So I decided to put my recent musical endeavors into one post, an “EP” of sorts, and yes, I’ve been on a bit of Paul Simon kick lately. It’s tunes and a few words getting stuck in the head for whatever reason, karaoke versions found and new lyrics written. I’ve said this in posts in the past but these are kind of my editorials, my opinion pieces, my heart and thought is in them, I just like putting them to tune sometimes as I’ve discovered I really enjoy doing my best to sing them out and then building them. It is time dedicated in my little studio at the end of a whatever workday with no co-workers, no distractions and where nothing seeps, crawls in. With the way the world has been since April and March and continues to be, with the isolating of ourselves trying to do our best to be safe and to help stem the tide, we have all needed distractions of some type to get us through this fucked up new normal with at least a portion of our sanity intact.

Now I know that even before all of this shit and all of the fear, the anxiety, the loss, the pain for so many, the astounding stupid that has reared it’s ugly but sadly empowered head recently I’ve never had an issue with isolating myself, just me and Bella and the Unintentionals now and those dearly missed before, but I have found myself writing more than ever within my home bubble, some good, some not so good, some just plain crap, some just me experimenting, but writing nonetheless and that has been MY sanity’s distraction.

Celie said to me early on when I told her after a come home on a Friday “Alright, I’m off upstairs to distancing and a hunkerin’ down”

“So just a regular Steve weekend then?”

Ha! She’s a funny one that Celie. HeHe

Anyway, here is A Fascist Truth Sledgehammer … The EP – tunes + lyrics (the most important part)

(I’ve attached a link in the title of each tune to the original post they came from by the way. Also note that the lyrics to “Karen’s Been Triggered” were written by my really good friend, going back to my WVU days, Rick Cross … he was quite a life saver for me back in those days, still is.

(sidebar on that last note:  I met Rick as the editor of the school paper then when I somehow convinced him to let me write a regular column about the WVU days and the adventures of two fictional characters, roommates and weirdos, Earl & Jamm which ended up having its moments of popular regular readership, hell, they even threw their ballcaps in the ring for student body President in one election and got quite a few votes. And I can never think of him, who offered me a room in his house after a fire took almost all I had, without thinking of the week of one particular Spring Break where we moved our mattresses into the living room, friends invited, a shitload of beer and pizza and nothing but movies … man the sheer volume of the movies … and some passing out and rewinding. Ohhh, to go back to just one week.

Me and Covid Down By The Schoolyard

(to the tune of “Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard”)

Check Check

Hello?

Is this thing on?

Can ya hear me in the back?

Trumpy the Tinpot rolled in his head

Reasons for his orange misfortune

He was convinced it was a plot at sabotage

And he silenced all investigation

It’s just not fair

My me up in the air

I whine it’s just not fair

Of what else do I care

Trumpy looked round scored blame to be found

Shafting all engaged organizations

Telling smart to take a hike, stupid’s got this round

You can trust of our best intentions

Well we’re on our way

To worst response we just say ‘fake’

We’re on our way

Taking blind time

Hoping it goes away

Goodbye science, we’re King of Corona

Seein’ Me and Covid

Down by the schoolyard

Seein’ Me and Covid

Down by the schoolyard

(Break …)

Wahhh-Ooooh

If we send ‘em back to school

Everything would sure be cool

Pretty up re-election chances

Kennedy a mental not (knot)

Played tough and took a shot

At teachers he can kiss the ass of

Well we’re on our way

To worst response we just say ‘fake’

We’re on our way

Taking blind time

Hoping it goes away

Goodbye science, we’re King of Corona

Me and Covid

Down by the schoolyard

Seein’ Me and Covid

Down by the schoolyard

Seein Me and Covid

Down in the graveyard

Hey?

Did you hear me in the back alright?

Hello?

You suck

Thank you

You’re welcome

Check Check

Hello?…..

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You Can Call me King

(to the tune of “You Can Call Me Al”)

A man lies as he breathes
He says why would you trust another now
Who can you possibly trust
Now I’ve shown you what my facts is
A fascist truth sledgehammer
Nuthin’ else believe-able matters
Other than this con in this con man’s swamptown

(and a-oooh ah-oooh)

Lap dogs in orange swamplight
Here’s a lie-ball GOP go fetch excuses

Newsman, newsman
Get these facts away from me, ya know,
No one finds real truth interesting anymore

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I can be your despot chum
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me Czar

This man original Trumper says
There can never be a never me
If there’s a never me they’ll never be
Happy in a sea of me
Where will the answers come from
If I don’t truly be-lieve
Who will I turn to when
The truth slaps me
Awake and awake
To the harsh realities
Of Moscow Mitch’s word marble hypocriteness
Hammers and sickles
Getting stocked up in the open
Along with some of the finest cossack hats

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I’ll let you kneel and kiss my ring
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me King
You can call me King

A man late night he’s tweeting
How he’s a victim in this world
Maybe it’s a big blue meanie world
Where they’re just out to get him
And they don’t see his genius
Or see how great he his
The greatest all narcissists
Surrounding himself with nothing more than
Clowns clowns
Who dance for him like marionettes
In a tiny orange circus

He checks the mirror again
Sees Messiah staring back at him
At least that’s what the hacks say
And he so believes them

If you’ll loyalty me blind
I can be your despot chum
I can call you subject
And subject you adore me
You can call me Don

Na-na-na-na-na
Just call me king-na-na
You can kiss my ring na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Loyalties the thing na-na
Better never sing na-na
I’ll take your everything na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Better give up mind now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
You’ll be just fine now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Just a matter of time now

Ummmm ah-ah
Ummmm ah-ah
Democracy dies now

If you’ll loyalty me blind

I’ll let you kneel and kiss my ring

I can call you subject

And subject you adore me

You can call me King

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Karen’s Been Triggered (lyrics by Rick Cross)

(to the tune of “Eleanor Rigby”)

Ahhh, look at all the hateful people

Ahhh, look at these ungrateful people

Karen’s been triggered

Pickets outside of a church where a gay wedding’s been

This love is a sin

Waits at her stylist in an angry red face mask that matches her MAGA hat’s tinge

Where to begin?

All the frightened people

Why do they hide their eyes?

All the angry people

While our republic dies

President Donnie

Face slack and ugly and troll-like and ready to sneer

Mindless drones cheer

Look at him preening

Feckless old monster, his mantra is greed, hate and fear

Let’s end his career

All the selfish people

Who teaches them this stuff?

All the stubborn people

How many dead’s enough?

Ahhh, look at all the hateful people

Ahhh, look at these ungrateful people

Karen’s still triggered

Gasping for air on machines in a hospital hall

Why won’t her god call?

President Donnie

Shrugs and ignores digging up 80,000 new graves

It’s money he craves

All the coughing people (Ah, look at all the hateful people)

Was Easter service nice?

All the toxic people (Ah, look at these ungrateful people)

Who’ll make no sacrifice…

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

It Was A Dead Day

(to the tune of “The Boy In The Bubble”)

It was a dead day

A day to start dying

Cavalier severe consequence

Another bold lie

Masquerading as bravado

Self preservation festering

As it always does

These were the days of self-interest and some bluster

It was the usual roll … call

Of made up facts and imaginary figures

All in a spotlight’s glow

A new ways for a sudden realization

Of a daily narcissistic’s call

These are the days of stupidity and blunder

And Baby I’ll lie, I’ll lie

… I’ll lie

It was a cruel truth

As it swept across a nation

That we weren’t prepared

As we wished we could

Have been more in line

With science not a State News

As the blame game took root

Following us around … us around

These are the days of stupidity and blunder

A Lysol dream much better than vaccine

The way the presser was a mini rally e-vent

Until embarrassment called

The way the pundits try to search a new distraction

A shiny catch of wandering eye

These are the days of stupidity and blunder

And baby I’ll lie, I’ll lie

… I’ll lie

It’s extreme now a violence

A base that’s so inclined to such

Encouraged to stray from the middle of the road

Down an angry dark path of ignorance and bullets

Dead innocents in Michigan for what a maskless sake?

These are the days of cowards passing muster

Try and make a momma so proud

A certain sense of purpose of the stupid

Empowered by the man upstairs

These are the days of stupidity and bluster

Momma’s proud somewhere

So proud a follower of the Trump Dumb Down

In his wake blindly with no care oh yeah

The way you find yourself and your own violence

But then you just have to cry

At the thought that drove you in the first place

Here

Oh my

Oh my …

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

These Are Trump Days

(to the tune of “Those Were The Days”)

Once upon a time there was a nation

A proud one come about but fraught with pain

Of dealing with an oh so shameful histr’y

A one that doesn’t seem to want to change

These are Trump days my friend

We pray there’ll be an end

As we dance now beneath jackbooted feet

We try to have our say

But are tear gassed away

These are Trump days yes sadly they’re trump days

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

And now the matter’s gotten so much bleaker

Not better as you’d hope histr’y would learn

And presidents who should be our uniters

Instead opt to take messianic turns

These are Trump days my friend

Please God help make them end

I cannot breathe my eyes they want to bleed

We tried to have our say

For light to lead the way

But it’s Trump days, we’re lost amid Trump days

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

He stood in the Rose garden claimed alliance

With pro-testers on a peaceful go

But then he strapped on his small orange jackboots

went for a walk to turn this into show

These are Trump days my friend

Please God ya have to send

An angel’s mercy on our hapless lot

Who just want things to change but cannot in this age

These are Trump days, he won’t allow the ways

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

La La La La La La La

Please just get off his neck

His momma wants to see her son again

There comes a day where me must be deciders

Of fate that’s dark continued going back

Or a one that tries to move us forward

Something that is more than just attack

These … are … Trump … days my friend

Heavens please help us mend

Help us push back on tyrants on the roam

To help us save the weak

Knees under cannot speak

These are Trump days, the devil’s in Trump days

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

La La La La La La La

Please just get off his neck

These Momma’s want to see their sons again

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Right A Vote

(to the tune of “Kodachrome”)

When I think back on the elections when I was younger

They were fair or at least as fair could be

But Trump days came and changed things

And not changed for the better now

Justifying straight cheating as a means

Voting righ-igh-ights

We’ve got a way to exercise ‘em

Gives us a fighting chance

Makes you think and hope along for a brighter day, oh yeh

I got this right that’s still mine

Hasn’t yet been ta-ken away

But we gotta be protective when comes the day

But the games are afoot and have been for a while now

Whining fraud means they’ve already begun

We’ve heard the threats of magic powers, military presence

suppression it will come in a host of forms

Voting righ-igh-ights

We’ve got a way to exercise ‘em

Gives us a fighting chance

Makes you think and hope along for a brighter day, oh yeh

I got this right that’s still mine

Hasn’t yet been ta-ken away

But we gotta be protected when comes the day

Trump he wants to scare this voting right away

Given chance he’ll do anything for a trump day-ay

Donnie’s gonna su-press this voting right away

But Donnie can’t stop these voting rights

Though try he will with all his might

Mail yours in to push the right aw-ay-ay-ay

He’ll try and frighten you sit tight

To stay at home for fear of fight

But Donnie can’t take these voting rights away

To the Right cheating’s a normal day

It’s how they’ve always made their hay

It seems they don’t know any other way-ay-ay

But Donnie can’t shake our voting rights

He’ll whine and cry all day and night

But Trump can’t take your voting right away-ay-ay

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Gettin’ Late For Democracy

(to the tune of “Late In The Evening”)

The thing we got’s remember

As we lie scared in our beds

Is that there are things that we just have to do

Lethal orange self interest

That is ruling a corrupted roost

That doesn’t really care for a me or you-ou

It’s getting’ late for Democracy

Unless we find a way stay true-ue

We find ourselves at a crossroads now

Where truth is only framed a load

Of some angry liberal lying shit

We have incompetent’s at every spot

Who are really nothing more than sharks

Throwing chum for self as they try to clear the pool

It’s gettin’ late for democracy

Unless we really hit the mark

It is now we have to hit this mark

To walk in a less contentious park

But one where we are still allowed to breathe

It highlights a propagandist blight

An affront to everything that’s right

While pointing out the obvious of lies

It’s gettin’ late for democracy

Unless we can get this right

(break)

Need to fight William Low Barr

Who’s so corrupted rule of law

And thinks Prez is that one and only rule

He seems to feel there is no law

That Prez isn’t always above

To the detriment of a me and you

It’s getting’ late for Democracy

And that is ALLLL a me and you

(break)

Wanna set the record straight

Dismiss the talk of great

That isn’t what this is all about

Cause it’s obvious that ain’t the case now

Cries of fake a wheelhouse take

Of news that doesn’t rate

It doesn’t fit the narrative of state

When I recently had an allergic reaction to a medicine I’ve been taking for just a short period of time that blew my face up into a bulbous early Halloween costume winner I was relieved by a couple of things. One, there was the relief after the urgent care Doc gave a diagnosis, that was then confirmed by my doctor, of it simply being an allergic reaction and that it wasn’t something that was … ya know … gonna dead me. And two, I was relieved that my “bold” “dangerous” “fierce” “had us trembling under the bed” new look, as some influencers may have exclaimed, didn’t last very long, especially not long enough for the villagers down in the town to make the discovery of the new monster up on the hill forcing them to their woodsheds and barns for torches and pitchforks and Sharpee’s for crudely misspelled signs.

But of course that relief couldn’t be allowed to last very long now could it, as later on that afternoon, when checking my bank account online I realized that instead of me just paying my 25 dollar co-pay before I was seen, I had somehow, accidentally, paid my entire balance of 1300 hundred dollars instead. Son of a bitch.

Yeah, that came as QUIIIIIIITE a shock, even more so than my lumpy oatmeal face, though for those of you who know me I’m sure you don’t find such an accidental occurrence all that surprising, but that would have caused some serious issues in the Land of Steve if I couldn’t get it reversed.

Eventually I was able to get things worked out and get my money back but in the process I also realized, shit!, I have a freakin’ balance of 1300 bucks with these folks, so I asked the woman who assisted me if I could set up a monthly thing, like I have with a number of creditors for medical bills stemming from my hospital limbo shuffling slow hallway hospital socks for nine days discovered adrenal deficiency something or other requiring a daily steroid dose now vacation a few years ago. I asked if could set something up for, say, 25 bucks a month, like I do with the others only to be told that they don’t set up automatic payments for an amount as small as that because, of course, why would they? I mean if you’re gonna keep up appearances of being part of the remarkably unaffordable world of U.S healthcare you gotta even have payment plan standards that are difficult.

I figured though, that I would just go this company’s website, find my account and start paying this 25 bucks on my own. I’d get the small money ball rolling at least. Easy right? HeHeHe. Oh, you are so gullible my friends. No, first thing I discovered, and I haven’t been to the site in a while, not since I set up the account years ago, was that they’ve changed their password requirements “FOR YOUR SECURITY” as well as added some new steps of verifying who you are.

Now let’s get one thing straight, and I don’t think I’m alone here, I DON’T WANT TO CHANGE MY FUCKING PASSWORD!!! And it’s not like this is some monetary account, like my checking or my HSA or that stash in the Caymen’s from that last bank job (the one Billy almost fucked up – and I SAID “don’t think Billy, please just don’t fucking think, just drive the car Billy … just … drive … the … fucking … car”) or the stock investment portfolio I don’t want to brag on about. I mean, what’s the concern here? That some no goodster online meanie person is going to hack my account and do what? Pay my bill?

And I don’t want to come up with a new password with a minimum whatever the hell they’re asking for now, like 37 characters, a capital letter, a number, a symbol, any town in Bulgaria but spelled backwards and a trucker handle from the 70’s.

And the other new security measures. 5 questions? Really??!!

Well, and I don’t care if you all know, but my first girlfriend, my first pet, my second Grandma on my mother’s side, my third Grandad on my dad’s side and my fourth Elementary school after I was kicked out the first three are all, coincidentally, named Bob.

But, once you get past all of this, you are then ready to log into … the Portal?!

Ok but no, hell no, that’s the last straw. It’s NOT a freakin’ Portal!!! it’s just me logging into my account at a website! If I’m going to enter any type of “Portal” it’s going be something space age and futuristic and all science fictiony and shit. It’s going to transport me to another dimension, take me to the future, drop me into a world that isn’t as batshit crazy and astoundingly dumb as this current one, it’s going whisk me away to a universe with all the rainbow of colors of alien chicks Captain Kirk slept with (I’ll bring condoms though, the large size, just in case, I mean ya never know what weirdness might arise in this strange new universe. Plus, love James T an’ all, but I don’t trust where he’s been) but it’s definitely NOT going be my boring and depressing account, life, at a medical company’s website with a history that just shows me getting old with a daunting balance.

Well, anyway, I stopped at “Portal” and closed things out before it spirited me away to someplace even more exciting than my medical bills, like maybe the details of my bankruptcy 7 years ago or my tax return history.

I’ll try again tomorrow I guess.

Freakin’ portals.

The next time someone asks if you’ve ever seen a cat befriend a mouse …

When I was a kid my heroes were sports stars, specifically baseball and a couple of Pittsburgh Pirates, Richie Zisk and John Candelaria. That’s all I thought “heroes” were, not knowing yet that there was way more to the definition of the word than just that one thing and, not knowing this yet, I never thought to attribute the word to my father. He was just Dad, the guy who was always there, the one who I would check out the window for far too often on a daily basis looking to see if his whatever old car had pulled in yet after work, the one person I always wanted to impress like Richie Zisk and John Candelaria impressed me but, more importantly, the one I never wanted to disappoint.

No, these heroes with gloves and bats and balls were heroes simply because I aspired to their talents and the glory that can come with it but I never wanted to BE them, be like them, as I didn’t know them. But, and I didn’t even really know it then, I was slowly realizing I wanted to be like my dad, because I DID know him, and he was good (if I’ve taken nothing else from my Dad all these years later it’s the “good” I hope I’ve lived up to). Even in this “I really didn’t know yet” stage I could see how much people liked “Hi, I’m Joe Frankenberry from New York” as he would cornily introduce himself years later to my new friends at college, and not embarrassingly as some may have felt of their Dads in such situations, but endearingly, me being so proud to “show him off”, he so looking forward to the trips back in late Augusts for the newest school year. I didn’t know then that I wanted to have the same open and giving heart as he, that I wanted to be as accepting of anyone, of any persons no matter their creed, color, religion or any other such thing we say to somehow delineate, like that’s necessary. That I wanted to have the same openness to any who would cross paths with his or mine. That I would take to heart his most steadfast personal mantra of “always try to walk, just a few steps, in someone else’s shoes Stephen”. That I wanted to do nothing more than to sit and listen to stories at family get togethers with the olders, my dad usually leading the way, instead of dallying uselessly with my cousins. That I wanted to maybe tell my own stories. That I wanted my future person to be as close to his as I could possibly get.

I didn’t know then that I would veer off a bit eventually and that we would have our differences, which would be all about me becoming my own person I guess, but that it would have a core, a core of Dad’s “good”. I didn’t know then how much that core would mean to me down the road.

This veering didn’t cause a rift though, because that core wouldn’t allow it, but Dad and I did have some difficulty with the times in those days, MY times, my opinions being newly and constantly formed. They were alien to him but he always allowed them. I did, though, try to shield his good, as it was often a challenge for him with my veering but I still kept that core, eventually realizing that his stresses were a result of a changing world that was starting to get polarized. Dad didn’t like, no, more just plain didn’t understand that we all just couldn’t get along, even with differences, that there couldn’t somehow be compromise. I would tend to call Mom first in times of personal difficulty then of which there were many (oh, the drama of me) another person I wanted to be but for different reasons. And one I also hope I have done justice to.

As I grew older and wisdom started to slowly grace me I realized that “hero” is a many faceted word, has many iterations, that it has a huge range, from the ones who respond at the moment to aid in sometimes unexpected ways and maybe dire circumstance and sometimes at their own cost, to the selfless who willingly take on jobs that put their own lives at risk down to the simple teacher who persevered day after day for a lifetime to try and reach us, us arrogant idiots who thought we knew it all already and who I’m sure offered nothing but frustration too often. Hopefully I gave them a glimmer on occasion when I did respond to their teachings.

To the ones who stood up, were counted to the now new obvious heroes trying their best to keep us safe as best they can.

When “Joe Frankenberry from New York” passed away going on 25 years ago now it was right at a time of huge personal upheaval, my short lived marriage coming to an end because of sudden discovered differences (well sudden for me anyway) but known deep down to my too soon to be ex wife but ones that she needed to explore. What I didn’t know back then though was that the lessons learned from Dad, the wanting to be like him and the person he was, to just simply be good, to see all as they are with no preconceptions, was the only thing that would get me through all of the anger I could have possibly and easily felt. Yeh, a few steps in her shoes Dad. I took them.

I just didn’t understand then what hero really meant.

This was what I wrote for him back then (with a few minor updates) …

Been too long a time Dad.

 

The Story Of A Good Man

 

He watches Gunga Din

And I watch him

Seeing myself in the tears

That fall

To the armchair

To the beat of Gunga Din’s drum

 

I’ve written many lines

About a good man

Not conquered

By evils that say Hi in the street

Everyday

Mocking his ignore and pass

 

I’ve written many lines

About a good man

Who asked no questions

To explain pain

Only answers a child knows

But is forced to forget

 

I’ve written lines

Of hate

Thrashing at God

Unfairness palpable

On a piece of paper

I can maybe wave on the courthouse steps

 

But I’ve never written lines

About a good man and faith

Unfailing

Flesh only a hindrance

The higher

Reached without even having to try

 

I’ve never written lines

About a good man’s search

For family

The roots of the tree

Embedded in soil,

Rich,

About a good man’s search

For history

And reasons

 

I’ve never really written lines

About my Father

Just myself

 

A back to make Atlas envy

An Irish song sung

A family cherished

A God that is good

A heart that was a soul

A day that ended with dinner and talk

 

Gunga Din’s drum beats

Bagpipes implore

Civil War battles rage

Happy girls dance a jig

Irish ballads cry

As do I

At the death of a good man

I’ve had better weeks. Actually, I can remember a week back in ’95 that … shut up Steve, idiot … no, this one was a bit much. Came to the discovery that the blood pressure meds I was prescribed a couple of months ago suddenly agreed with me rather poorly, to the tune of a face the envy of an elephant man. If I had died from such Michael Jackson’s estate would have surely wanted to buy my bones. And my attempt to try and save a poor little turtle along my busy way home a couple of days later would go so sadly unwell, replete with plenty of “motherfuckers”, flailing raised arms directed at a distancing car and an angrily bouncing, sobbing guy in the middle of a busy roadway.

I responded to one of the comments at my Facebook page of the retelling of this sad turtle story that I almost reached my “snap” moment, as the pressures of these days have mounted, so close in this momentary anger to just completely losing it, madly dancing in small tight circles in the middle of this roadway, that moment where you almost just let it all go, damning the torpedoes and the wide eyed stares of those passing who have no idea.

/////////////////////////////////////////////

As Celie was pulling away, and just as BB and I were pulling up into our usual spot at the house she leaned out of the cab of her truck and, taking a look at my pandemic sweatpants, said I just needed to burn them. I made sure to clarify that she wasn’t talking literally at that very moment. I was wearing old underwear. Sorry Ma. No car wrecks on the way home at least, if it makes ya feel any better.

/////////////////////////////////////////////

My sister, Beck, texted me not too long ago to ask what I thought of Mom continuing to stay with her and the boys and the fur up Albany way instead of heading off to an assisted living place in Carmel. I about broke out in tears. Actually I did, closed the door to my little studio and sat in a puddle. I could never have asked such a thing as she is the one shouldering the care of my Ma who is slipping some. But this slipping has been, not halted but at least greatly slowed since she moved in there. The interaction, the stimulus so much different and so much necessary from the living by herself in that little place at my Aunt Lib’s. My mom should never be one for solitude, she’s so much more than that, has so much more to offer and is such great company even within a decline. And she has a Razzy. I swear to God, whoever that may be, that that dog is gonna be my Mom’s savior.

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Celie’s sister was here with the kids yesterday as Celie has reopened the pool for the season and, as I saw them playing and doing kid pool things, it reminded me of what I felt as a kid myself and the joy of a day trip to that one person that mom knew that had a pool. Her friend in that one apartment complex, on the other side of the world it seemed for how long it took to get there (the anticipation adding miles and miles and miles in my mind) couldn’t tell ya who now. But man, did I feel special to recount on a Monday to my pals how I had gone swimming over the weekend knowing their jealousy would make me a king.

/////////////////////////////////////////////

Still listening to Alan Parsons, down time, sleep time, BB time ever since I did the rediscovery time that I’ve mentioned previously. “I Robot” right now. “Eve” again if I don’t hit it soon. Just as we all have comfort food we also have comfort music. I know, an obvious but just sayin’ it.

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Found out last week that, of our group of stations up north in Albany, that they would like me, after letting go of the voice guy, to be the imaged voice of the big one there and I’ll lobby for my friend Dina as well. Sorry Dina. I just like being a team. Always good to have a female and male voice. Now in a normal world this might come with a benefit you’d think right? But this is not a normal world. Funny, though I might have taken this to anger in the past, being told of no extra benefit, I’m instead just looking at it as a point of pride. My sis and my nephews and my mom, who live up there, will be able to hear me. What more could I really ask for? That’s a me Ma. See, I told ya.

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Messaged my latest song endeavor to a couple of my dearest friends from the college days, actually dearest of friends period, Lori and Tom (JT), a draft of it as “drafts” are what I do (we need to add Mark to our Zoom calls by the way). Always gives you a little bit of wiggle room if you call them drafts. I got a “ridiculously talented” (oh, please, go on) and “fucking clever”. And I don’t even know if I really like this one. But that’s why ya call them friends right?

Right A Vote

When I think back on the elections when I was younger

They were fair or at least as fair could be

But Trump days came and changed things

And not changed for the better now

Justifying straight cheating as a means

 

Voting righ-igh-ights

We’ve got a way to exercise ‘em

Gives us a fighting chance

Makes you think and hope along for a brighter day, oh yeh

I got this right that’s still mine

Hasn’t yet been ta-ken away

But we gotta be protective when comes the day

 

But the games are afoot and have been for a while now

Whining fraud means they’ve already begun

We’ve heard the threats of magic powers, military presence

suppression it will come in a host of forms

 

Voting righ-igh-ights

We’ve got a way to exercise ‘em

Gives us a fighting chance

Makes you think and hope along for a brighter day, oh yeh

I got this right that’s still mine

Hasn’t yet been ta-ken away

But we gotta be protective when comes the day

 

Trump he wants to scare this voting right away

Given chance he’ll do anything for a trump day-ay

Donnie’s gonna suppress this voting right away

 

But Donnie can’t stomp these voting rights

Though try he will with all his might

Mail yours in to push the right aw-ay-ay-ay

 

He’ll try to frighten you sit tight

To stay at home for fear of fight

But Donnie can’t take these voting rights away

 

To the Right cheating’s a normal day

It’s how they’ve always made their hay

It seems they don’t know any other way-ay-ay

 

But Donnie can’t shake our voting rights

He’ll whine and cry all day and night

But Trump can’t take your voting right away-ay-ay

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“Catien” – Sci-Fi movie poster for the solitary cat dude: “In Single Space No One Can Hear You Laugh … When Your Cat Trips”

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Bought three new pillows at Dollar General recently (12 bucks motherfuckers – badump! – love that place) knowing that the one I sleep on, however much of a friend it is, looks underpass mattress-like when you remove the pillowcase. Put one in a closet just in case of the company I will never have and the other two? My head hasn’t touched ‘em. One is just a new fluffy behind my back lean and the other has been appropriated. HeHe, it seems I’m still stuck living in my apartment underpass hoping no one will ever look beneath the pillowcase. Friends are friends, however grossly stained they might be. Plus they still bring dreams.

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A good friend who lives in Hawaii will punctuate her posts and messages with a picture of her feet, often flip flopped, crossed casually ahead of a really nice Hawaii backdrop, a sunset, a beach, a Steve stomach turning cool shot of the ocean from a clifftop, a look out a window from a comfy spot. And she does this all while dealing with a world that, for her, personally, has spun upside down. All as she tries keep family as strong as she can. Those feet are such a positive. Aspire. Cheers Cindy.

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My sanity, whatever that may be, is not the tangible thing I may wish, it’s not that one thing I can grab a hold of and say “this is me”. It’s just a who I am at the moment, ever evolving, the things that I do that keep me moving forward. It’s re-worked songs that express my outrage and my anger and new ones I keep re-working, it’s the childhood memories of pool play, it’s lost turtles, it’s cats that claim new pillows or have their usual spots, it’s landlady’s and friend who give you shit, it’s a job that is still somehow paying you and the pride of being the “voice” of something. But it’s also the what I don’t know. Anyone’s “me” comes down to the what you don’t know and how you respond. I’m just going to choose to actively ignore the “what you don’t know” for the moment hoping my hunkered down allows, at best, a don’t know of a maybe bumping into a futon in the dark or a squeezing of cat puke through the toes in the same. Otherwise I’ll use the time to hold that off if that’s Ok. Even for a few minutes.

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And there is the Memes, old girl Mimi the Quirky, who adopted ME quite a while ago after she snuck up the stairs and decided to stay and who HAS to be my company for words.

Yeh, I’m good until shit takes a next step to the what you don’t know.

Breathe if you can and enjoy the moment.

So new addition to the family here at the homestead the Friday before last. Meet Marvin the Microphone so named by my sis after I sent her a picture that weekend. Funny but she responded that it looked like a robot and that I should name it Marvin even though she doesn’t remember much of The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy, if any at all, which just happens to be one of my favorite books (series) of all time (if you’ve never read it you are missing out, especially if you have a Monty Python type sense of the funny and the silly and absurd). She doesn’t recall the character of Marvin, the depressed and bored robot from that classic series of books. Guess my geekiness can unknowingly influence. Probably a family thing.

It’s an unprecedented time, well at least for our current. There have been many more “unprecedented” times before this. But this unrest and the pain that comes with it, a lot of anger, a lot of unnecessary loss, a lot of fuck you to whoever you can say fuck you to, a lot of sadness is just ours now. Man, this all makes the brain a jumble, a trying to grab the puzzle pieces that fall astray while attempting to fit them into borders that no longer exist, no reference to fill out the middle, no picture on the box, borders bending and swaying on their own now, getting larger or shrinking depending on the day or the latest news cycle, creating their own little universe of new puzzle that doesn’t adhere to any norm you were accustomed to and not in a good way. Surreal is too easy to say, too easy to use saying “surreal” as a way to justify but then pass off, “Oh, this is just so surreal Karen, now can we just move on and did you catch how I just used “surreal” … is Glenda’s open yet? My nails are fried”

I’m angry, I’m “motherfucking” everything upside down and sideways on a daily basis these days, rightways, leftways, at the dumb and the senselessness we have taken to as a new normal but trying my best to at least not have it affect me and the girls. This is my bit of whatever perfect might be. Will it last? Of course not, but it’s a good now.

I am writing what I do with the girls right here, they are MY normal. There are pickups and laps, distractions that remind, rubs of my Bella’s ears or Cricket the Blind’s belly or Mimi the Quirky’s back that makes her flinch …and stretch. They are the best of these welcome distractions.

A good friend, colleague, one who I sent a draft of this to earlier, said to me, declining my tune listen, “my soul is weary. I need to feed myself healthy, nutritious positivity. Even satire takes from me…it doesn’t help me right now”.

Point.

And apologies.

I responded back that I can be a glutton of anger just with a keyboard and a microphone. But I also left a small bag of cat treats on her desk for her “Bea”. It’s small but I got a thumbs on that, a paws up more specifically.  It seems sometimes all ya need is a paw of approval “Hey, if only a little thing like some cat treats brightens the world, your small one, like the same cat treats in my own small, then job well done”.

But things are still out there.

There doesn’t seem to be any real brighter right now.

I still anger.

If you’ve read here at all, can’t really be concerned if you haven’t I guess, what am I gonna do, but if you’re here right now, at these very words, then Ok, thank you. I still go on, as this is a just me, and you probably know that I took to singing a little while ago. Not necessarily very well but that’s not the point. The point is that I HAVE a point and a voice, that anger at least having an outlet, one I just like better with accompaniment and new sharp words I hope you find to be on spot, a voice I want to make to make sure is heard, well, if anyone pays a visit that is, even a few. At least know it’s out there to be so.

The Attic isn’t a bad place by the way, it has it’s moments, just mind your head … and your feet, especially if they are bare. Cricket the Blind is quite the litter kicker.

 

Couple of other post links of recent’s in this tuneful vein …

It Was a Dead Day …

Hittin’ the Ahhh’s (An Eleanor Rigby Take) …

You Can Call Me King …

 

 

These Are Trump Days

Once upon a time there was a nation

A proud one come about but fraught with pain

Of dealing with an oh so shameful histr’y

A one that doesn’t seem to want to change

 

These are Trump days my friend

We pray there’ll be an end

As we dance now beneath jackbooted feet

We try to have our say

But are tear gassed away

These are Trump days yes sadly they’re trump days

 

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

 

And now the matter’s gotten so much bleaker

Not better as you’d hope histr’y would learn

And presidents who should be our uniters

Instead opt to take messianic turns

 

These are Trump days my friend

Please God help make them end

I cannot breathe my eyes they want to bleed

We tried to have our say

For light to lead the way

But it’s Trump days, we’re lost amid Trump days

 

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

 

He stood in the Rose garden claimed alliance

With pro-testers on a peaceful go

But then he strapped on his small orange jackboots

went for a walk to turn this into show

 

These are Trump days my friend

Please God ya have to send

An angel’s mercy on our hapless lot

Who just want things to change but cannot in this age

These are Trump days, he won’t allow the ways

 

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my neck

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

 

La La La La La La La

Please just get off his neck

His momma wants to see her son again

 

There comes a day where me must be deciders

Of fate that’s dark continued going back

Or a one that tries to move us forward

Something that is more than just attack

 

These … are … Trump … days my friend

Heavens please help us mend

Help us push back on tyrants on the roam

To help us save the weak

Knees under cannot speak

These are Trump days, the devil’s in Trump days

 

La La La La La La La

Won’t you get off my nec

Oh momma please I need ya momma please

 

La La La La La La La

Please just get off his neck

These mommas want to see their sons again

 

 

With all of what’s gone down in the last 3 months (just talking the mundane here mind you), all that has been put aside, all the normalcy that has been put on hold, I thought one of people’s silliest concerns was how they haven’t been able to get to their hairdresser or their barber. To me, vanity, a new cut or simply a more manageable doo was a little low on the list of priorities.

But, with things slowly opening up now, I think I may have more of an understanding as to why this was so important to folks as I was able to get to Wally G’s of Poughkeepsie this past weekend. He’s actually pretty close to the stead here so it’s a quick run. I hadn’t visited him in a while though, more out of laziness than anything else, but once I did it was nice to catch up. We talked, or at least I talked is more to the point, Wally isn’t much for conversation. It is nice though to feel a little lighter.

Plus Wally G only costs me 18 bucks, which isn’t a bad price for a barber’s cut these days especially when you divide that by the number of haircuts over the last year and a half or so since I bought a pair of clippers at Walgreens. And yeh, “Wally G’s” shop IS pretty close, my shower and a looking at the mirror across the bathroom is pretty close. (showers not running by the way, just an easier spot for the fallen cleanup).

And considering, as I posted recently, that I’ve worn the same pair of sweat pants to work every day, 5 days a week, for into the 11th week now or so just because I think it’s funny (hey, every Saturday is a wash day so stop judging before you start thank you) it’s not like “looks” are really a concern of mine (day 5 each week of said sweatpants maybe should be though). Plus, I save on shampoo.

There’s only going to be one issue, and that’s if my glasses get bigger relative to my face moving forward, because if I start to even approach anything closer to what could be a younger Elliot Gould in the Ocean’s movies I might have to seek an intervention, or at least a Go Fund me page to help me get something other than a frame out of the cheap plastic bin at the eye Doc. Shit, even that actual bin is cheap, the kind of thin plastic that bends and dents and folds just looking at it.

Thanks Wally G. I’d leave ya a tip but well … you’re a pair of clippers and that would just subtract from my estimated savings anyway.

(Oh, the Mimi the Quirky and Bella pic is their unstated staring opinion of the new cut. Thanks you two … just lie to me next time will ya)

“I am … an ally of all peaceful protesters.” Trump from Rose Garden June 1

“now, be gone with you with tear gas and rubber bullets so I can take a disingenuous, shameless and awkward photo with a bible that somehow didn’t burn my fingers in front of a church that I’ve almost never visited even though it’s right across the way from the house and then build a 30 second campaign like video of my imagined strength and triumtrumphantyness (that’s a word right? well, it is now … I’ve got the best words)”

 

Robin Givhan  – The Washington Post

Trump’s photo with his loyalists was a vulgar mess. And Ivanka brought a handbag.