Thoughts

We saw the light

and thought it was fire,

held in glass

strung by a wire.

We smelled the smoke

and thought it was grass,

we felt lit

and fell on our ass.

We heard a song

and thought it was love,

we tasted tears

and thought it was salt.

We saw the light

but it was too far away.

We said, “Let’s start tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never came.

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Together

I lost you,

you found me,

kicking in the door

that I tried to seal.

Dancing on dreams,

living on smoke,

pennies away

from always being broke.

The crystal was fine,

but we drew lines,

toking on what was right,

and what should be denied.

Never agreeing

in sounds too soft to hear,

straining for space

when we tried to get near.

Blinded by lights

that could’ve been love or hate,

we made our way past others,

knowing too much too little

too late.

 

 

Single Words

Wind spits my tears on the window

pain

Crashing sounds of thunder light my

heart

I think of all the things I tried to say to

myself

And all the times I drank and

stopped

Were we fishes we could go swimmingly

out

Hunting warmer

air

But we are what we don’t

think

Because we know what we don’t

hear

When voices clash in my

space

And the songs strip my soul

bare

Straight Shot

You made a straight shot

with your phone

calling me to see

if I was at home

And a straight shot

with a text

got me out of a tiny little mess

I had with my ex

I took a straight shot

from your eyes

the kind of look like donuts

that goes straight to my thighs

The straight shot

from your lips

made me pucker up fast

and get ready for a kiss

Then a straight shot

from your mind

and you know I thought

I had it made

Everything was fine

But a straight shot

from your gun

and just like that, dude,

t’was no more fun

 

Friday’s Theme Music

Planning a trip home, to see Mom in PA. I guess as part of that, Harry Chapin’s 1974 song, “Cat’s in the Cradle” started playing. Perhaps it’s because I’m not planning to see Dad, and I feel guilty. Mom and Dad each have birthdays in October’s last week. Mom lives in PA, Dad lives in TX, and I live in Oregon. Arranging to see them is a challenge with flight schedules.

The song came out the week that I entered the Air Force, as my Dad had done decades before. During basic, we heard little music and saw little of the outside world until basic was finished. Naturally, hearing this song after my basic was completed struck me as completely, and sadly, true.

Anyone, “Cat’s in the Cradle” is in my stream, so I’m presenting it to you.

Saturday’s Theme Music

I was watching a couple. Twenty-ish white people, they seemed to be going through emotional turmoil. Separated by six feet, they entered the noisy coffee shop. She, a blond, was in the lead with her arms crossed over her belly, casting stoic eyes over the coffee shop population and then the menus on the wall. Taller and darker, he came in behind her with awkward shuffling, moved closer to her, leaned in and spoke. Without answering, she turned, stepped around him, and left. He stood for a moment, staring at nothing as though thinking, and then turned and pursued her.

I watched them through the large front window. They’d come in a new-generation red Camaro convertible. I noticed it as it pulled up, as sunlight flashed off its polish. She didn’t walk toward it, but drifted toward the crosswalk to go across the highway with the same stiff body as before. He watched her, then put his head down and stood for several seconds. As she reached halfway across the road, he went after her, but with a slow pace. Then he looked back at their car, paused in the crosswalk, and continued on after the girl.

I lost sight of them. The red Camaro was still there when my wife and I left. Soft Cell’s 1981 medley of “Tainted Love” and “Where Did Our Love Go” streamed into my thoughts.

 

The Same

Everything felt the same. Hell, it all looked and sounded the same. Likewise, he was going through the same friggin’ routines that defined his life. All of it was very sappy, calling out songs, movies, and novels that spoke about this kind of moment, the moment of pain and realization when someone else, someone who matters, is no longer there.

So he went on, doing his usual shit, but also taking calls, sending and answering emails, making arrangements, listening to sympathy, often secretly crying in his car, bed, bathroom, and kitchen, mourning his loss. Then he went to the services, of course. They were sweet and beautiful, with friends remembering her with tears and laughter. Then, that was done.

After that, life was supposed to resume. Nothing had really changed, except that she wasn’t there. And yet, for all its resemblance for being the same as before, nothing was, or would ever be, the same as before again.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of “Happier” by Marshmello and Bastille (2018). Naturally, my stream sucked it up. It’s on a loop this morning.

The song’s lyrics, though, contain introspective ideas about what it takes to make relationships succeed, and the nuances. They see that the other can be happier than they are, and think about changing themselves – but only for a moment. That leaves us to infer, they can’t or won’t change, and they know it. That’s why, for the one they love to be happier, they need to go away. Most people lack the strength and wherewithal to go through those levels of thinking. They see the other isn’t happy but are too stuck in their own grooves to do anything. Subsequent drift is inevitable until the final breakup is a trainwreck.

Anyway, my pre-coffee thoughts. You know I can’t go deep without coffee. Barely manage to walk straight without the first cuppa.

Several videos except for this song.

This other video, though…well. Pretty sad to watch.

Friday’s Theme Music

Thinking of symbiotic relationships and current politics lured the 1986 AC/DC song into my stream this morning, “Who Made Who”. That’s always the question, innit, as relationships and people morph under the pressures and stresses of who they are and who they want to be versus how they respond and re-balance. Add to it the ever-shifting windows of what we see in ourselves and others, and what others see in us, and it becomes a real pickle, to use some fancy phrasing.

Sit back, crank it up, bang your head, and relax. You’ve survived another week…so far…

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