Everyone knows that freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose but while that makes for a good lyric, I’m not sure that’s such a good sort of freedom. We should always have something we’re afraid, or hesitant, to lose and be fearful of that kind of freedom. I actually think that’s the meaning of that line in the song but I think it gets lost.
So what does freedom mean to me…
Freedom means Richie Havens at Woodstock.
And Freedom means the Isley Brothers
And freedom means Pete Seeger
And freedom means Bob Dylan
There’s more but that’s enough. It’s funny how we have so many wonderful songwriters writing and singing about freedom and yet after all these years no one really cares. Kinda sad.
Trust (42)
Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #363 is Cabinet.
Trust (42)
Safely locked inside my heart –
a cabinet of hopes and dreams –
misgiving, passion,
and love.
I’d like to give you the key but it’s heavy,
and I’m afraid you
won’t know what to do with it.
Or worse:
you’d throw it away.
All work and… ?
What is my career plan?
What do they say, it’s only work if someone makes you do it? Or it’s only work if you don’t love it? I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter.
I do know that Confucius said: “Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.” which sounds really good, but it’s really not true. If, after a lifetime of working different jobs, there’s one thing I can say with some certainty, it’s that regardless of what you do for a living, and how much you love what you’re doing for a living, what you’re doing for a living still involves work. Yeah, I suppose it’s all in the definition, but regardless of how you define the word “work“, a job involves work. Let me explain. You could look at it this way: an anagram for work is “or kw”. A “KW” is a “kilowatt”. A kilowatt is a measure of power, or electricity used to power something. Powering something makes that something… work. Dig?
What is my career plan? (again)
Back to the original WordPress prompt for today that I kind of ignored. What do you say we go back to anagrams and see what we can find for me to do with my time?
“Career plan” means that…
…I might spend some time researching and writing about Wyatt’s oldest, and seemingly forgotten, brother, Carlen Earp.
…I might see if I can get a date with the RCA rep Lena at Best Buy.
…I might ask my doctor if he can fix me up with his nurse, Lea Prace, RN.
I have a lot of time and there are a lot of things I might do, but what is my plan?
My plan is— Uh oh, my Words You’re Allowed For Today™ app just started chiming which means that I’m close to using up all the words I’m allowed for today (it’s an aptly named app, no?) and I guess I never answered the question. I guess I’ve really said nothing of importance or interest. And now the app alarm is picking up speed which means I have to type fatster wichis means Im more apt to mkea misteaks, (why I have to type faster when it’s not a timed app but a word counter app makes no sense but sometimes life doesn’t make sense and you just have to roll with it) I have all this guilt thinking of all the people reading this with bated breath (and one goldfish with baited breath) and wondering what my career plan really is and I’m r
This brand is your brand, this brand is…
I’ll probably upset a lot of Curad fans, but my favorite brandages are Band-Aid. Why? Why not? Does it bother you when people answer a question with a question?
What else? Let’s see… the Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers and Deep Purple and the J. Geils Brand are some of my favorite brands from a long time ago. And Alice Cooper who was a master of branding himself and the band. I also liked Brand Funk Railroad a lot. While I’m not a huge fan of Johann Sebastian Bach, but I do really like his Brandenburg Concertos. And it wasn’t just Rock or Classical, but I liked a lot of pop singers, like Laura Brandigan (Gloria), and Minneapolis bass player, Brandré Cymone, and Motown group, Martha and the Brandellas, and soul/R&B singer Luther Brandross, and I loved watching American Brandstand as a kid.
You’re probably thinking, “Are you done already?”
Almost. Just sit tight!
Speaking of the Allman Brothers… Gregg Allman, one of the brothers, used to be married to Cher and get this: one thing I remember about Cher was that she frequently wore headbrands. So did Bruce Springsteen’s friend and E Street Band guitarist ‘Miami’ Steve Van Zandt. For that matter, so did the Boss himself. It’s a small world, huh?
Speaking of a long time ago.
I remember a TV show from a very long time ago titled Branded. Chuck Connors played some army guy named McCord who, for some reason or other, was court martialed and kicked out of the army. Chuck Connors was also in another favorite show of mine, The Rifleman. On the topic of Chucks, one of my favorite game show hosts was Chuck Wollery who was the original host of Wheel of Fortune. He didn’t host The Gong Show because that show was hosted by Chuck Barris. I don’t really know how I got to thinking about “Chuck” but it doesn’t matter.
Maybe you’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking, that his has been a lot of words to say pretty much nothing.
Below is a song about a guy named Chuck who’s in love.
Oh, and if you like branding, not these goofy puns or words, but real branding like working on developing names or a company/business identity or marketing a business or product, then check out “Design Thinking”. It’s pretty cool and there are a lot of books on the subject.
Are you still with me? Thanks for reading! 🙂
Summer ’75 (57)
Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #351 is Classic.
Summer ’75 (57)
A classic ’69 Super Bee. Jet black with a 440 six pack under the hood.
It was pure muscle.
Timmy drove that beauty just the way she was built to be driven: fast. Zero
to whatever; blink and she’s gone!
Cruising around in that Dodge, high and mighty, everything playing loud
through the 8-track.
An endless summer.
Where I was
Fandango’s 147th Story Starter.
With a sudden rush of panic, I realized I had no idea where I was.
And then I took a breath.
I held the breath for a few seconds and I slowly let it go. As I felt the air leave my body I closed my mind and opened myself. I saw trees budding and grass waiting for the first cutting of the spring. I saw two cabbage butterflies circling a batch of weeds. I smelled wet rocks and damp soil. I heard the chirps and whistles of birds I couldn’t identify. I felt the firm support of the earth under my feet.
I had no idea where I was, but it didn’t matter because it was today and I was here. Right where I was supposed to be.
Who’s Your Buddy?
Song Lyric Sunday and the prompt is find a song that performed with orchestras and/or choirs.
By definition there’s a difference between “orchestra” and “band“, but that definition is slim and in certain genres, especially jazz (see: orchestral jazz), and especially now, interchangeable.
So I have Buddy Rich along with his 15-piece Big Band from Buddy’s live 1967 album, Big Swing Face. The song is Cole Porter’s Love for Sale. If you’re not familiar with the song and would like to listen to one of the earliest popular versions first, here’s Billie Holiday (and her orchestra!) from 1952.
Arranged by Pete Meyers and featuring Chuck Findley (Who? If you’ve listened to any popular jazz or rock over the last 50 years, you’ve heard Chuck sitting in on trumpet with everyone from George Harrison, to The Rolling Stones, to Sarah Vaughn, to Miles Davis and dozens more household music names in between) with the trumpet solo. The song was recorded at the Chez Club in Hollywood, California on February 22, 1967.
If you want to listen to something that’s maybe not so traditional but performed by a traditional orchestra then there’s this piece you probably won’t (which is unfortunate) hear on the radio anytime soon.
Hit Somebody!
How about song lyrics for another Sunday? This week the prompt is a song “that include the lyrics ‘cold, frozen, frigid or icy’“.
This song is Hit Somebody! (The Hockey Song) written by Warren Zevon and author Mitch Albom (Tuesdays with Morrie). The song was released on Warren’s eleventh studio album, My Ride’s Here (2002) and David Letterman gets credit for background vocals. It’s about hockey which you probably guessed from the title. It’s also a very good song which, because it’s a Warren Zevon song, is something you probably also guessed.
“I mean, come on. To me, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is only of interest if Warren gets in.” – David Letterman
“Enjoy every sandwich.” – Warren Zevon
He was born in Big Beaver by the borderline,
he started playing hockey by the time he was nine.
His dad took the hose and froze the back yard,
and little Buddy dreamed he was Rocket Richard.
He grew up big and he grew up tough.
He saw himself scoring for the Wings or Canucks,
but he wasn’t that good with a puck.
Buddy’s real talent was beating people up,
his heart wasn’t in it but the crowd ate it up.
Through pee-wee’s and juniors and midgets and mites.
He must have racked up more than three hundred fights.
Till a scout from the flames came down from Saskatoon,
said, “There’s always room on our team for a goon.
Son, we’ve always got room for a goon”
There were Swedes to the left of him.
Russians to the right.
A Czech at the blue line looking for a fight,
Brains over brawn-that might work for you,
but what’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada to do?
(Hit somebody!)
But what’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada to do?
“Hit somebody!” was what the crowd roared
when Buddy the goon came over the boards.
“Coach,” he said, “I wanna score goals.”
The coach said, “Buddy, remember your role.
The fast guys get paid, they shoot and they score.
Protect them, Buddy, that’s what you’re here for.”
“Protection – is what you’re here for.
Protection – it’s the stars who score.
Protection – go and kick somebody’s ass.
Protection – don’t put the biscuit in the basket, just
hit some, Buddy!” It rang in his ears.
Blood on the ice ran down through the years.
The king of the goons with a box for a throne,
a thousand stitches and broken bones.
He never lost a fight on his icy patrol,
but deep inside, Buddy only dreamed of a goal.
He just wanted one damn goal.
There were Swedes at the blue line,
Finns at the red.
A Russian with a stick heading straight for his head.
Brains over brawn – that might work for you,
but what’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada to do?
(Hit somebody!)
But what’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada do?
In his final season, on his final night,
Buddy and a Finn goon were pegged for a fight.
Thirty seconds left, the puck took a roll…
and suddenly Buddy had a shot on goal.
The goalie committed, Buddy picked his spot,
twenty years of waiting went into that shot.
The fans jumped up, the Finn jumped too.
And coldcocked Buddy on his follow through.
The big man crumbled, but he felt all right,
‘cuz the last thing he saw was the flashing red light.
He saw that heavenly light.
There were Swedes to the left of him.
Russians to the right.
A Czech at the blue line looking for a fight.
Take care of your teeth – that might work for you.
But what’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada do?
(Hit somebody!)
What’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody!)
What else can a farm boy from Canada do?
(Hit somebody!)
What’s a Canadian farm boy to do?
(Hit somebody)
What else can a farm boy from Canada do?
Superscript (times two) (89*2)
Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #358 is Superscript.
(For what it’s worth, I think the last WWP I wrote to was #307? It should does fly.)
Roger the Writer
Roger: he was nondescript.
He liked to write in superscript.
Asked him why, he didn’t know.
“Somethin’,” he said. “I’ll prolly outgrow.”
“Do it for pleasure and for play,
”I’ll prolly do it till Judgement Day.”
“More’n that, what can I say?”
And just like that he walked away.
Roger wrote page after page
about spaceships which were all the rage.
He wrote about a time machine
and a girl named Trish in Aberdeen.
Superscript words
he did dispense.
And
in the end –
nothing
he wrote
made
any
sense.
Living in Superscript
Two lives lived in a superscript world:
A meeting of minds,
a mutual agreement.
Meld two lives together. Two lives set
higher
than everything else.
Up
and up,
higher
and higher.
Two hearts softly swirled.
Then:
Pressure rises,
air is thin.
No deep breaths because
it’s hard
to
breath.
Going?
Out.
Out?
Out.
Can I?
Out.
Will you?
Out.
What should—
Gone.
Now:
Love and Loved.
Smiles and tears.
Love you. Loved you.
See you. See you?
Two lives lived in a superscript world.
Still.
Living,
mixed and whirled.
= = = =
If you’ve read this far, I was thinking… What’s the difference between a comma and an apostrophe? The apostrophe thinks highly of itself.
??
Yes? No?
And then one day…
Welcome to Friday Fictioneers.
THE DETAILS:
Friday Fictioneers: 1 picture, 100 words, scores of people from around the world sharing their creativity and vision. Feel free to join in, just visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to find out how.
THE PROMPT:
This week’s photo prompt courtesy of, and copyright by, Sandra Crook. Thank you, Sandra! (I love the colors in that picture and how it’s framed)
THE STORY:
(This story is true. This story is not about me. The thought came to me after seeing the picture because I’ve recently been thinking about a friend who took his life back in August of last year. I have no real idea why I’d be missing him more lately other than maybe something as simple as the beginning of another baseball season. My friend didn’t jump from a bridge, but that doesn’t matter. I miss him and I pray that wherever he is now, he found what he felt he needed and that he’s at peace.)
(It was better with you.)
~~~~
And then one day…
No one knows. For days, weeks, maybe months (maybe years?) the voice whispered to him.
Jump. Do it.
And at some point, during those many hours (maybe so slowly he never realized?), his will to fight weakened and he began to wonder if maybe the voice wasn’t right. (If maybe the voice wasn’t the truth?)
Out for a walk and he’d wonder:
Why not? Maybe one day.
Riding his bike:
Why not? Maybe one day.
At night, unable to sleep:
Why not? Maybe one day.
Until one day:
Why not today?
And that day he left the wondering to us.
~~~~
I, and others I talked to, never got the chance to say, “I’m here”, or “How can I help?”, so It wouldn’t feel right to leave this story without sharing this. Just in case. 988 Suicide & Crisis Hotline
###
That’s life, or Darn, it’s late!
This was kind of an interesting prompt but it’s too late in the day for me to really think about it. I could think about it a little, or kinda think about it, but I can’t really think about it. You see, sometime after 8:00 p.m. my mind and body start to slow down. It’s almost like if you work until 4:30 in the afternoon and at 4:00 you just kind of hang it up for the day. So now it’s 9:15 p.m. and my mind and body have been slowing down for 75 minutes and it’s time to go lie down and turn on the radio and open a book.
If only I would have been around here to see this prompt earlier.
Such is life.
That’s life.
That’s the way the ball bounces.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
That’s the way the marshmallow topping on a Hostess Sno Ball gets squished up into a tiny coconut sugar bomb and eaten in one explosively delicious mouthful.
(You didn’t hear that one from me)
If it was earlier in the day I would say that it’s not possible by outward appearances or speech to determine what aspects make a person unique because the things that make people unique are all on the inside.
It’s almost 9:30 p.m. now so before I click the little blue button up there in the upper right corner and then go lie down and turn on the radio and open a book I’ll leave you with this bit of advice:
Don’t compare your insides with other people’s outsides.
Pass the popcorn
Nancy at The Elephant’s Trunk gave us a very tough prompt for today’s Song Lyric Sunday: Songs written for movies. Or maybe it was just tough for me? While most movies have soundtracks, not all of them have original songs. A lot of movies, especially nowadays, use popular songs as part of their soundtracks, but those songs weren’t written for the movie, they were just added into the movie, and the prompt wasn’t songs used in movies, but songs written for movies and that narrowed the prompt down a bit. And to make the prompt a little more difficult for me (because who doesn’t like a little self-punishment from time to time?) I eliminated musicals from consideration. That probably wasn’t a great decision because it meant I couldn’t use Purple Rain. 😦 But (there’s always a ‘but’!) if you want to hear the cast of The Color Purple sing Purple Rain, just click here. (Spoiler: those ladies can sing!) as well as this wonderful movie song originally done this way in the movie and this way later on stage.
The first song I picked is If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out from Harold and Maude. The song was written by Cat Stevens and it’s an optimistic song of individuality and choice and it was used twice in the movie. The first time was early in the movie when Maude sang it to the repressed, depressed, and death obsessed Harold. The song was used a second time at the end of the movie which I won’t talk about in case you haven’t seen it. (If you haven’t seen it I’m jealous!)
Here’s an interesting bit of movie – and Minneapolis – trivia if you’re interested. There used to be a movie theater here called the Westgate Theater. It was located in a suburb of Minneapolis and between the middle of 1972 and June 1974, the theater showed nothing but Harold and Maude. A total of 1,957 showings.
I know a lot of people hate the movie, but I love it. Below is Maude singing the Cat Stevens song.
In lieu of lyrics to either song this week I’ll just share a quote from the movie. This took place while Maude was sharing a hookah with Harold and Harold admitted that he had died 17 times (not counting maiming). Maude is intrigued and asks Harold to explain so Harold tells Maude about his staged suicides. He tells her why he decided he enjoys being dead and then he lowers his head and begins to cry. Maude reaches out to him and offers this bit of wisdom.
“A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead really. They’re just backing away from life. Reach out! Take a chance! Get hurt even. But play as well as you can. Go! Give me an ‘L‘, give me an ‘I’, give me a ‘V’, give me an ‘E’! L-I-V-E. Live! Otherwise, you got nothing nothing to talk about in the locker room.” – Marjorie “Maude” Chardin
The second song I picked beat out both John Travolta looking cool walking the streets of Brooklyn while stayin’ alive, and arguably one of New York’s coolest police detectives of the 70’s, John Shaft. It’s from the end of 1971’s Vanishing Point, a movie that features one of the coolest cars in one of the best car chase movies of the 70’s. The song is Over Me and was written and performed by Bob Segarini and Randy Bishop (performing as Segarini & Bishop). Unfortunately I wasn’t able to find any information on the band. The lightning lyrics are below.
(Start tapping your foot when the piano starts and don’t stop for the next three minutes. Oh, and listen to those horns!)
Owww!
I’m feelin’ kinda lonely gonna be in Tampa only a few days, at the most.
I realize it’s early but I’m getting’ kinda squirrely so I go down stairs for a toast.
I’m clinkin glasses drinkin’ fast
and pretty soon, I think I’ll ask a lady for a dance or two.
I found my legs to test em, and my feet ain’t where I left em
and the music makes me want to move.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
(words I can’t make out?)
Now some how or another I am dancin’ like a mother
and I’m lookin’ real cool.
I’m thinkin’ every minute while I’m out there spinnin’
if I fall I’ll really be a fool.
Whizzin’ craze, a vision haze
and pretty soon, collision, made me end up down on the floor.
The band is really playin’ the guitar is almost sailin’
and the music makes me dance some more.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Whao!
(more words I can’t make out?)
Well, now I’m really drunk’n and my heart it a starts to thumpin’
and my chest a-ringin in my ears.
To start a conversation, never call a rare occasion I order up a round of beers.
A woman walkin by me, dark, and I reach out and snag her.
She’s talkin, she’s mad, I’m laughin in my phone
Finesse, I ain’t it’s master, but I guess I must of asked her
somethin’ good because we’re goin home.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
I got the rockin’, rollin’, reelin’, feelin’,
somethin’, drunkin’s, comin’ over me.
Yeah, yeah.
Yeah.
Chorus fades out.
(stop tapping foot now. Phew!)
We’re supposed to talk about goals
So what else is new… Another somewhat prying question from the WP DWP folks: How often do you say “no” to things that would interfere with your goals?
Well, the jokes on them because this is an easy one for me. Why? Because I gave up on goals a long time ago so my answer is never.
Ha! Never!
Never say never says who?
Hey, that’s what I try to do.
But I sometimes do fail,
and then I say, “Oh, hail”,
Cuz regardless things always come through.
(Did I ever tell you I don’t eat beef stew?
You’re probably shocked but it’s true.
You might think me a cretin,
but I don’t like eatin’ meat and
beef stew is something I just won’t chew.)
I don’t understand goals. Unless you’re saving for a house or a new car then you might set a goal to save X dollars a month, and if you’re planning a vacation you pretty much have to have some goals (of course that depends on the vacation) but other than that, what’s the point? Ok, I have to reel that back in a little bit because there is a point to setting a goal and goalsetting obviously helps keep one focused on a task, but when the goal becomes our identity – when we become attached to the goal – I don’t think that’s a good thing.
And unfortunately, I think becoming attached to a goal is common. Or if not attached directly to the actual goal, then to the outcome. And basing our worth on that outcome might be even more common. (And more dangerous) 😦
Our worth, our value, our identity is not based on a goal. We’re all pretty much good just the way we are right in this minute. Yes, you too.
Finally, the words “goal setting” are an anagram for “goaling test” and who needs the pressure of testing themselves all the time? Not me! And if that’s not enough, “goal setting” is also an anagram for “got genitals” and if you talk about your genitals too much people might think you’re weird.
If you’ve read this far and really believe that goals and goal setting are a necessary part of life then I can offer one to you if you want? I’m stealing and paraphrasing this remark from Kurt Vonnegut (who is up in Heaven now). I saw it in a video a long time ago where he was talking about how to construct a story, and I think it might have also been in one of his books(?), but he brought up his Uncle Alex and he said what his Uncle Alex found objectionable about so many human beings was that they didn’t notice when life was good. He went on to say how they, the family, might all be sitting around outside, talking, telling stories and having a good time and Uncle Alex would interrupt the conversation and stop them all and say: “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” So the goal is to stop from time to time and notice when things are nice.
It’s time for the Family, Dude!
Another good song prompt from Nancy this week at Jim’s Song Lyric Sunday: Songs about children/families.
I chose two songs this week because it’s again too difficult to narrow it down to one. The songs – each one about both a child and a family – are by two amazing and underrated (in my opinion) songwriters. The first, by Jason Isbell (formerly of the Drive-By Truckers), is about making a family and the second, by Lucy Kaplansky (formerly a psychologist), is about finding a family.
Both are love songs.
The lyrics to both songs are below the two videos. (Which is another way of saying that the lyrics to both songs are at the bottom!)
One of the great music mysteries of the world to me is why singer/poet/artists like these two (and others) don’t get played on the radio or reach broader audiences. Finding Jason Isbell was easy because of the Drive-By Truckers and because he had visibility doing some stuff with John Prine. But Lucy Kaplansky? For me, it was 1996 and I was at the record store looking at local music and saw her record Flesh and Bone. Lucy wasn’t a local artist, but her album was on the local Red House Records label. I saw that she covered some folks I liked – Gram Parsons, Richard Thompson and Nick Lowe (I didn’t know at the time that she did a Bluegrass-y version of (What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding or a Beatles song) and I bought it and here I am a lot of years later. And now here you are all these later with me and maybe you like her too. Or at least this song. This song which isn’t from her Flesh and Bone album, but her 2004 The Red Thread album.
Letting You Go – Jason Isbell
The nurse helped us buckle your seat in the car
And they sent us on our way, I drove home so slow.
We had no instructions, the first days were hard
but there’s things about babies a woman just knows.
Three in the morning
I lay my hand over your heart
just to know you were safe in your sleep.
When you started walking
I fight back the urge to stay right there beside you
and keep you on your feet.
Being your daddy comes natural.
The roses just know how to grow.
It’s easy to see that you’ll get where you’re going.
The hard part is letting you go,
the hard part is letting you go.
It didn’t take long to see
you got the best of me
and your momma’s merciful heart in your eyes.
And helping her raise you
has taught me to see through the great fog of loneliness
the devil’s disguise.
Being your daddy comes natural.
The roses just know how to grow.
It’s easy to see that you’ll get where you’re going.
But the hard part is letting you go,
the hard part is letting you go.
And now you’ve decided to be someone’s wife
and we’ll walk down the aisle and I’ll give you away.
I wish I could walk with them
back through your life to see
every last minute of every last day.
To hear your first words, and to feel your first heartbreak,
to sing you to sleep when you’re scared of the dark.
The best I can do
is to let myself trust that you know
who’ll be strong enough to carry your heart.
Being your daddy comes natural.
The roses just know how to grow.
It’s easy to see that you’ll get where you’re going.
But the hard part is letting you go,
the hard part is letting you go.
This is Home – Lucy Kaplansky
When I found you I knew that you’d be mine.
It wasn’t my first kiss,
it wasn’t my first time.
It was the first time I gave my heart
when I wasn’t just alone.
I put it in your hands
and I followed you home.
Now I’m on the interstate
wishing I could sleep.
I see you lying in our bed
you’re waiting up for me.
And while I’m taking in the view,
I’m wishin’ I could give you
what I wanted to.
You know I wanted to
This is home.
Where I want to be.
This is home.
Let’s make a family.
Baby you and me, baby you and me.
She’s lying on a bed
in some crowded room.
Trying to sleep
not much else to do.
The faces change around her
they speak to her sometimes.
She’s getting used to being left behind.
When we find her
we will belong to her.
We won’t see her first smile
we won’t hear her first word.
But ours will be the first hearts
she holds in her hands.
She can keep ‘em beside her
in her very own room.
This is home.
Where I want to be.
This is home.
Let’s make a family.
Baby you and me, baby you and me.
This is home.
Where I want to be.
This is home.
Let’s make a family.
This is home.
Where I want to be.
This is home.
Let’s make a family.
Baby you and me.
Baby you and me.
Baby you and me.
Baby you and me.
The Bethany
From Jenne and C.E. is The Unicorn Challenge for March 22, 2024.
The challenge: one picture and a story up to 250 words.
This snapshort sails in at 250 words.
The Bethany
You can’t see it from here, but I’m on the right side of the photo, about three slips back. Not me, but my beauty, lit up like all the others in the marina and looking like we’re all ready for the Schooner Wharf Boat Parade. Minus the parade.
She’s nothing tremendously fancy, just a simple monohull. Forty-five feet, an 85 HP Volvo Penta engine, three cabins and two heads, one with a hot and cold-water shower. Full galley with a built-in microwave and coffee maker. A bit unnecessary, the coffee maker, since I don’t drink coffee, but it was part of the package. A portable solar panel and emergency raft – just in case – are tucked away under the cockpit table. I could go on and on, but I don’t want to start sounding like the friends who invite you over for coffee and cake and then proceed to spend two hours showing you their vacation photos. She’s a thing of beauty if I say so myself. I’m immensely proud of her and I’ll leave it at that.
She’s named The Bethany. Named after my wife. I thought it was the least I could do since it was the money I received from the life insurance policy my sweetheart had maintained for sixteen years and three months that bought her. Bethany – the real Bethany, not The Bethany – well, they never found her and I’m not one to kiss and tell. Let’s just say she’s here and there and everywhere.
Te quiro.
The Asylum
Welcome to Friday Fictioneers.
THE DETAILS:
Friday Fictioneers: 1 picture, 100 words, scores of people from around the world sharing their creativity and vision. Feel free to join in, just visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to find out how.
THE PROMPT:
This week’s photo prompt courtesy of, and copyright by, Roger Bultot. Thank you, Roger!
THE STORY:
The Asylum
Terrence followed the doctor down the maze of halls; the weak gray cast of the incandescent fixtures turning his stomach. The doctor’s drone covered the noises coming from the rooms they passed: screams, laughter, gibberish.
“Sorry?” Terrence said.
“Your brother was found in an alley. Incoherent, covered in blood,” the doctor repeated. A half-eaten body in front of him. Ah, here we are.”
Terrence followed the doctor into the room. His brother, chained to the bed, gazed at him through red eyes.
Moving quickly, Terrence slit the doctor’s throat and went to work freeing his brother.
They’d both feast tonight.
Special Delivery
Today is Tuesday and it’s Fandango’s 141st Story Starter. Fandango provides the start, and the rest is up to us. Come and play, it’s fun!
Special Delivery
Allison arrived home to discover, propped up against her front door, a mysterious package addressed to her but with no return address.
“Well that’s odd,” she said as she bent down and picked up the package.
Holding the package under her arm she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. She set the box down on the dining room table and turned it over and around, this way and that, and still not seeing any markings she decided to open up the baffling bundle. She tore off the brown wrapping paper and was presented with a plain brown cardboard box.
“Well now that really is odd. No sender, no shipper, no addresses. Well that makes… no sense,” she said and smiled at her little fling at wordplay. “Who would send me something like this?”
The box was glued shut so Allison reached two fingers under the flap and pulled open first one side and then the next. She pulled the flaps apart and—
“Well, for heaven’s sake,” she said as she brushed the soot off of her face. She watched as a card slowly drifted down from the ceiling. She picked it up and read.
“Well, now how thoughtful is that?” she said as she smoothed her not too badly singed hair back down. “But I think they got it wrong. Honey? I think this package was for you?”
“Meep, meep!”
“BOOM” graphic from Arvin61r58 at Openclipart.org.
Time Heals?
From Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch is this week’s story challenge.
March 12, 2024, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write a story about leaving a leak. What (or who) is leaking? How can you use the leak to create tension? Expand the idea of leaks. Go where the prompt leads!
Time Heals?
You wouldn’t think such a thing possible, but he had, at some point, lost count of the years. It had been so long and now—
He would dutifully visit every year on the day. He’d pick the weeds, touch the stone, maybe say a prayer on the chance someone was listening. Sometimes he would sit cross-legged on the grass and try to make sense of things. And then one year he just stopped.
But his mind never emptied of memories, and emotions would sometimes be strong. Like today, on this anniversary.
He wiped a tear and tried to smile.
###
What everyone needs
It’s Song Lyric Sunday and the theme suggested by Nancy today is Songs about war and/or peace.
War (the act of, not the band; the band was pretty cool) is maybe one of the worst realities of our lives on earth. War is depressing, and songs about war – either for or against – are more depressing yet, so to balance out war songs and anti-war songs, here are two songs about peace. The first song is by Tom Paxton from 1972 and his message is simple:
“Peace. Peace will. Peace will come, and let it begin with me.”
The second song is from Bob Marley and the Wailers from 1971. In this song Bob asks the questions I think a lot of us would like to have answered and he offers us an option that might be more rewarding:
“We should really love each other in peace and harmony.”
Good luck, huh? Yeah, so maybe I’m a cynic, but I’m not jaded and I still believe.
(For a lot of people music is (or brings) peace, or music is maybe the peaceful place you go to. If you’re like me and believe that, if you’d rather turn off the news and turn on some tunes, if you’d prefer to let there be songs to fill the air, then this (peaceful) song is for you to enjoy)
Peace, peace will
Peace will come
And let it begin with me
We, we need
We need peace
And let it begin with me
Oh, my own life
Is all I can hope to control
Oh, let my life
Be lived for the good
Good of my soul
Let it bring peace
Sweet peace
Peace will come
And let it begin with me
Peace, peace will
Peace will come
And let it begin with me
Oh, my own life
Is all I can hope to control
Oh, let my life
Be lived for the good
Good of my soul
Let it bring peace
Sweet peace
Peace will come
And let it begin with me
Peace, peace will
Peace will come
And let it begin with me
With me
Why’s this fussing and fighting?
I want to know, Lord, I want to know
Why’s this bumping and boring?
I want to know, Lord, I want to know now
We should really love each other
(love each other)
In peace and harmony
(peace and harmony)
Instead, we’re fussing and fighting
(fussing and fighting)
And them workin’ iniquity
(workin’ iniquity)
Why’s this fussing and fighting?
I want to know, Lord, I want to know
Lord. I want to know
(I want to know)
I want to know now
Why’s this cheating and backbiting?
(I want to know)
I want to know
Oh, Lord
(I want to know)
I want to know now
(Stop your fussing and fighting, stop your fussing and fighting)
(Stop your fussing and fighting, stop your fussing and fighting)
We should really love each other
(love each other)
In peace and harmony
(peace and harmony)
Instead, instead, we’re fussing and fighting
(fussing and fighting)
Like we ain’t supposed to be
(ain’t supposed to be)
Tell me why.
Why’s this fussing and fighting?
I want to know, Lord, I want to know, someone, please
Why’s this bumping and boring?
(Bumping and boring)
(I want to know)
I want to know
(I want to know)
Lord, tell me why
Did you make it all the way down here? Thanks for reading and enjoy the week ahead!
The Shell
From Jenne and C.E. is The Unicorn Challenge for March 15, 2024.
The challenge: one picture and a story up to 250 words.
This snapshort is 150 words.
I was never much of a beach person, but she was so I tried to be. Walking the shore early one morning she stopped and pulled me by the hand.
“What?”
“Stop for a sec,” she said as she squatted down and picked something up. “Here.”
“What is it?”
She held a shell in her open palm. “It’s for you.”
“It’s a brown shell.”
“It’s a magic shell.”
“Magic!” I laughed and asked, “Why’s that?”
“Because it’s yours now.”
I slid the shell into my pocket and thought no more about it.
***
It ended, but it didn’t end. Many years later I learned the shell she gave that morning me was a lightning whelk. A left-handed lightning whelk. The three-inch shell now sits in a small sherbet glass on my bedroom dresser. And I was wrong, the shell is orange, not brown.
And she was right, the shell is magic.
Michael B. Fishman
Michaelsfishbowl 