Why in the world is it so difficult to share a little music with the internets? In the amount of time it took me to sit and record the song (which I was making up as I went along) I think I could have heated up a Hotpocket.
In the amount of time it took me to transfer the song off of my Blackberry, to my computer, convert the file for upload, attempt to upload and successfully upload the song to share, I could have made a home-made beef stew from scratch.
That’s right, 3 minutes versus 36 hours.
…a recording off my blackberry as I was making up a little song for my dear friend and her beautiful, new, baby girl.
Welcome to the great big world, Madeleine Desmichelle!
Et ma cherie, il y a beaucoup d’amore dans tes aimes et ta familie.
I mean really, why does it have to be so difficult to share a little music with you all?
I get scared because I’m alone, not because you aren’t here. I get scared because the night is lonely and things like love get lost in the darkness. Someday, my child will be scared of love, pained by love, and I’ll tell her the story of you, my first love. I’ll tell her how you shredded my insides, and blew my faith to pieces. But i’ll tell her that I thank you, because these lessons in pain are lessons i had to learn. My skin needed to learn to grow armor in place of softness.
MUSIC AND POETRY celebrate life! Even when it sucks…..
WE ARE NOT LOST AND WON’T BE WASHED AWAY
UNLESS SOMEONE GETS AWAY WITH IT….
( If any apocalypse happens in 2012, it better be for karmically challenged people making us look doomed. Meanwhile, I will happily join the angels in the sky.)
People out there judging other people, trying to hold them down and what’s the result?
They make angels fall from grace. They peel their wings off like a baby with a butterfly.
We can’t hear the whispers over the cacophony. We need to see. We need to HEAR:
I don’t think most people understand what it’s like to lose your memory, to have things slowly blur until you have months turn into days. Worse yet you have memories of people, places, and events that don’t even exist.
With the white pill and the blue pill and my old friend Jack D I started…
I just realized I thought Halloween was over, Daylight Savings had turned the clock, and I was living a “normal” life.
A man with a thick, Brooklyn, accent keeps yelling, outside the loft, for, “Junior!” There are three construction zones for our three exposures and I think Junior must be on the wrong one.
When I woke up this morning, Stewie Pickle Egg was staring at me. This is what Stewie looks like:
The Egg somehow was communicating to me telepathically. I became sentient of my state of wakefulness and then he yelled at me, “MROW!?” (Flame-Point-Himalayan Felines have a good deal of Siamese in them, so, they retain the breeds’ penchant for vocal prowess.)
I do not wake up in a home but I wake up in a bed. Outside the construction roars. I go to the loo. I hear people outside my bathroom so I quickly return down a short, dark, hallway, to the small bedroom. I check the clock, 2:11. I get back into bed. I can feel pressing tension from the rest of the floor penetrate the walls of my quiet room, reach themselves into every pore of my skin and clotting my soul with its stress, I light a cigarette.
The opaque material composing the internal plates of the otherwise, iron-metal French doors in my room, allow the light from the rest of the floor to glow into its darkness. Silhouettes of legs walk past. I remember this feeling of activity and stress but for a moment cannot place it. Ah, that’s right. Floor 2. Election year. That’s it.
But I should I feel like I am waking up on the floor where Executive Offices inside a media conglomerate speckle the place with little theaters of war?