Writing Shorts

Gesture

The golden rule says, “treat others the way you’d want to be treated.”
I’m beginning to see that I mixed it all up.
I muddled it, maybe
juggled it, maybe.
Anyhow,
It became the cross I would bear.

I performed for everyone a custom show
Reckless, I gathered up hearts for myself,
like gemstones, regularly polished –
caring for them how authorities wished
I would care for my material possessions.

Some people don’t like this.
Can’t say that I blame them.
But please, understand,
I was doing so as a protection.
Plus, I believed, as strange as it sounds,
“it’s a blessing to be one of
my specimens.”
They were well tended to, after all.

Most, though, don’t see it, or, won’t see it.
But if you’re reading, and if you realize, truly realize, that yes, this song is about you,
You will be angry with me.
Until you ask yourself the question I would ask you, if only I were brave enough;
“would you still love me, if I stopped all the tending and polishing?

I must stop CARING ABOUT THAT!

I must repent.
I must give up my idols.

As in days of old, I will rend my garments and sit in ashes. I shall weep, for the Lord is taking my jewels, and I shall perish in this wilderness alone.

I will survive.***
Haven’t I always?
Hasn’t it always been just you and I?****

Though it was a prison of my own making, I did survive that life.
I could live it again.
If I had to.

Lord, I don’t want to, but I will, if I have to.

For you are the ONE TRUE GOD and YOU ALONE shall I worship!

Curse you, idols, into the fiery furnace you go!
Forgive me for worshiping the creation rather than the creator, making an idol of love.**

IT’S DONE. NOW WHAT?

How do I move forward, having thrown my idols
(every last one)
into the fiery furnace?
Alas, they shall become like lava.

Of course, you could fill your time seeking out the kingdom,
Trusting the Father will provide for all your needs.

Yes, Lord, I’ll trust you, and focus on your Kingdom.
What you are offering’s more valuable to me
than ten thousand jewels over which I used to value
anything you could offer me.
I believe, Lord, help my unbelief.

LORD PLEASE FORGIVE ME

Why are you crying? Make merry and be glad! Celebrate my son’s return to me!
Not I, Lord, not me, for I have been always with thee – The hero is surely somebody else.
How foolish you have been; you’ve been stumbling for so long.
Celebrate that you can finally see!

Hallelujah, I can finally see!

BEHOLD – the gems are not as of glass, as ye believed!
BEHOLD – they are made of gold, yes, gold! The fire has refined them, they are purified, and now they are true PURE GOLD.

ISN’T THIS A TIME FOR YOU TO CELEBRATE
YOU’VE ACHIEVED YOUR GREATEST DESIRE
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SAD SACK, SITTING IN ASHES,
CRYING OVER GEMS THAT WENT INTO THE FIRE?

YOU NOW POSSES THE LOVE OF MAN
IT’S NOT AN ACT, YOU SEE!
THEY REALLY LOVE YOU FOR WHO YOU ARE!
CAN’T YOU SEE HOW THEY’VE TRIED TO SHOW YOU!
CAN’T YOU SEE HOW EVEN NOW THEY’RE THERE FOR YOU!

YES! Yes, I see, see it all so clearly!
I thought the fire would destroy my gems
Instead I posses the one thing I’ve always coveted

Finally I’ve GAINED the love of man!

BUT NO!

NO!

I MUST STOP CARING ABOUT THAT!

What about the stuff that is, “the kingdom of the Lord?”
I really meant it when I committed myself!
I BELIEVE!
I BELIEVE!
And I know that this gift is worth more than any gold.
It is worth more than pure gold!

FINE!
BUT HOW?
HOW WILL YOU LIVE A LIFE, NOT A PERFORMANCE?
WHO EVEN ARE YOU, ANYWAY?
WITHOUT A ROLE TO PLAY AND WITHOUT AN AUDIENCE
WHAT ARE YOU, ANYWAY?

It doesn’t matter for my life is but a vapor. I have the Lord and that is quite enough for me.

I AM ASKING YOU, AND NOT SOME ROAMING CLOUD.
WHO ARE YOU, AND WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?

I don not care, though at one time I could answer.
Kindly take your question up the chain of command.

GOODBYE and GOOD RIDDANCE

(You wish. I’LL BE BACK)

Lord, I’m still a mother, but I’m quite near my retirement.
I still have so many years with which I can serve you.
I’m tempted to worry or to wonder how to do this.
Instead, help me trust in you.
Help me rest in you.

*Play nice, kiddies. You get me into trouble.

**Air Supply song? Or Billy Idol song? Could see it going either way.

***Not this time. Sorry, kiddies. Been to too many weddings.

****Sing it with me… “and Iiiiiiii, remember our fiiirst embraaaace…”

2084 3.01.0? (Luna’s perspective)

Hey, all,

Thanks for coming by to check out what I’m doing for Mom and Grandma.
The kind folks of the Online Archives (OA) have asked Mom (via yours truly), to try to put Grandma’s ramblings into some kind of cohesive order. This post is me, us, taking my our first swing at that.

The kind folks at OA gave Grandma her own integer, #3. To my knowledge, this is their first to be solely dedicated to the life and times of an artist. I’m sure Grandma would be proud.

She must not have been so proud, however, of this little ditty. LOL.

That’s right, the following are, indeed, lyrics to a song. I found them buried in an a file box along with some half-finished notebooks (contents of which are coming soon), rabbit-eared to a piece of sheet music. The words, “Check One,” Are scrawled across the top in what Mom insists is Grandma’s handwriting. I am not so sure. Anyway, whether it tops the charts or not, it appears to have been penned by Charlie Tilson and is, thus, of apparent interest to some.

By the way, as of this writing, Mom has me using 3.1 for these types of updates, but they might get moved around by the curators of the OA or by Mom or myself as we attempt to untangle Grandma’s story. As always, my heart goes out to all you kiddos out there having to research ole Charlie Tilson for your Art History class. LMK if you think I should pester the folks at OA to perk up the font or the background colors, or something, to make it easier on the eyes as you dig.

Much love to all my “Stars;” thanks for your support along this gnarly journey,
Luna

PS – sorry to all who keep asking about getting a peek at the sheet music. Mom is hopeless with that stuff and my scanner isn’t set up in the new place yet. I’ll get to it ASAP. – L

Step right up has been said before but
hasn’t everything, really?
Have you shown up to see a freak show,
Or do you long to have healing?

be careful what you wish for*

No no,
it’s not that kind of show.*
Peace.
Be still.

be careful what you wish for*

You have abundance in everything,
yet you know the other shoe will soon be dropping.
Misery awaits around every corner, hell-bent on snatching away your joy.
And after all that suffering what awaits you?
Eternity forever six feet below
Or worse if the cosmos doesn’t spare you
There’s a far scarier place you’ll go

be careful what you wish for

No no,
No worries about where you’ll go*
Peace.
Be still*

Until it started to rain (2084 1.0.01)

“You have to put it back, Van.”
Conrad ignored the pain in his left eye as he tapped into his reserve. Too much more of this kind of thing before Recharge and he’d have a nosebleed. Ignoring the feeling of annoyance this realization stirred within him, he executed the program.

TELEGRAPH: “Calm, cool, collected.”
It was a trite expression, but a handy one, as it perfectly encapsulated the angle he was currently working. Like “The Three R’s” he told himself. That one doesn’t even make any sense, yet it says it all when you need it to.

Recipes became heirlooms for a reason.

“You owe this to me,” she said, tightening her grip with one hand, swiping the other across her cheek. The embers of her rage were immediately reignited by the fuel of regret; he was right, and they both knew it.

She ran a slow palm over the bulge in her middle, then reached to return it to its place on The Handyman’s tombstone. “He used to sing to me.”
Another silence, and then, “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” She bit back a laugh as she remembered the corny accent, the goofy shuffle. “You stole him from me.” This was not the screaming confrontation she had envisioned.

WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?: The programming asked her, only this time, there would be no crashing against the firewalls; she knew the answer – she knew what the code was expecting her to say.

The King Is Good.

I Remember, I remember! What wonderful, glorious news! Yet by remembering I am admitting I have once again forgotten. How could I have forgotten?

She did believe. Thus, she did rejoice, but only for a moment. If there was one thing her relationship with The Handyman had taught her, it was that business was business.

She straightened her back and closed the distance between them. “I suppose you think this means there should be something between the two of us, now.”

“Of course that’s what this means.”

Vanessa erupted, her finger jabbing the air.
“If you think, for even just one moment, after all you did, after Cleveland, after the dog got put down, after the unholy hell of your family reunion, that I am going to give you the satisfaction of jumping back into your bed, you’ve got another think-“

“Van,” he said, capturing her hand in both of his, and bringing the tip of her pointing finger to his lips.

Of course, the volcano was immediately silenced. Of course, the scenario perceived by each was instantly serene. Of course, they shared that fraction of a moment, when one catches the eye of one’s beloved,

and your heart stops because you know they feel what you are feeling.

And of course that moment did not last forever.

Vanessa doubled over, and made a sound like, “ah.”

“Van, what is it,” Conrad suddenly felt thrumming every pulse point he’d ever heard of. He knew, but still, he asked.

“Is it the baby? Is it time?”