Random Thoughts

Dean Martin of the velvet voice, with skin like a leather tan, they don't make em like you no more. The rich timbre of your sensuous voice, glides over my heart chords, plays my emotions like a tightly strung violin, strokes my inner core into awareness... into submission. Never have I wanted, to sway across the floor, caution thrown to the wind, eyes closed to experience, all you have to offer, head thrown back to catch, the rushing wind in my hair. Baby you're bad for me, like a vodka on ice, in the middle of a scorching afternoon, but I'll be damned, for the enticement of such an Italian sin, has me drawn like a moth to flame. If I had the cure to assuage, this curly haired, dimple filled addiction that is you darling, I'd rush to the deepest canal, and dump it in the darkened waters, cause what we have honey, ain't no simple relationship, no, it's amore. 

It's been a while since I've felt like this, but it's all so familiar. The denial, the pain, and then the sweet sweet numbness. I try to rush through it a bit, jump straight from denial to being numb. Unlike before, the words to describe it are not forthcoming. But all I know it that I have to type, I have to pour it out. If it stays in...well, I don't know...I don't think it'll do my heart any good. In the grand scheme of things it seems like such a petty problem. Tears won't really help either, would they? :D What a silly little thing I am. No matter! I'll just have to keep a stiff upper lip and carry on. No need being down over something I have no control over. I expected this to happen anyway. Yet, it still hurts. 

It's midnight and once more, I'm blogging instead of sleeping. But how can I sleep, when in less than 12 hours I will be baptised as one of Jehovah's Witnesses 😆 I am nervous 😯, excited😃, and sad😢. I should be rolling around in joy, but my happiness is dampened by the fact that someone so special to me won't be there to share this memorable occassion with me. Oh how I miss them, but one must be cruel to be kind. N'est pas?

Imagination Reality

Man much missed, how you call to me, call to me, Saying that now we are not as we were, When you had changed from the one who was all to me, But as at first, when our day was fair. Can it be you that I hear? Let me view you, then, Moving slowly as you drew near to me, As we waited for the bus: for I knew you not then, But noticed your shirt, blue as the deepest sea! Or is it only the wind, carrying my miseries, Travelling across the globe to you there, You being ever dissolved to treasured memories As you are no longer by me here?       Thus I; faltering forward,       Snow around me falling, Wind oozing thin through the coat that I wear,       And the man calling. Dare I edit Hardy's poem?  Confound it all...I certainly dare. Lest you accuse me of copyrighting, I hereby state that, few edited words aside, this poem is the intellectual property of Thomas Hardy (OM).

Seaweed scattered at the Front of Davy Jones' bay. People bobbing like apples in the barrel of his home. Lost belongings adorn the surface of the sand. A lost shirt proving adequate shelter for the solitary sand flea. Aimless wanderers floating across the horizon as if their goal lies at the end of the sandy beach. The wind dances with the wandering figures as the crashing waves play a continuous beat. The song of the peddler as he jostles his wares lends a lively tone to the sounds of the sea. Running children their steps in time to the beeping horn of the ice-cream man. Dripping cones of sugary sweetness provides a reprieve from the scorching heat. And the solitary writer seating on the hard packed seat of sand, taking it all in.

Music has been known to soothe a ravaged and depressed soul. Hence, when the world tries to bring me down, I almost always turn to kingdom melodies to pick myself off the ground. In light of all the misery that I have tried ( and failed) to make myself numb to, this song never fails to offer me hope and I want to share it with you.