Every Day Is Exactly The Same

Pencil to screen and back again
Each day, every night, I translate the voices
Post about them, about me where my mind’s been
The days I stop, I regret my choices

Prompts, ideas and ways to reveal
I leap at the chance to show more
Call it addiction, it seems like a wheel
That never stops turning, my mind’s at war

I think what I’m trying in this peculiar way
Is as long as I keep writing, I’ll own my name
I’m the maker of the music i wish to play Every day is something, it just always seems the same.

****blogger’s note****

This is a a little something different for two prompts. Trifecta Writing wanted a poem in 333 words, 3 lines or 3 stanzas. http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ The Lighting and The Lightning Bug wanted me to speed write for ten minutes. I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, hated it, then rewrote it over ten minutes. http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/2012/05/flicker-of-inspiration-52-speed-writing.html This will eventually be turned into a Helene troy song.

Today’s song is about my anxiety disorder. Don’t interpret the lyrics literally. But Trent Reznor’s captures mental illness well,in this song, Here’s Nine Inch Nails Every Day Is Exactly The Same.

Listen Like Thieves

Last time with Soul To Body: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/03/24/last-resort/

“Listen, Mallory, this is all my fault and I should apologize for calling you. I should talk to someone with the similar interests but right now, my head’s not right. “

He stood in haste and watched his cell phone tumble from the frayed opening of his jeans pocket onto the concrete floor. The little, gray metal rectangle settled near Mallory’s three-inch heels. He leaned down and she recrossed her legs revealing off-white underwear and long, unhosed legs from a short beige skirt. He felt trapped between politeness and urge. He decided against retrieving the phone and caught Mallory’s sly smile as he stood up straight. She leaned under the table and grabbed the phone then spoke through a pronounced smirk.

“You don’t have to be awkward around me. I’m used to difficult. It’s the nature of social work. You’re a unique blend of kind and gorgeous. But you called me for a reason and it wasn’t coffee.”

He was tired of being strong, appropriate and lonely. He just wanted something visceral. His next few words were careless, on purpose.

“Let me go home to deal with my daughter’s questions about your Facebook announcement, and you keep your Friday night clear.”

Mallory smiled and handed him the phone. Her neat nails clicked against the metal casing. He sighed and cupped his shaking left hand so she could drop the phone. She sat back in her chair, sipped her coffee then licked the excess brown liquid from her full lips.

“I’m very sorry for putting our meeting as my status. I guess I got caught up in getting a chance to be around you.”

He wasn’t ready for flirting. He looked to the door . They mouthed “bye” to each other at the same time. After exiting the Starbucks he tapped his phone and checked messages from his daughter and sister-in-law. The texts were inquisitive and hostile. He rolled his dark, sad eyes then murmured to himself.

“Everyone is right. I don’t listen very well. This is stupid but I just don’t care.”

****blogger’s note****

This is a new story episode of my widower and his teenager daughter called Soul To Body. You can find the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/soul-to-body/ This is in response to my friend Katie’s The Lightning and The Lightning Bug prompt http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/ Welcome back for Flicker of Inspiration! Your prompt this week was simple: Start your link-up post with the word “Listen.”

Today’s song is one I’ve wanted to use for a while. I love INXS. Their song Listen Like Thieves is very open to interpretation. Someone once told me “Listen Like Thieves” is a old European saying for “not listening at all” or “listening to manipulate”. I think that fits here.  

Lipstick and Bruises

 

Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/02/24/slither/

“Stop, stop, stop!”

The manager held his hands in front of his body, palms showing, with a grimaced face. Helene rolled her eyes and strummed several chords on her electric guitar. It produced loud feedback. The manager glared at Helene then addressed all three musicians.

“What’s going here?”

Sadie took a step toward the manager, gripping her bass guitar and forcing a smile. Her pale face reddened with embarrassment and Helene shot her a look of disapproval. She still spoke.

“What do you mean, I thought we sounded great. We tore through three songs really well?”

The manager glared at Helene as he answered Sadie.

“You sounded good but the feeling in this room is awful. You girls act like you’re punching the clock. So, air out whatever this is and get back to what I used to see and hear.”

Helene turned off her amplifier, unplugged her guitar, and leaned it against a stand. She walked three steps backward, placing herself directly between Sadie and Mara, then barked at the manager.

“You’re not our shrink. That contract we signed didn’t even say you had to be in the same room with us when we rehearsed. So, give us a few minutes while we talk as band and we’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to watch us.”

The manager wiped a bead of sweat from his large forehead and ran his small hands over his gelled black hair. He picked up three sheets of off-white paper and handed them to Sadie. Sadie took one, balanced her bass guitar against her waist and handed the other two pieces of paper to Helene.

“I’m going across the street to get something to eat. That your set list. You can move Slither to the top if you want, that sounded good. You’re playing three originals sprinkled throughout seven covers. If the crowd likes you, you can play whatever the hell you want for an encore.”

He strode to the loft’s front door. Helene shook her head and shouted.

“You took off the Ramona Gallery song and replaced it with Liz Phair? No fucking way!”

The manager turned around with dark, violent eyes but before he could respond, Mara stood behind her drum kit and wise-cracked.

“Maybe you should’ve stalked Liz instead. Then we’d all be happy, right now.”

Helene threw her paper to the floor and jumped at Mara. Mara’s foot was caught inside the drum pedal and Helene’s right forearm caught Mara on her right cheekbone. They tumbled behind the drums and Helene threw several punches. Screams of  “crazy bitch” and “fuck you” flew around both of them. Helene felt the manager’s arms lock around hers and she let him pull her away. Blood trickled from Mara’s mouth. Sadie cried out.

“What is the matter with you two? A week ago we were a band! Now we’re three bitchy hating little girls! Just stop it!”

Tears streamed over Sadie’s freckled, pale face. Helene knew how emotional Sadie was and disliked fighting. She often refereed Helene and Darcy’s arguments. Helene pointed her left finger at Mara but before she could answer, Sadie yelled.

“No, it’s all of our faults, Leney! All of us! We don’t talk. I know Darcy fucked up but you shouldn’t have just taken that apartment. And Mara, what do you do? You take up for Darcy and she fucks you over every time! Who cares who Leney is seeing? She was late and she sucks for that but we sound great and we’ll sound great tonight!”

Sadie was bawling. The neck of Helene’s t-shirt was stretched and the strap of her bra showed. She pulled the t-shirt up to cover herself and turned to the manager.

“Seriously, dude, just give us a few minutes. I’ll call you and tell you when to come back.”

After the sound of the loft door closing, Helene walked over to Sadie and threw her arms around her. The embrace was full. Helene craned her neck and her green eyes glanced at Mara who licked blood off of her fingers. Mara joined them in the hug. Helene pulled away and sat down on speaker.

“We can talk about Darcy until we’re all blue in the damn face but it won’t change the fact she chose drugs over us. I’m just trying to survive, that’s all. I stumbled into this great guitar playing gig with Ramona and things happened. I haven’t even figured out what those things are. But I’m committed to Slipper Socks Medium.”

Helene look at her blue and white electric guitar, standing alone in the middle of the floor. She realized she’d just told a lie.

This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. Your can read the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ I’ll laso linking up with Katie’s The Lightning and the Lightning Bug “Commitment” prompt. This fits well http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/2012/02/flicker-of-inspiration-linkup-39.html

Today’s song is something I was listening to when I wrote most of this. The lyrics fit. It’s about a girl outgrowing a guy or in this case, a girl outgrowing her band. Here’s Lipstick and Bruises.

Zombie Blonde Disturbia

Five twenty six a.m. shakes me with the sound of Rihanna. Since I’m the dumb jerk that gets up to wake the dead, you’d think I could get some hard rock, punk or Britpop.

I do my morning routine. It occurs to me that things are normal since no one is speaking to me, including the golden retriever. He feeds, and the others make themselves presentable.

I leave the bathroom and jump back. They’re all standing in the kitchen, staring at me with beautiful deep blue eyes.

“We want food” they say in creepy unison.

My wife and two of my daughters, 15 and 7, stumble toward me expressionless, mouths agape. Their gorgeousness deflecting their deadly desires. I respond cautiously.

“Go watch tv or something. Bobina, can you help me? The dog’s fed.”

She scowls at me. Her perfectly round face, accented by deep dimples and dirty gold curls around her cheeks, masks devious attitude.

“He wants more. If you what’s good for you, I mean, if you love me, you’ll give it to him and let me watch Phineas and Ferb.”

I roll my eyes. A minute later, I answer a knock at the door. Instead of sitting on the couches, my wife and two daughters are standing with lifeless shoulders, staring at the tv. I realize an awful truth. They’re zombies.

I open the door. It’s my 9 year old niece and my 8 year old daughter.

“What are you two doing here? You girls aren’t supposed to be here today.”

My 8 year old, as usual, does the talking.

“Oh daddy, we heard you were making pancakes. We snuck out of our other houses, made someone drive us then my cousin ate the driver, and now we’re here. Phineas and Ferb! Go get those pancakes, daddy!”

I grab the arms of my 8 year old, push my niece over to the others and run into the kitchen. I drop to one knee and hug her tightly. She feels normal. She’s strong and warm.

“Baby, talk to me. What’s wrong with them? I mean I know all four of them are nightmares in the morning, but, they’re zombie-like.”

My 8 year old kisses me on the forehead.

“Daddy, they are zombies. It’s Halloween. They aren’t afraid to show you they’re zombies on Halloween, silly.”

I touch her face, her arms, her legs, and feel her heartbeat.

“You’re ok, sweetie? They didn’t turn you into them?”

She shakes her head and takes a grape dum dum sucker from the pocket of her ripped jeans.

“Daddy, you made me or you had me made, whatever? You and I are robots. They can’t change robots into zombies. I’m 8 and I know that. That’s why they don’t eat us. Now, get those pancakes.”

I hug her and send her into the living room. I watch her sit everyone down.

A few minutes later, I deliver several pancakes to the living room. My wife and teenager are on one couch. The three younger girls are on the other loveseat. The golden retriever covers the floor like a 95 lb throw rug. They devour the pancakes like wolves tearing  raw meat.

“What is the matter with ya’ll? They’re just pancakes.”

Without warning, a creepy chant begins.

“Daddy’s pancakes are people! Daddy’s pancakes are people!”

I run into the kitchen and look at the box.

“Oh. Dear. God. It’s true!”

Then I wake up. It’s pretty much the same kind of nightmare two or three times a week. Happy Halloween.

*disclaimer* my niece and 8 yr old are brunettes, but, for some reason, in the nightmare, they’re blonde.

****blogger’s note****

My family of ladies are the prettiest pop zombies you’ve ever seen. I wanted to have some fun with Katie’s The Lightning and the Lightning Bug Halloween prompt of “The Living Nightmare” http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/

Today’s song is something my girls would like. At times, especially in the mornings, they’re aren’t far off from this story. They do love pancakes. Here’s Rihanna’s Disturbia.

I Haven’t Got A Clue

Twenty years is a long time to hold a grudge. Maybe writing this story will make it end.

I don’t care for Halloween. It just does nothing for me. My wife and kids love dressing up, carving pumpkins, trick or treating, watching scary movies, and being on prolonged sugar highs. I go through the motions with them, because they have my love and attention. If i tell the truth, I could live with a horror flick or three and eating my weight in pumpkin pie for a weekend, then calling it all off. I realize it’s a time to not take things seriously, loosen up, and have fun. If you know me, then you understand, I don’t have fun when I’m supposed to.

I enjoyed Halloween as a child. Two decades ago, something happened and I just decided I was made for Christmas and Easter, so All Hallow’s Eve could shove it sideways.

Like a lot of guys, I have an over the top fascination with The Godfather Movie Trilogy. In 1991, I was one of a few people who actually thought the third Godfather film was art. Since I was a teenager I have had people tell me I look like Andy Garcia. When my hair’s long, the tan is deep, and I’m in the right mood, I see what they’re talking about. Andy played Vincent Mancini-Corleone in the third movie. He makes more wardrobe changes than Madonna during a tour. He chews scenery. Mostly, he steals the movie from Al Pacino. For a costume party, I decided I would be Andy’s Vincent. I had to work that afternoon so that wearing everything to the radio station. The suit jacket was wool. The black mock turtle was too tight. I had half a bottle of hair gel slicking my hair.

Despite being uncomfortable, not really costumed but dressed up, and extraordinarily cranky from work and school, I met my friends at the party. I entered the scenario wanting people to “get” my Halloween idea. When people asked if I had just come from Catholic Mass I decided I wasn’t having fun. Then things got out of hand. I drank too much “Halloween punch”, got sick thus ruining a really nice sports coat and found my girl who may or may not have been more than a friend being overly nice to a not very super Superman. That night, and subsequent Halloween disappointments, I have recoiled in horror at the idea that the day and night are anything more than a time for me to be angry and regretful.

I’ve struggled for years with anxiety and how that has clouded my thinking for the most simple things in life. Halloween isn’t anything more than an excuse to let go and laugh. Watching my wife and kids really be excited for October 31st has me thinking that this “holiday” is just an excuse for kids to be kids and grown ups to be kids. When it comes to having fun at the right time, often, I haven’t got a clue.

*****blogger’s note ****

This is my entry into my friends at Write on Edge http://www.writeonedge.com ‘s prompt about Halloween costumes and The Lightning and the Lightning Bug’s Halloween Memory of a “Horror” http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/ .

Today’s song was playing at that party in 1991. I’m a Dramarama fan. I enjoy this song every five or so years it crosses my path. I heard it this morning by accident looking for a Soundgarden song. It brought back the memory of twenty years ago. Then, I wrote. Here’s Dramarama’s I Haven’t Got A Clue.

Hungry Heart

I was hungry. I just wanted a burrito or pizza or a hamburger. Then she called. She was starving for me. So I stopped thinking about food.

***blogger’s note*** – I wanted to participate in Katie’s The Lightning and The Lightning Bug’s “Hungry” prompt  http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/  but it ends today, Wednesday. All the other entries are about food. I wanted to throw something together about the other thing close to man’s heart or, well, below it. This is in tweet form because I liked how it looked in 140 characters. It says more than the 250 words I originally penciled.

Today’s song is more about The Ramones again than Bruce Springsteen. Joey Ramone and Bruce were friends. Joey asked him to write a song for his band. The Boss penned Hungry Heart then kept it for himself because he’s kind of doosh like that. I like the song. I would have preferred hearing it from Joey’s voice. Here’s Hungry Heart.

September

I’m getting my ass kicked by a calendar. I jab, the dates undercut. I cover up, the days keep wailing. I’m on the ropes and I’m the dope. September is abusing me for the championship belt.

August 30th – Lyla aka Bug aka my 8 year old daughter’s birthday. Due to the agreement the state of Georgia made with me and her birth mother, I get to see her about 12 to 13 days a month (not including 4 weeks of vacation and  an awesome holidays schedule…it’s a  50/50 deal). This means we have to schedule things two weeks in advance so that she can take part in certain things with her sisters, cousin, Bobina mom, and myself.

September 1st – My dad’s birthday. He started texting last month. He’s 62. Yes, it’s weird, but, it does save time and makes for some great sarcastic remarks.

September 5th – My late grandfather’s birthday. He would be 87. He left us in 2006. I think about him every day. I’m a week late visiting his newer home. I’m going there this morning when I get a break. This day is also the five year anniversary of my divorce. So bitter meets sweet in a big way.

September 10th – My birthday…already blogged about.

September 11th – already blogged on, but it’s impossible to forget those memories. Just a terrible day.

September 12th – my youngest daughter, Carly aka The Goose turns 7.

September 14th – I start traveling to Pennsylvania for a  new project. It isn’t Philly, or Pittsburgh, it’s Bucks County. Glamourous life I lead.

September 18th – Tay Tay, the teenager, starts competition cheerleading. She’s nursing ( and when I say nursing I mean milking Bessie the cow) a sprained ankle, anxiety about being a flyer (the cheerleader that gets thrown in air), and struggling with math. At least it’s not meth.

In between these dates I am parenting (poorly yesterday), working (a lot more lately), rewriting the robot story, writing Helene, getting ready for Nanowrimo (writing a novel in 30 days), the start of football season – Roll Tide and Let’s Go Jets!, and oh yeah, being Bobina’s husband.

I took some steps to be better. I broke up with google+. She just wasn’t there for me emotionally. She was like the hipster poetry reading girlfriend that you find out has nothing but empty books on her shelf.

I’m taking the tv out of the little girls’ room. They are getting up in the middle of the night and watching it and thus being ill as Real Housewives of Atlanta later in the day.

I’m finishing the robot story and Helene Troy by the end of December. I will then submit them to people who can tell me if they’re worthy of something. Expect Helene to get self published, worst case scenario.

This month is always crazy. The good news is, I’m getting my prescriptions refilled tomorrow.

Let’s make some happy, boys and girls.

Today my youngest daughter, the blonde Princess, Carly aka The Goose turns 7. We’ve been celebrating for two days. She spent her birthday money on stuffed animals, new boots, and a vampire book. She lives in her own world, we’re just paying rent.

Today’s song is something I used to dance around with in my bedroom as a kid in the 70s and early 80s. Earth, Wind and Fire made some great songs, but this is their best. Honestly if this doesn’t make you feel better for at least 5 minutes, you have no soul, at all. This is September by Earth, Wind & Fire. Dig the outfits…and the horns.

Thrash Unreal

“Yeah, we’re behaving. John wanted to wind down and get something to eat after the concert. We’re at Waffle House. I’m going to order some eggs and hashbrowns, then take him back to his hotel. I love you too, bye,”

“Checking in with the boss?”

“Dude you did the same thing in the bathroom, don’t tell me any different.”

“Ha! Yeah, she asked me if I was still upright since it’s 4 hours past my bedtime.”

“Yeah, well, my wife knew you and Pearl Jam being in town at the same time was a greater phenomena than Halley’s Comet so she insisted I go to the show and stay out all night. Of course that means I have kid duty and 123 chores tomorrow.”

“You mean today, slick. It’s 2 o’clock in the morning. It’s zombie stripper time right now. Speaking of which, look who just got off of the main stage two booths over.”

“Dude, that’s someone’s daughter. I bet her story is heart breaking.”

“What? Living in a  house full of women has made you a Lifetime Network candy ass. She’s a stripper.”

“I see it different and keep your voice down. Fiver says that girl had a bad home life, got screwed over by a boyfriend or seven, and is just trying to get by or least maintain her gutter level existence. You have a son. You better be teaching him that treating girls well is what prevents Sierra grinding it out for three songs.”

“What would you do if one of your daughters ended up liked that girl over there?”

“After I beat you senseless for asking the question, I’d consider her lot in life my fault. Respect for women is the difference between working for tips from drunks and being the first female President, which one of my 3 daughters will be. Somebody or a collection of somebodies failed that girl.”

“Tom, you know you bummed out a really good conversation about tits and ass, right?”

“Eh, I’d rather talk about Pearl Jam’s encores. My ears are still ringing.”

“I think we just had a boring grown up moment, maybe we should ditch the waffles and go get arrested, like the old days.”

“As awesome as that sounds, I’m starving and my wife and I did the budget for the month the other day. I don’t have enough in the bank for bail money and a rock concert. “

**********blogger’s note**********

This is my contribution to Katie’s The Lightning and the Lightning Bug http://thewriteandthewrongword.blogspot.com/ prompt “Talk it Out”. The assignment was write a scene or story using only dialogue. John is in regular type, Tom is in bold. This is all inspired by today’s song by Florida punk band Against Me! One of my favorite tunes of the past 10 years is Thrash Unreal. It’s about the type of girl Tom and John see in the diner booth. She’s every father’s nightmare but also a cautionary tale of how she got there. This song is brutally awesome but the lyrics are raw and real. Enjoy.