene that would throw its creator, Fishbone, firmly under history’s bus one last time. It was a scene that would eventually die under No Doubt’s steadfast removal of any semblance to what made it fun in the first place. And it was a scene that would give birth to the SKAturday’s I still occasionally make my babies suffer through till today. It was a scene that followed two others like it, (Jamaican and Two Tone), and it was as a result called simply “3rd Wave…”

It would prove to be my final scene, but no worries. It was a good place to hang up my hat of music snobbery, especially when considering what the next decade would eventually bring – or more succinctly – take away from us.

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Another Tuesday over at Jen’s Twisted Mix Tape Tuesday, and yes, I did take full advantage of the “two for Tuesday” clause buried deep within the contract. So this week saw a total of (5) scenes, (2) songs per. Plus a helping of Blue Hearts to help make the whole thing go down real smooth-like. Next week we walk into the 00’s, so you’ll be able to see my knowledge of the topic drop to levels lower than the IQ of the average Kei$ha fan… See you then!

Justified & Ancient – a 90’s Dance Party

I think that if we’re honest with each other, we can all admit that the 90’s really came down to just (2) little words:

Mu, Mu.

This decade saw a one-time club kid (solely in an effort to increase his already robust instances of getting laid – look – I had an issue, OK?), step off the dance floor to take up residence behind “the booth,” replete with my oversized headphones wrapped loosely around my neck, and my mini flashlight clamped firmly between my teeth.

I went by “DJ Mimizu” (Japanese for “worm,” as all the girls said I danced like one) and much like The KLF, along with my partner DJ Kero Kero Keroppi, I tried desperately every night to kick out the jams, sometimes even asking Tammy Wynette to help…

Of course, when your main focus was to get the kids dancing and grinding (sweat + prospect of sex = increased booze sales), you sometimes had to step back half a decade or so, and slap something onto the turn table that would make them feel “Divine…”

In general, the songs were chosen for the girls. Because every good DJ knew that wherever the girls went, the boys would follow. That being said, hip hop was beginning to invade even the most alternative of scenes, and this sort of music seemed to have both sexes jumping from their seats, hitting the floor in unison…

As the lines continued to blur, it became harder for DJ’s (both the good and the not-so) to discern which scene a particular act was “romancing” with their sound, and this confusion would help to bring about an almost delicious musical crossover…

The blend was upon us, the confusion as to where the musical lines now lay were driving some of us to distraction, as scenes merged and begat wholly new scenes as a result. In short, the world was as it always was, and as it always would be – forever changing and new.

And then this happened…

Good DJ’s everywhere realized that James Brown was dead, and that the game had just changed. Possibly forever, and regardless of whether or not they happened to be getting laid robustly at the time…

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Yes, we’re up to the 90’s already over at Jen’s Twisted Mix-Tape Tuesday, and while I thought I was going to struggle through this decade, by closing my eyes and clenching down once again upon an imaginary flashlight, the above track list came flooding back to mind. Next week we’ll get a little edgier, and discuss why some roses are stone, why the best jelly comes from pearls, and how it is that pixies can sing without moving their mouths. Until then kids, remember…