Creep Undercover

A cover undercover, with apologies to Radiohead and Amanda Fucking Palmer; we all should take a stab in dark, right? 

We're Going to Be Friends

Another school year begins tomorrow. Less time to be shy about my singing voice, more time for singing loudly. Here's to the sweet things of childhood, and may my wee ginger babes sing along to their favorite tune.

Spiralling

Like an ooze of slow snail trails,
this glowing warmth, circling in on itself, grows
along a path that nature had nurtured.

Green leaves and brown fungus sprawl,
smelling of promise and death and rebirth, aromas
of evolution and sex, shoving life through the strata of the Earth.

There's no tending needed in this fen,
no aspirations of tidy rows or hemmed-in vines, leaves
unfurl freely here, feeding from a sun-kissed beam, all systems in harmony.

Photo credit: E.R.G., 06/13

Oh, Sweet Mama, Just Who Do You Think You Are?

The changes keep coming.
Music is being written,
Songs are being sung,
And I'm flying solo for the first time in my life.

A little frightened, I suppose, of what may or may not come to pass, what may or may not happen, what may work and what I may fail spectacularly at...

We'll see.

I've been contemplating the very private nature of my journal entries (writings I've kept in notebooks and scraps of paper and on margins of college notes and napkins and receipts) and I've come to realize that while most of their contents will remain private (probably until all involved are long dead and gone, should the journals still exist in the 'Fahrenheit 451' future), I find myself re-reading certain entries, thinking, "hey--maybe someone else might like to read about this...Maybe it'll help someone in a similar situation." Perhaps that's just my ego popping up to say 'look at me'...

I've new stories everyday, some that have been turned into letters, some that are created for my children, some that I only keep for very sad days and others for very sexy days. Writing that seems to pour across the surface and fill in little nooks and crannies of curiosity, clinging on, hoping to be re-read and understood by someone other than myself.  I'm well aware that this desire to reprint my heart on an electronic tableau is well and truly fed by the unbelievable amount of change that fills my life. A sort of new life, I suppose, or maybe a renaissance.  Little puffs of smoke will soon turn into a wildfire when I've allowed the fuel to feed the fire, and oxygen and intrigue will do the rest.  Big secret or no surprise, really?

You say you saw this storm coming,
Unsurprised the boat overturned
You've given up on thinking for fighting
And like all life, choose to comply (it's easier that way).

I've chosen to fight the slow-wet death,
To push against the age of apathy
and doubt and anxiety that comes 
with security. 
With so much level-headed life, 
Overfull with the Right decisions,
I've decided to throw and catch my own
Life Preserver.

Buoyant on my best new bliss,
I'll feel fear and joy as deeply as this ten-year calm;
A sort of heart arrest, 
An attempt in the earnest to halt
the drowning Death of Soul and Mind.

I'll float along, 
you may drift with me (if you bring your own boat),
and we may share the fancy thoughts of early days;
Lives that were only separate but just so.
I'll be happy to throw you a towline if you need one,
should you send out the S.O.S.