House of the Singing Waters

Oh yeah? Naw, it's not worth it. A good friend advised me to just not post. So I'm not. However, it doesn't change the fact that I think thoughts that are less than friendly at times.

My favorite Christmas story ( December 17, 2012 )
Peace be in the world. Love be in your heart. Keep safe and warm and healthy. You are loved.

In a week, the first two performances that I have done in 2 decades will be under my belt. I have a terrible fear of messing up my lines. I never used to have this fear. In fact, I would march on stage like it didn't matter and it is quite likely that, back then, it didn't. I will say that this time around, this character of Fagin is bigger than any character I have ever done, including myself. I hope I end up doing him justice, and making him a fun experience for the audience. My heart tends to go just a bit pitty pat when I think about the upcoming weekend.

By the way, the first night, Friday, is Afterglow. Maybe some wine, maybe some cheese. Come nosh with the actors if you wanna.

10493 / 50000 words. 21% done!
( session four )

Second Session: ( 2351 words )

Well, here it is. I know it's not done. I know it's not finished. It is, however, this far along, something that I worked hard to avoid because I had no idea where to go with it. So, Jack, this one's for you.

( Act III )
Many thanks to Jonathan Coulton for creating music
that made me want to write this. Many thanks to
Scareface for being there right when Jonathan
needed him. And of course, Thanks to all my
friends who knew I could do it. Hope you enjoyed
it.

I promised it. I told Jon Coulton I would do it. I got his blessings. 3 years later, here's Act One, rough draft. And yes, I know it formats like crap. If I try to save it as rich text then LJ tells me the post is too big. Damn Ruskies.
Anyway, here it is, Kids. My next thing. After this, the story of Bill the Songster, who returns to his home town after years of being away, returning wiser and older. Called "When he came back"
( Skull Crusher Mountain, the musical )

It's been brought to my attention, and it is a valid observation, that I've been a bit of a bastard the last few months. Perhaps longer. I dunno why. I'm going to go look for the answer, though. My apologies to those who have been bastardized by me.

I was listening to NPR interview Joan Rivers. Joan is a funny, yet totally unredeemed stupid person. I don't say thing in the mean sense, though it may seem that way. I mean she doesn't know much and doesn't mind if she doesn't know much. This is something I can respect and even love about a person. Much better than pretending you know what you're talking about and getting pissed because you don't.

Anyway... she was being interviewed and the topic came around the being older and one of the suckages that comes from being older is that many of your friends and loved ones die before you do.

Now, I've been through a number of family members passing on. The earliest memory I have of my family involves a relative dying. But it's different when we get older.
It becomes more... personal. Not in a "all of a sudden" sort of manner. More of a sneaky, silent, 'what the hell? When did this happen?' Sort of manner.

As a child, I wondered what all the hubbub was about. I didn't know the person as a person. I just knew them as some annoying person who drank too much, or cheated at cards, or made wonderful cookies or some such. I couldn't even identify which side of the family they were on. I was a kid, they were not a kid, so it didn't matter much to me.
Once the age gap starts to close... and after the age of, oh... let's arbitrarily say 25, the gape does indeed starts to close, the folks that pass away become much closer to you than you ever imagined. Sometimes total strangers mean something to you.
Heck, I've cried over certain stories of the passing of folks I've never met. No great booo hoooing, but some silent shedding of lifewater onto the ground for their passing.

The passing of a relative or a good friend causes me, and your mileage may vary, it causes me to think, "*sigh* another one gone. Lucky bastard." I don't think this all the time. When my brother Jamie passed away I was pretty damn furious. A younger sib shouldn't die first. It is a universal not fairness, regardless of how much the younger sib was a massive pain in the ass at times. That's their job.

When my mom died, I thought "Good for you, mom. You finally got out." My mom lay like a talking head in a nursing home for the last 9 or 10 years of her life. unable to move her limbs, she had no where else to go but out. I miss her, still. Guess that's a duh. She's my mom, and I would have liked her to have met Shannon. I get such mixed images in my head. On the one lobe, she's laughing and happy and making a fool of herself and she didn't care. On the other lobe, she's staring into space, a quadruped zombie, living in her head on another planet. Yeah. I miss her a lot.

When my dad died, I know that it was the cancer that helped him out, but I also know it was my stepmother who contributed to it. Edra is her name. She lives in Mississippi. Her due will come. My dad, I miss. I wasn't ready to let him go. I didn't want to let him go. I still don't want to let him go. He was my dad, and I would have liked to have heard what he thought of my life, now that I'm here. I miss his laugh. I miss his brain. Damn my stepmom. I do believe she caused it in him.

I even miss my older brother, who I once pulled a knife on to try to get him to quit beating up on my younger brothers and me. He used to say he had a brother that was retarded (james), a brother who was a thief (samuel) and a brother that was queer (that was me). I would have liked him to have stuck around and gotten some help for that broken back of his. Maybe even come over to the house and play cards and the guitar and share a beer or something. Now that we're older, these things mean more. Time, you know. Use it or lose it.

And these are the folks that have passed in my family within the last 9 years. There's more who aren't blood kin that I miss. I'm expecting more real soon, too.

I used to think I was immortal. I still do on good days, regardless of the pain in my hands and the pain in my knees. I just don't think I want to be. See, part of this immortality thing goes like this: When I am really, truly ready to die, I get to. Before then... I'm kinda stuck with this living thing.

It was fun before all these folks started to go on without me.

There are some that I would trade my life with if they would stay a little longer. Well... maybe not a straight trade. Maybe I'd give a year of my life, so they would stay a year longer. Some are blood, like my brother. Some are not. I can count on both hands the folks I would trade a year for.

IT doesn't work like that, you know? There isn't any tradeing my minutes to anyone else. And this isn't me stomping my foot and saying "This isn't fair!". I know it isn't. It's not supposed to be, because there really isn't any fairness in nature. The world turns. The sun rises or sets, but not both at the same time. Life moves on, regardless of our involvement in it. Life also ceases, regardless of our involvement in it.

So yeah. and it's YEAH, not yea. Yea is to biblical and the meaning of the word is entirely different - go look it up! It's true! Yea is not a term of agreement. Yea is a term of excitement, as in "My team won! Yea!" I will call morons morons if they are trying to make a point, regardless of the validity of that point and they say something incredibly stupid like "It's done went..." and then postulate about some dumb ass whatever it is. I will call them morons on a post regardless of who the owner of that board may be.
I will call them morons politely.
I will call them morons without using the word morons.
I will make my point clearly and succinctly.
If the owner of that board whines, I have no compunction with never viewing that board again. To whine encourages the use of poor grammar and if someone is going to promote the lack of communication and the impression of ignorance that poor grammar produces, then why in the great seven hells would I want to read their boards? I wouldn't. So I don't.

I, as I get older, have no truck with whiny butt, poor grammarians who don't know what the hell they are talking about in the first place. I have no truck with folks that waste my time. LOLCAT wastes my time! You want to involve me in something time-wasteful that doesn't waste my time? Come swim with me, come drink with me, come talk with me. Don't friggin' show me picture and post mile after mile of things that were original when the internet was new.

Yes. Your journal- Your Facebook. Post what you want. I'll post what I want. If I get flack about it, I won't complain or argue. I'll just quit reading it. Period. And you know what?

You Won't Care. You Won't even Notice.

And that's okay. Because at that point, we weren't friends anyway.

and if you had died... I would grieve with those you left behind, and for those that you left behind because they would be hurting. But your exit would mean nothing to me.

Now... time means more the older you get. Because there is less of it. How does this affect an immortal, you may ask? Because, when people die... when my friends die, it means I have less time with THEM. See? Less time. It's important.

So... yes, even if I don't like you. Even if I don't know you. Even if you couldn't give a tinker's dam about me - and yes, I know what a tinker's dam is - Consider what you leave behind. Consider those that you claim to love. Because you better do more than just claim it. And the only thing we leave behind are the memories of other folks and the words we've said.

So yeah... this isn't a funny post. This is an angry post, in a form. I hurt for Amber Bob. I've been there, standing there, in her place. Making the decision of ashes or coffin; ashes or coffin; paper or plastic. Tain't easy magee.

This post means, yeah. There is less time than you think. Don't put up with what you don't have to. Be assertive but don't be a dick. Or if you must be a dick, remember where the exit is and use it.

It also means that love, like time, is a fleeting thing. Not because love runs out. Love doesn't do that... it's not the sands of the hourglass. What I'm saying is that those that you love, you need to tell 'em, because you... or they... could be fleeting. Gone in a wisp. Flashed away. Not here anymore. Dead.

So, even if you just kinda love them. Even if you love them, but don't like them very much right now because they did something that pissed you off, let them know you love them. There is not a damn thing wrong with saying, "I don't like you right now. I still love the heck out of you and my world would be incredibly empty without your existence. But I don't like you right now. Give me some time."

Dammit. It's important people. Tell 'em how you feel. Every single day. Multiple times. And mean it!

OMFG. There are two ways I know that I'm getting older. People around me are having birthdays and I friggin' feel like I'm going to have a heart attack whenever I mow the lawn. And this is the NEEEEEW lawn, with a ton of NEEEEW problems.

See, in the fall, the yard was this magnificent even coat of green going brown. Same height, same texture. The backyard was hard to see because of the dog, but it looked good to me. Now, NOW, the yard has these purplish flowers (weeds) called henbit, which apparently are fairly prevalent in this part of the country and come directly out of the ground from hell.

And I found out that well kept manicured lawns that are just inherited hold a lot of water. LOTS of water. And this aging lawnmower does NOT like wet any more than I like this aging lawnmower. Does any lawnmower like wet?

It's one of those mowers that sort of self-propel when you push this lever forward. However, when the mower isn't mowing, that self-propelled wheel does not move. Immovable object, meet irritated old fart.

Still, it was good exercise and once my pulse drops below a million, I'm sure I'll think it looks fine, except for the henbit. And I have a plan for the henbit, heh heh heh.

I still haven't mowed around the swimming pool yet. That area is only a 4 foot by 8 foot space. Yes, it would have only taken me a few minutes. But really, left arm hurting, out of breath (and I no longer smoke... maybe I should take it back up), sweating like the proverbial swineage sweater. I figured it was time for a break.

so here I sit. Breaking. I think I'll go to pub tonight. just because there's no grass.

-Cynic