Sunday, January 24, 2010

Feathers in Hollywoods Cap

Saturday nights in dark smoldering, warm and sticky floored bars is just what I am looking for. Low rhythmic beats pump over head, and droan so deep into your arms and legs until you are twitching unknowingly along to the beat that is now inside you. It takes the first strum of a guitar to make your head roll back and to the side and down again. Close your eyes and any move you make is the right one, the band picks up thumping their feet to keep time, everyone nodes their heads yes, yes, yes to keep up and your gone. whoops from the crowd you can no longer see and yelps of appreciation come from faces you can no longer make out from across the room. Lights change illuminating the men on stage to green, red, and blue against the beat.
Toe taping isn't enough and sure as you are that you were already doing your best, your shoulders follow. Moving forward back, dipping pausing. The movement moves to my waist, and I twist in the creaking chair balanced on the back two legs. My knees sway together and a chair dance begins to ensue against no protest to those around me. Bumping shoulders and exchanging glances of "Hell Yes" with my neighbors to the left and to the right. The glass that sits half full in front of me is wet with melting ice and dampening the napkin below untouched. Taking a deep breath, and motioning to a fellow mover and chair shaker, we get up keeping the same swinging motion, walking left. right.left. right to the dance floor that is already twisting with couples who have clearly forgotten the rest of the room. as they should. as we all have too.
The music was emotion invoking as it was in my chair, but nothing compares to being front and center. Not only taking in each rap on the drum, and screech of a guitar but the scuff shoes against the sandy stage, and short breaths the saxophone player takes in before he continues collects and swirl into the music itself. Its no longer a sound but a feeling. These blues make me feel alive and complete, not sad and low. The words linger above the dancing crowd, and we giggle and smile at one another as we all sing along impromptu "You've got baaaaaad blood". I can see in every woman, man and move that we all believe we do. It is invigorating and smooth the way closing your eyes bridges the gap between the music and dance, and you move forward, back, and twirl around..."bought you a ten dollar dinner, said thanks for the snack, let you live in my pent house, you said it was a shake, I gave you seven children and now you want to give them back, I've been down hearted baby......... ever since the day you left.." I feel the sting in my chest when he holds his last note and it steals away my exhaling breath. His nose wrinkles back, his eyes squint shut, and his fingers move and slide against the strings, pinning them down and creating a sound that I have never heard, but have felt many times. This was the sound, the sound that when I was sad, weeping into my hands, tears streaking down my dirty face, sad... this was the sound it made.
I closed my eyes again to take it in and drift away to feel it again, to memorize the sound, the memory and the smell of the room dusty with a hint of perfume swirling around me. My hand is grabbed and I spin slowly underneath it, taking slow and deliberate steps,heel toe, heel toe. Never going ahead of the music..and I am released again into my own side stepping space to move freely once more. "Eeeeevver since they day we met...ooooohhhhh how blue can you get now.." I look up to answer back and watch as Hollywood jives forward with his solo, shaking and lifting his front leg up up and up with each stroke. He his completely at home with his jolting and odd jerks to the music he makes and I realize for the first time that night I'm standing completely still and watching, truly watching how he makes the music I've been craving all along. "I need to know him" I tell no one in particular but am answered back, "I think you do". yes I do. I do know him, but I want him to know me.
I walk over and wait my turn. Watching the way his face moves when he laughs and try and look past his dark red glasses into his eyes that are well hidden, but when they land on me I can feel it. I step forward and tell him "I needed you to know... my name .." "I needed to have a picture with you". He is quiet and studying my face, and holds out his leathered hand for me to take. We shake but only once, still not letting go, I wasn't going to be the first one. No, he would have to let go when he was ready. He smiles finally at me and asks me "...and why is that?" I tell him, "because no one. No one wears a feather in his cap quit like you". He laughs out loud a low and husky chuckle and I am thrilled that I have provoked a happy laugh from him. Pleased with myself I take this as a yes. Panning the room I make eye contact with a beautiful woman in a red long dress, bright red lip stick and ghost white hair down past her shoulders. She takes the picture.. one. two. deep breath in. three. We laugh as she hands us the camera back, and just as two friends should, it takes only one glance for me to know what he is about to ask. "Ok lets see how it turned out, I have to make sure its ok you know". I laugh satisfied that he isn't in a rush to greet the next admirer, and I click the camera to life again. We huddle close and squint in the dark towards the light of the image of he and I. He looks at me and nods once in approval. "dame good, dame good", I stand up and for the first time he lets my hand go and tells me it was nice of me to notice his feathers. I smile once knowing there isn't anything that could possibly make me happier in this moment now. I bow. I give Philip a proper curtsy, and we share an exchange of our own.
I backed away until I was swallowed again in the crowed. Everyone is around me, there is a place for each of them to move the way they need to. They have worn the outfit I would have imagined for them. The woman in red, the birthday girl with a paper crown and flushed cheeks, the sun tanned, leather clad biker with a grey pony tail down his back and lady friend matching him leather for leather, grey hair for grey hair. The hip couple with sun glasses still on and choreographed dance around the floor, and the boy dressed in all black with a fur wrap. Everyone is sending me perfect. happy. with a hint of satisfaction and I am at home. If there is one thing that we all have in common, its our unique and funky moves on the dance floor we all pulled into the dirt lot for.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

I Suggest You Do.

The power of suggestion isn't new to anyone. But I never knew just what kind of power it has over me, before today. It starts like anything else, with an idea. Any 'ol idea will do. It doesn't have to big or mean anything (although with me it usually does). The idea will morph if you will, into said suggestion.
A suggestion alone isn't much else but a hint of something I can toy with with my endless and creative rantings (such as this). It will shape shift into more then just a suggestion, more or less bewitching me into a world that doesn't even exist. (Have I lost you yet)
I have been pretty happy with myself and my creating Bucket Lists, travel plans, charts, cost of living budgets, and pie charts, all to map out my "haphazard" and "open" lifestyle that lies ahead. It's common that I find myself patting my own back and singing my self-proclaimed anthem written by the almighty Beatles and sung by Fiona Apple (a woman's voice which constantly breaks my heart) "Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup. they slither while they pass. they slip away. across the universe. pools of sorrow waves of joy are drifting thru my open mind. possessing and caressing me.....Nothins gonna change my world. Nothins gonna change my world. Nothins gonna change my world. Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes. they call me. on and on. across the universe. thoughts may enter. like a restless wind inside a lighter box. they tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe....Nothins gonna change my world. Nothins gonna change my world. Nothins gonna change my world..."
But really, is that so true? I'll save you the suspense, nope. It's that foolish little suggestion that whips me into an analytical frenzy. I play out each little scenario and watch it go waaaaay down the different roads. I can see it all in scary detail, the stops along the way, bumps, laughs, jokes, lessons. Once my "options" are clear I start to ask myself questions like "Which would be best?" "What is most likely?" And for some reason the last one I ask is, "Which one do I want?" It is a dangerous little game that I play. Flooding inboxes of those whom I love with an abundance of emails going on and on. Luckily I keep good company and they recognize the trance I am in, and they humor me and respond to each and every quandary(thank you).
So now that I know the effects the power of suggestion has on me, can I change? Can I stop obsessing about the details each new idea and opportunity presents? I sure as hell am going to try. Because here is the thing, eight out of ten times I choose the scenario that isn't really want I want, or even the best one. It is the one road I didn't mean to take, or even knew existed. Sad right? I know, I was distressed a little too when I found this out. But have no fear, the gift of retrospect is here. Although I'd love to think that I am...well as she puts it, "I certainly haven't been shoppin for any new shoes, and I certainly haven't been spreadin myself around. I still only travel by foot, and by foot it is a slow climb. But I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time. .. . If there was a better way to go then it would find me. I can't help it the road just rolls out behind me. Be kind me. or treat me mean. I'll make the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine." I will adapt, heal, and grow from whatever road I choose for whatever reasons. It is an odd thing to think you have laid down some serious ground work for how you think your life should go. The jobs, the holidays, school, moves and the people you will be spending it with... then boom! You get an idea in yor head and the wheels start a' turnin. Now my little life map, and pie chart needs some alterations. I have always joked I am the target audience. I want the 'Rock 'N Chop" knife, a flat iron that heals dead ends and the George Forman Grill. I haven't really bought any of those ideas though, so why is it so easy for me to buy anyone elses? I don't have to buy a kitchen knife to know its a bad idea. Anyone close to me knows that that would go unused and would get filed away under "bad idea", "impulse buy", or "show off". What I need and what I suggest you do, is to buy into your own ideas, whole heartedly. Don't be afraid of change because to adapt is to survive. Just don't go down the rabbit hole of the many different possibilities this change could bring and it consume you with those nagging thoughts. Instead ask yourself first, what do you want?
***Side bar***
To not mention the dreaming puppy under my feet, is to rob you of really understanding my writing tonight. I do believe it is the most endearing thing you can witness.

Friday, January 8, 2010


"My song is love. Love to the loveless shown. And it goes up. You don't have to be alone. Your heavy heart. Is made of stone. And its so hard to see you clearly. You don't have to be on your own. You don't have to be on your own. And I'm not gonna to take it back. And I'm not gonna to say I don't mean that. Your the target that I'm aimin at. Got to get that message home. My song is love. My song is love unknown. And I'm on fire for you. Clearly. You don't have to be alone. You don't have to be on your own." Coldplay Message.

its funny isn't it. the way you can hear a song and the meaning of it can sink so fast, and so deep into your soul, you think you'll never hear the words any other way. it touches each part of you and you memorize the way it feels. you have a certainty that no one will have the same meaningful insight you have into it. nor the same connection with the emotions that drives you both. But if your like me and you clean your kitchen each night, ok every other other night, to a random playlist, then you'll hear it again soon enough. you'll hear it again, and you'll discover it is speaking to you in an entirely different way.

once this song came on, it was the only one i could stand to have playing. listening to coldplay is sort of dangerous emotionally for me. not in a negative way. it is most certain that i will be immediately transported to a different time and place when i hear their songs. i have so much attachment to them. it used to feel a sad. sad seems like such a weak word to describe how it felt. so heavy and so strong. i can get pulled down so far into myself and into my thoughts and memories that i wasnt sure how long i would stay down there. but now. today. it feels more like visiting with an old friend. but mostly it makes me miss that friend immensely. and it doesnt make me sad to miss, but uplifted in a biter sweet way. because i know if i miss it, i remember it. and remembering is what is most important to me now.
the song and his voice are the only sounds in the house other than the running water, and distant muffles of the cat and dog playing in my fresh sheets. (bummer).

this is my first blog. and first entry. i am a fan of several blogs. in my head i have created the first line, first word, first impression i wanted to make in mine. now i don't really recall any of them. the blogs i read are painfully honest and funny. they paint beautiful pictures for me to see, and i am there with them in their day, thoughts, and questions. i love this about them. id love to be able to be as raw as they are. brutally honest and secure to a fault in their mess they share. but i dont know you well enough. and so im keeping my cards "close to my vest" as my mother says. lets play it by ear shall we?

im not sure what i expect to do with this. or what will come of any of it. i plan to pretty much write down anything that pops in my head. whether it be a story about my day. a story about whats happened in my life. maybe lyrics to songs, poems, pictures or drawings i find or make myself. ultimately a place of expression.

here is what you can expect. poor grammar, spelling and something altogether new. at the end hopefully somewhat moving, funny or dare i try for insightful?

its been an idea for awhile now for my family to start a blog. i have no doubt that a blog or any creative writings from my mother wouldn't cause a major stir and attract attention. however it has yet to be written.

i dont know if i have a message just yet. i suppose my message will change each day with a new entry. for now it is love, love unknown.
pruning from the hot water~burns.