Day 12 A Place Where I Had A Good TIme

10/12/23 9:14 AM

Day 12

Write lyrics about a place you have visited where you had a really great time.

 

 

<Title Goes Here>

Once upon a time, before all of this, I carried around with me

All of the recipes, seasoning packets

For a good time anywhere

 

All I had to do was, open my eyes, look around and see

If it wasn't your face, love, it was some pretty flower

That might find its way into your hair

 

Like the moon in the daytime, I'm a pale reflection

Of the light you used to shine

Memories of a place and time, you and I

I carry that place 'round all the time

Ocean lady, wishful thinking

Trying to encapsulate

All of life's beauty

Mystery

Oh, but that was not our fate

 

Physicality, taken away so soon, brought about a change in me

Glass never half-full, losing the push-pull

Sometimes it just makes me cry

Short on time now, just a little bit longer, I no longer question why

Ocean lady, do you still remember

The place our foggy trail did end?

Fearless until the end, I'm looking to you my friend

Let's go find that place again 

Homecoming, coming home

The way it's always been

Home, home, home

Get your ruby slippers

We're going home again

 

 

 

 

 

Well, shoot. I didn't intend to write that. I was s'posed to write about a place I visited where I had a good time, as in, you know--Hawaii, the fair, the Grand Canyon, some high mountain lake. Well, you know that's not me. I jumped onto the raft and let the current take me elsewhere.

I switched it around because, like those inverted glasses, I've learned to see life upside down. I wanted to express that this place, my "happy place," wasn't a mere locale. It was more of a person type of thing. It is a place I still carry around with me. 

 

Things devolved quickly, however, and the good times, brief as they were, got eclipsed by pain. Now the pain is all that's real. That's the sense of it, anyway. Pain is all I tend to feel. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I bring the pain along with me. I don't see what I see. I see what I feel.

 

But I'm a hodgepodge, a veritable quilt of sentimental insanity. I have only a flitting focus, landing here, landing there, collecting the pollen of emotion from many different sources. I can't really separate the 3 or 4 disparate elements I was drawing from this morning trying to spark some inspiration, so I made them into a composite and spray-painted the whole thing blue. As I do.

 

Occasional flickers will still happen, lighting the darkened room I'm in, giving glimpses of times and places that meant so much to me. But it's like trying to describe the smell of pancakes. Describing the  sensation, you don't necessarily want to talk about the physical, anatomical details of the pancake particles. Or maybe you do, I don't know.

It's just an exercise, I tell myself, just a drill, all of this writing of songs and ditties. It doesn't pay the bills. Why do it? Because it seems to be helping. Something is helping. I'm starting to feel something. Of course, when you start getting feeling back, as with atrophied limbs, the first sensations aren't pleasant ones. But from a paralyzed person's perspective, any sensation is a good thing.

I won't say "Good job, Me," like I've just completed my Magnum Opus, but I will allow myself this meager praise: 

 

"That'll do, pig."

<snort> <snort> <snuffle> <snort>