Cracks (As Beautiful As Before)

I haven’t done an actual timed stream of consciousness write in a bit. Normally I write for 10 minutes but I’m only going to do this one for 5 because it’s our last day in Lisbon and it’s my mom’s birthday!

Music: Reignwolf – shuffle on Spotify – There isn’t much on Spotify so shuffle is really the only way to listen

Word: Pin from the random word generator

It was dead silent, I couldn’t hear a thing
Probably not even a pin drop,
But I heard the years
As they snapped shut.
They melted away
Exposing old bricks
And scarred exteriors
Covered to weather the storms.
All the shiny paint,
The expensive knick knacks,
Expansive fronts I covered
Every fault and piece of distorted past
Under years of specially crafted
Dulled perfectionism
And you, I hoped,
Would still find the cracks as beautiful
As before.

Advertisements

It Sounds Like Blue

The violinist swayed like smoke. The small crowd followed suit as he laid a spell over them with his dance. The beat of the small drum set vibrated through the ground just enough for the man to keep time along.

He squinted as the bow struck and slid across the strings while the violinists’ fingers moved devilishly quick. The young girl beside him slid a crumpled piece of paper into the palm of his hand.

“It sounds like blue, light not dark, like watching storm clouds or flying towards the stars with wind in your hair. It feels like love.”

music-roomPHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Word Count: 100

Thank you to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields as always for wrangling in Friday Fictioneers.

Assumed Greatness

Sunday stream of consciousness/free flow writing. I have not written very much lately because I have been battling with SAS (the statistical program) for my most recent class. I’m in the last 3 classes of my program so I’ve been particularly busy. Also, a small plea, if you know how to use SAS for more advanced econometrics send me a message because we are not on friendly terms.

Prompt – Shadow – Word generator here

Music – Fantastic Negrito – Please Don’t Be Dead (new album, I’m still getting the feel for it but love it so far)

The shadow of your assumed greatness follows me, an assumed masterpiece reflecting back. Tucked into corners of misperception and illusions of grandiose you take credit for me while underscoring my need. A king of your domed sanctuary, a tyrant by any other name. A shadow crouching low, grasping at my ankles, pulling me back. The words that fall from your mouth increasingly sound of death. 50 rounds of ammo in 30 seconds but no sympathy from your gallery.

Mama …

“Mama, just killed a man …”

Ironic. 

My only thought as I lean back against the stiff seats of a decrepit Cadillac.

“What year is this fucking thing?” I kick at the peeling floorboard fabric. When I don’t get an answer I sigh heavily. “It was rhetorical anyway. Leather fucking shoes … What is that anyway? Cow? Pig?”

A life long believer in animal rights I wrinkle my nose and muster every ounce of spit I have to project across his boots. “Fucking gross.”

The man beside me remains a statue, eyes glued to the sagging fabric above us.

Radio static impertinently interrupts Mr. Mercury. “Man, fuck this car.”

I kick my heels, stained a deep glossy red, to the waiting chasm of peeling carpet and random trash. “I’d ask you to get my zipper but frankly my dear …” I throw the man a sheepish look over my shoulder. Remnents of our drinks from earlier mixed with an ill advised nacho platter for one dribbled down his chin. My stomach rolled. “Frankly I don’t want you fucking touching me.”

I peel the bodycon dress from my curves with the precision of someone who’s undressed in front seats one too many times. Away it goes too, this time to the hungry mouth of the backseat, a gaping hole of no return from the looks of it.

Stepping from the stagnant car into the cool fall air I finally feel free. The creeping spider sensation no longer makes it’s way up my spine, into my fingers or my jaw.

No more do I feel the need to scream and yell, to clutch the last breaths of whatever is near between my crimson fingernails. The grass on my bare feet, the moon beaming down on my gentle windblown hair, sets me at ease.

“Do you feel that?” Gleefully I lean towards the opened passenger door. The statue of a man stares up to the sagging fabric with eyes of opaque glass. “You know?” I continue, “There really are two wonders in life, birth and death. You, sir, certainly make a fine addition to one of those.”

My sequined bag lay just inside the door, where it would ultimately stay. “But first!” I clap my hands and wiggle my hips as I snatch the matches from their designated spot. “It has been a lovely evening. I hope you fulfill all your wildest dreams and all that other bullshit no one ever really means.”

It’s amazing what a small orange flame can accomplish in an old Cadillac. I stand by, absorbed in the crackling flame. It dances and licks at the decrepit car. I throw my arms in the air and dance to the fading sounds of Queen playing on loop in my head. Feeling particularly at ease I even attempt a small bit of air guitar.

“Alas, there’s a reason I never joined a band but I must now bid you adieu.”

The wind is picking up. I know it will carry the scent of the fire, bringing curious onlookers and emergency workers far sooner than I anticipate.

No worries, even if they came now there would be barely a thing left.

With that I begin the slow tumble from cloud nine although I hate to admit I am tumbling faster these days.

I walk, naked and alone, down the abandoned road. The smell of the burn at my back, at least there is still one thing to put me at ease.

The next morning my husband caresses our daughter’s hair while I make our son’s breakfast.

“Did you hear?” He almost hisses the words across the spacious kitchen. “They found another one.”

“Another what dear?” I pluck our son from the playpen and strap him gingerly into the highchair, giving his nose a little tweak. “Eat your cereal.”

“Another burned car, another body.” My husband pulls me close, forever my protector. I giggle as I push his hands away.

“Aren’t they always men? Perhaps it’s me who should be holding you.” He flashes that pearly white smile while running his hands through perfectly gelled locks.

Already I can feel the spiders creeping along my spine, working their way into my fingers, along my jaw line.

I sigh, hoping to dispel them if even for a moment.

You should feel guilty.

But as the news cycle runs on loop in my mind I feel none.

Guilty

C’Mon Baby, Put Your Records On

It’s record store day so I’m going to talk about my other love, music! Yay!

But instead of talk about it ….

Here’s some music …

Enjoy (or don’t, either way I still love you guys).

Note: This is all over, I’ve just been pasting links as I’ve been working on school stuff over the past few days. Proceed with caution, I did not arrange this for your ears to have gradual transitions

Another note, I originally did this with Spotify but then realized it would only play a few seconds of each song if you didn’t open the Spotify app so that’s why it’s all videos, sorry if it loads slowly

Note for Jimi down here, there’s a song out there called Cherokee Mist, it’s included in the recordings on Both Sides of the Sky which was released recently. I really wanted to include that song but can’t find it so we’re going to settle with Voodoo Chile/Child (I kept the Spotify link for Cherokee Mist if you have the app or want to hear like 25 seconds of it).

 

Genie Ken

I’m paralyzed under my blankets. Only my eyes can dart to and fro, wild children running from nightmares. There’s a shadow dancing on the edge of my vision, it shimmy’s and shakes. It giggles and oh, does it quake. It brings the light then shuns it away, great blast followed by bellowing darkness.

Why the fuck is this happening?

The only warning I receive is my name echoing in chaotic overtures through the rooms of my small house when I’m jerked from the blankets unceremoniously.

Blue mountains peak and recede as the beastly shadow brings me in close to reveal its true form. I’m reflected back through the glossy tilt of it’s eyes. The beast looks like me in gargantuan proportions. It’s high pitched call threatens to shatter my eardrums.

“I have someone I want you to meet!”

I protest but the beast has me restrained. The wind as the beast whips me around rips at my hair like an abuser. I’m straining to keep my neck from snapping in two. I have to keep my eyes nailed shut or they may forever remain open.

Why the fuck is this happening?

The beast lets ungodly sounds of terror stream from it’s gaping mouth. Another voice bounces around the room.

“I’mmmm a ggeennie in a booottlllee!”

Suddenly my stomach is catapulted into my throat as I’m pushed down through a small opening into a room full of billowing curtains. A tan shirtless man with baggy pants greets me with a smile.

The booming voice lets out a shriek, “Here you go Barbie! It’s Genie Ken! You two get to know each other, I expect you to have lots of babies! And maybe divorces but first babies!”

Genie Ken’s smile falters.

“Please don’t take this personally,” He starts quietly, “But I’m totally gay.”

Genie

Material Sounds

Prompt – Song

Music – If These Trees Could Talk – Above the Earth, Below the Sky


In my dreams you’re always singing the song

The music is always right there,

In my bedroom, in my bed, lying next to me it seems

And your voice lays over it, so serene.

Sometimes you don’t sing,

It’s only music then

And we float away to another land.

We can dance the night away,

From the kitchen to the clouds.

We exist above material sounds.

In those moments

I can feel it in my soul,

The music makes me complete

In your arms and your eyes

I get lost every time.

The music tells me it’s ok,

Your song tells me you’re ok,

Whether we’re together in these dreams

Forever or never.

Sometimes I wish I knew the song was for me.

Sweet as it may be,

These aren’t reality after all.

And my mind starts working,

Over thinking,

The way it does,

And we fall.

Just like our song.

Falling, falling.

What will happen when we hit the ground?