WHAT DREAMS MAY FOLLOW

AUGUST 

How about August ? 

Up until now in my whole wide life all thought I've given to August is that it's black dog sweating hot .  As far back as my childhood August and September are the seasons of smelly people , dogs, city streets. You name it. And I will proudly say now that I hate the heat. I was born a heat hater.    

But....you name it !  You call it . The people that worship the sun, I think about those people and it seems that ..... these people are locked in childhood. Sunlight is good , yaw . There was this time in September long long ago.... now gather close, shhhhh. 

Let me think.... it was 1967. Maybe I was listening to the Archies around that time. The Archies were were a comic rock band based on a comic book. They produced teen age hits. Better than Katy Perry and most of the jacked up jive ass rabid rabbit that's out there now.

But anyway. It was that ending of summer when the leaves were falling and gathering in wind blown piles then nature would touch them , as today , with that sleepy eyed rest is coming aroma. And it was then in a little town called Old Hickory during a late summer evening that I felt my first twang / awakening/ recognition/ surprise of something called love. Something called attraction. His name was Phil, and up until that moment I had been repulsed by the very sight of him. He never wore shoes, he was covered in freckles, tall and thin. Conan o Brien comes to mind. And there we were in the leaves talking 60's stuff and the wind blew while

 he shuffled his feet in the leaves. Such a I was 10 years old and had just completely lost it. And as a creature of perpetual habit the first thing I did was take in the scent of the season and embraced what that scent would forever remind me of. 

50 years later what do we have ? 

It's all gone . 

BIG FAT TEAR DROPS

WHEN A DRAMA QUEEN WEEPS

For now my audience will have to bear with me as I alone suffer through the indignation of technological illiteracy . 

A crazy storm is brewing outside and I can truly say this is the only occurance in my time of humilitation that brings me comfort.

I will confess now ... I live for storms. The onset and the 
actual storm . The sky when it darkens off in the distance
 and the rumbling that starts in waves as it comes closer to reach you. Like a deranged child I invite the storm to consume me. I lust for the lightning to strike me.  When I actually had a home, before it was taken , I would lie out in the backyard which was a field with one big butterfly bush that I had planted , a clothesline and then about a 1/4 acre down the woods leading to the Cumberland River. The clothesline would later become a main fixture in my life
because once when I was pregnant and hanging out clothes 
my mother came running out and told me to stop! "Don't you know what will happen?"  She asked !! On April 17th I delivered a healthy 6 pound baby girl . The cord was wrapped around her neck three times. 
Sometimes we shouldn't question folk lore.

I was born on April fools day in a "sanitarium", early in the morning with no recorded time. All I knew was what my parents told me.   There was a crazy storm .... an April storm .... my mother went into labor and had me naturally. She was a beautiful intelligent woman who had been diagnosed as anorexic. I doubt that my father was there. I was a large baby too big for such a long lean woman and so the doctor used forceps. And low and behold the next thing I hear is that the sun came out and the traffic rush hour had ended and viola' ..... there I be !!

The storm is ending now. The sounds of thunder drift away as the dogs are still stunned and gathered around me. All looking out into the open space of the house.....  waiting.
It will take me awhile to get this whole blog presentation down, I have no understanding of my actual keyboard or my IPAD PRO.  Just had to throw that in there , tee hee. But what good is an excellent machine with a chimpanzee as an operator?

I am at a point in my life where reflection is mostly what I do. Producing art is how I carrry on, it's how I fake being 60 is the new 40. As limited as my life has been I have seen too much for the limited strength of my soul. I am my own worst enemy.
Goodnight wayne

ANNIE McCUE