Music is an original piece called “October Moons” by Alicia Menninga. She wrote it for me.
You can get it here:
Dreamscapes Album: October Moons
Or the entire album can be found here:
Tag Archives: music
WORST HOLIDAY ALBUM EVER!
[DARK HUMOR ALERT]
As we enter the holiday season, there’s a new album that’s dropped and it’s AWFUL! I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything worse than this. Whatever you do, don’t listen to any of it. You’ll instantly regret it. The Hits keep coming.
At The Speed of What The Farts (Radio Edit)
Winter GTFO
- Dead Starter Blues
a. Sample Lyric: “Gonna take everything in my account, have to empty that dog out.” - Dying Dog (Euthenasia)
a. Sample Lyric: “She’s thirteen years old and blind as a bat, she can’t hear her name and she’s fading fast.” - Bed Bug Boogie
a. Sample Lyric: “I got welty itch from my head to my toes, that’s how the bedbug boogie goes.” - Bitterness and Regret
a. Sample Lyric: “The ailing heart showed up at my door, catheterized on the hospital floor.” - Monkey on His Back
a. Sample Lyric: “All my cash went up my nose, what I have left is my dirty clothes.” - So Many Leftovers, Nothing to Eat
a. Sample Lyric: “I’ve had so much corn chowder it waves hello, and warms up again for another go.” - Delerium
a. Sample Lyric: “Nine days have taken their toll on his brain. He now sounds like he’s not sane.” - The Boot
a. Sample Lyric: “Broken foot, faulty hip, growing old can kiss my grits.” - Never Ending Gray
a. Sample Lyric: “My love, the sun has gone away, I hope to see it again someday.” - The Darkest Christmas Tree
a. Sample Lyric: “This tree will never win awards until I find the farting extension cords.” - Presence
a. Sample Lyric: “Stuffs wrapped and under the tree, wondering who is there for me.” - Shitty Ditty
a. Sample Lyric: “Waking up in the middle of the night, discovering my fart took liquid flight.” - (BONUS TRACK) Cold Friends
a. Sample Lyric: “They used to laugh and joke a lot, but now they’re in a wooden box.” - AUTHOR’S NOTES:
This is written in originally Comic Sans for the simple reason that it’s an awful font. Everything on this “album” has happened during the past month to me or to my Bestie.
Pass it onward!
Nancy’s Earworm
I had a last minute cancellation this afternoon which allowed me to spend time with a woman I met in the course of my work. We had a grand conversation. She asked me if I ever had a song stuck in my head that I just couldn’t get rid of.
“Why yes, that’s called an earworm.” I replied.
She laughed joyously.
“What song do you have stuck in your head?” I prodded.
She started singing. I asked her permission to record her to which she agreed. This is her singing and my video representation of her version of the song: When I Get Too Old To Dream.
Pass it onward!
Vigil of Peace
Silence can be difficult for people. It’s particularly deafening when the person they want to talk to most is actively dying. The feeling of helplessness and longing can feel catastrophically overwhelming. I wanted to offer something that people could use to comfort both themselves and the person who is dying.
I approached Laura Davis, a person I’ve collaborated with in the past, with lyrics for a simple bedside song that could be sung as easy as “Happy Birthday”. She didn’t disappoint. Below is the music and lyrics for you to use as you need to. I sing a slight variation of notes than is written, but that’s because I’m a mediocre singer with delusions of grandeur.
Pass it onward!
Day Twenty-Seven, Can Caen!
I spent six hours walking around today looking at various places in Caen. I started out with no particular place to go, but found the Caen Castle. It was the palace of William the Conqueror. I have a lot of pictures to sort through for that one, so I’ll share those tomorrow since I have to work and most likely won’t get out much to explore.
As I ride the bus to work, there is a place called Moon and Sons. I thought it a clever name. I notice it quite frequently making a mental note to visit, but I didn’t until today. OMG!
The absolute enchantment of the place was gushing over my senses. I messaged my friend Jen and told her, we would hang out here. When I showed her several pictures via text, she enthusiastically agreed.
Sidenote: I’ve been working through Going With Grace’s The Living Practice. There are a few that I didn’t do because they’re not as important to me. But there have been a couple that have really put me in a stuck position.
- Who/What was your most impactful death?
- Who are you? (You can’t use: job, body, relationships, characteristics, accomplishments, possessions, or anything external to you).
I don’t know how to answer those questions. I could give knee jerk answers but these are deep questions. I want to answer them to my personal satisfaction. Quality vs. Quantity I suppose. As I ponder these two, I encourage you to consider them as well. AND, if you’re of the mind to try the course: The Living Practice (The link will open in a new tab).
Pass it onward!
She the Phoenix
And the Phoenix, in all her glory
will don the robes of the warrior queen
that are tempered in the fires of suffering
and ashes to reveal the colors
of a Goddess within the flames,
born repeatedly from the music
of the nest’s heat dancing
the blazing sparks.
Pass it onward!
Priestess of the Howling Wood
I hear the trees as instruments
as a Sunday hymn blessing Mother Earth
I feel the loaming heartbeat intense
while the birds call lullaby vespers
I am the tug of moon-pulled tides
with sermon words unfettered
Through and about the indigo skies I ride
Skyclad, adorned with galaxies and stars; together
I hear the forest’s deepest secrets kept
accepting its confessions as I should
with spells more true than of an adept
as a Priestess of the Howling Wood
Pass it onward!
The gray
(Verse One)
Don’t cry to me of imagined slights
Don’t fill my ears with dramatic fights
You wear your crooked crown based on obfuscated lies
Terrified to pack up your own desecration’s prize
(Transition)
HEY! HEY! HEY!
(Verse Two)
Wash your hands of every wish you made
Pack them in the old musty suitcase
Load it up and remember where you could have been lost
Break open the latches, rusty locks at what high cost?
HEY! HEY! HEY!
(Chorus)
Take a turn on reality’s wheel
Won’t you tell me how you feel
Even though it’s hard to let things go
Nobody wants tickets…to your show.
HEY! HEY! HEY!
(Verse Three)
There is nothing to be done your bones
You must choose your adventure alone
Cascading fury of your self-righteous self-loathing
Stripping down naked of your emotional clothing
(Chorus)
Take a turn on reality’s wheel
Won’t you tell me how you feel
Even though it’s hard to let things go
Nobody wants tickets…to your show.
HEY! HEY! HEY!
HEY! HEY! HEY!
HEY! HEY! HEY!
Pass it onward!
These Are My People: Aunt Lizzie
The turning of the Wheel is honored in her space
the breathing of the seasons accounted at her grace
With eyes the color of summer sky she observes the holy
Appreciating each season as its revealed so slowly
Her hair is the color of bonfires, of cider mills or pumpkin pies
When she laughs, I mean really laughs, it could make you cry
She sees the world in music, notes upon a page,
Not a moment passes by that she’s not fully engaged.
She can make a piano dance a jig or an organ sing to God
But she believes, somewhere inside, that she is somehow flawed.
When she gives the gift of her, in whichever way she does,
There is never any doubt in mind, that you are truly loved.
Pass it onward!
Cycle turns
I am an untended garden, riddled with forget-me-nots and weeds
My earth has not been furrowed asunder; tilling life to the topsoil
I have grown fallow, un-supporting of life, but yet, there are some
perennials that cling to a hope of return, of vibrancy dallying
But I can only roll over in my floral nightgown, whimpering in my bed
allowing the blistering son to scorch my once glorious stance
I admit, I’ve become self-watering. I needn’t wait for the gardener
My groans of grief roil the soil, creating bitter roots exposed as lies
Everyone knows that when the earth laughs, people die.
She accepts their bodies back to her world, but I could still breathe
so I am not granted respite from the overabundant fertilizer spewed
over my once lush landscape. But, I will rise, for the weeds can’t hang on
when I forbid grasping of my rooted passion for life. Here she comes
the one that removes the rot with compassionate hands.
Here he comes, the one that scratches that spot in the very middle
She tends to me while singing lightly a childhood song forgotten
He digs deep with his grip, releasing the tainted, blighted plants
She opens the earth to expose me to the warmth of attention
He plants perennial seeds to grow through the coming seasons.
I inhale deeply, knowing that my rebirth will again grow fruitful.
My cycle continues in ample countenance to their loving attention.
I await my own fruition. I will grant only the very best of myself
to create the most beautiful garden I can create. This, is why I weep.
Mare Martell 