Song after Song :P

In addition to "Crazy Girl" by Eli Young Band and a few others contributed by the new guy, I have fallen in love... with another song :)

"You're in My Heart"
Rod Stewart

"I didn't know what day it was
When you walked into the room.
I said hello unnoticed.
You said goodbye too soon.

Breezing through the clientele,
Spinning yarns that were so lyrical,
I really must confess right here
The attraction was purely physical.

I took all those habits of yours
That in the beginning were hard to accept:
Your fashion sense, beardsly prints
I put down to experience.

The big-bosomed lady with the dutch accent
Who tried to change my point of view-
Her ad-lib lines were well rehearsed,
But my heart cried out for you.

Chorus:
You're in my heart, you're in my soul.
You'll be my breath should I grow old.
You are my lover, you're my best friend.
You're in my soul...

My love for you is immeasurable.
My respect for you immense.
You're ageless, timeless, lace and fineness-
You're beauty and elegance.

You're a rhapsody, a comedy.
You're a symphony and a play.
You're every love song ever written,
But honey, what do you see in me?

[Chorus]

You're an essay in glamour-
Please pardon the grammar,
But you're every schoolboy's dream.
You're Celtic, united, but baby I've decided
You're the best team I've ever seen.

And there have been many affairs,
Many times I've thought to leave,
But I bite my lip and turn around
'Cause you're the warmest thing I've ever found...

You're in my heart, you're in my soul.
You'll be my breath should I grow old.
You are my lover, you're my best friend-
You're in my soul."

Crazy Boy

From a few weeks ago, when I was still fighting it... :P

You taught me the 2-step.
Fuck you :)
You made me smile,
Even when I tried to despise you.
You got me to sing-
Even when I reviled you
And even at my very strongest,
I cannot hate you entirely.
Because you got me.
UGH.
You hooked me in the eye and refused to let go.
And I'm not about to surrender just yet (of course)
But I must confess...
I not-so-secretly love the fight :)

Late Night Comedy with My Conscience

I feel the rainwater and the claps of thunder mingle with my silver necklaces and new regrets, and I am quietly sucked into myself once again. It's not for lack of feeling that these two worlds collide, only for sound, that lingers ever so closely, as if it could gently glide across the back of a cricket's neck. I am glutton and forlorn. I am pale and vain and pressured. I seek solitude in the company I keep, only to find claustrophobia in the hearts I reside in. I end sentences with prepositions I hide in. And I am only as clever as the cut in my shoulder can show.

****************************************************

"Oh my God, what's wrong with my head?"
The song rings thru my ears
Instead of my heart.
Cuz I'm running desperate, dogged, and dark,
Shooting down Randolph and Clark
With a murky gray feeling
Of sores and bad intentions
All over my mind
(The part I never mention
To you, my dear...)

*************************************

Small victories and slated appointments.
Old diseases and odd frienemies.
Gross image and guarded promises.
Unveiled, unglued, unreliable
And understandable.
Often too late.
Always too right.
And hence,
All wrong.

:/

*************************************

What does it feel like, you ask? It feels like clutching and clawing at my femininity. It feels like pawing at my lack of propriety. It feels like "no pain, no gain," no children, all blood. Suffering secretly has been my well-known mechanism since that part of me could talk, and consequently, have its say. And yes, this pain is mild enough to forget temporarily but it is mad enough to always make me... remember.

Fuzzy and Blue... And Orange!

What The Heck is "Fuzzy and Blue??"

First off, the rumors are entirely true...
I have changed the name of my blog.

*GASP* !!!

The old title I've stuck with so long, "Snuggie for Your Thoughts," was cute and corny (which I most definitely am!) but I felt like it represented my younger writer self. And I am at the point in my life now where I'm starting to feel pulled to be more than that. I'm sure I will detail this more in later blogs :P

The new title, Fuzzy and Blue, is actually the name of an endearing Sesame Street song (and those of you who know me well know how appropo this is...) featuring all the blue monsters from the Street, including Grover, Herry, and Cookie, and also the bright orange, snaggle-tooth terror, Frazzle. I'll post it here soon, I'm sure.

So, feel free to interpret this name change and its significance as much and as far as you like!

Thanks much to you all :)

Reflections In My Window Pane are Re-directing Heartbeats

I miss lightning bug nights...
The ones that crawled up and down my arms,
Harmlessly inching, yawning, blinking at me,
When "I am not afraid of you,"
Was all I thought and smiled to myself.
And now...
I slide them away
With tears forming in my eyes
(From the oscillating fan, of course.
Not from the remorse)...

I am not satisfied with any of it...
I am not content with mock-me.
I am soured with all the courtesy and graciousness,
Sucked of all patience with those who plead with me
For another chance at a slice of my cherry-dripping heart.
IT'S NOT WHAT YOU THINK. OR WANT.
Don't ask me how or why.
I know. Only I CAN know.
So just leave it where you found it.
For God's SAKE,
Let me just sit in undisturbed peace
On a table
As one whole, untouched piece
For just ONCE in my life...
PLEASE.

...

So I stay stuck in my swivel chair of life,
Swirling constantly to keep from (God forbid)
The arrest of any actual culpability for anything,
Which, upon stopping me dead in my dizzyness and closed eyes,
Would hurl me instead onto a carpet of hell and flat reality...

What an interesting way life has of
Boring ever-hazardously
Into my wrought-iron heart of superficiality.

Old Stufff...

Midnight ramblings I've been meaning to post. Getting around to it now :P

"We all spend half our time
In the trenches of honeysuckle heartache,
Wiping the sweet watermelon want from our lips
Like a five year old at a summer picnic.
We scowl at the hand of fate,
So tenderly attempting its sad try
At washing our face clean of its juicy power,
Only to be spurned again
As we turn our already-checkered mouth
Back to that red-dripping fruit of desire."

********************************************

"The old game gets kicked aside
By sand-drenched toes and broken bones
Used by the feeble-hearted fool like me,
Who (never finding a real love to speak of,
Let alone work for)
Doggedly, begrudgingly trudges on with her assigned partner,
Feeling already a prisoner
Of her own mental heart."

********************************************

"'Words words words.'
Your words, like fools drooling,
Raid softly upon my assailed eardrums
And plead loquaciously for help.
They lack a certain air of empathy,
And without it,
I am no less inclined to believe their story
Than I am to believe in the ramblings
Of idle atheists' spew...

It is sad, in fact, that those words
(While intended smooth and seductive)
Actually make me smile patiently
But pity the teller.
Their effect on me is dull and void.
And I grow ever the more weary
That I shall die searching for the one
Who leaves me passionately speechless..."

Kids Are Victims In This Story

The mess is looking at me in the mirror.
It's wondering at me.
Looking me up and down,
Tempestuously.
It examines my every move.
To my every thought, it nods,
Smiling at times, disapproving at others.
"Feeling smaller, today?
You well should be.
Where is your pride now??"

I toss it off
Again.
It rotates through my insides,
Breathing heavily into
All my worst attempts to feel fine.

...But then you remember:
The times that you laughed
The times you didn't have to care
The times you felt bea-u-ti-ful...

And you begin to wonder
At this mess in the mirror...
Who ARE you, exactly?
You certainly were never invited.

And slowly, for now,
The conversation will start.
You will talk the mess down.
You will reason with the chaos.
You will not allow her any more leeway than she deserves.

And until you can know for sure:
If the mess is here to stay
If the mess will spawn other messes
If your life is about to change...
You will dance.
Because to dance on the remaining edge of your happiness
Is the only way to survive
The possible-pending sorrow...

Blank

Laden, lost, and heavy,
I resist not to the many.
For to the depths of my shallowness,
I dive deep.

Shoulder to the burden,
Furiously worn thin,
I own an aching stomach full
Of empty, hollow air
That refuses to escape
Through loosened lips.

Searing flesh/Hot flash
Stifles thoughts across my forehead.
My obscene, gelatinous tongue melts to the force
As I swim pausing, panting,
Pacing eerily in the smiling companionship
Of whiskey waters...

I feel grown up...
In the awful, absent-innocence kind of way.
I am a shell,
Shrinking dark and shy into a sea of complacency,
Completely devoid of purpose or fiber.
My eyes do not sparkle in the mirror now.
They hiss.
They stand cold and clean and sterile.
They try on a smile,
Only to return a look of incredulous apathy.

In this moment,
I feel
So much
In so very little.

Hyphenated

(Some older poetry I found recently. I definitely like it though:) )

Hyphenated

All bold in no italics,
I go for cyber-cryptic smiles
And sad attitudes,
Sorry-still banging on forlorn fingers...

What is it with me?
I'm stuck-standing separately
With vague intentions,
Diving into parallel-universe nowheres,
(...I haven't a clue, honestly.)

Flailing about a sea of reason,
Sucking at the air of open-ended conversations, I
Flirt with red-hot steamed danger, and
Breathing seductive-excitedly,
Let my nails sear on its cast-iron trouble.

Oh, that I could rather cast fear and doubt away,
Shining bright like the glow of laser-whitened teeth-
Alas, even that would be
An artificial smile.

New Old Thoughts

These following verses I composed about a month ago. Getting around to posting it now! :P

The irony here is, the feeling of longing yet hope I had when I wrote it was absolutely right on... I am in total awe at what the end of April has brought to me... :P

***

Sometimes, "a hard rain is gonna fall."
We take that risk when we step outside...

***

I am in the April of my life,
Promising, yet weary.
Energizing, but awful.
Rainy nights plague my most hopeless thoughts,
And yet...

I am conscious of the fact that something is bound to come of all this rain...
Something springing up from the ground,
Full of earth and life and color and vitality.
I probably will have to help dig it out,
But something will grow here.
Something tall and important and wholesome.
Something I haven't breathed before.
And when it does,
I will certainly have my hands full,
But the harvest will be worth
A thousand storms...

Rufus Quoting...

"Can't expect the world to be your Raggedy Andy,
While runnin' on empty.
You little old doll with a frown..."

Honesty

See you
And me-
With corresponding Sesame Street tees
And comfy jeans.
I sip margaritas
Secretly,
As we
Get the bad thriller movie
All to ourselves
(Almost).
An enormous cat
Clings ferociously to you
(I'll swear he isn't mine).
And don't think
(For a minute)
That I'll let you beat me at my own game-
That is, Yoshi Tetris, of course...
A duel to the DEATH!
(And yet...
How is it
I surrender
To your Level 1 brilliance??

...You have disarmed me...
Honestly.

Just a good fit...

Men, I have concluded, must be like buying a pair of jeans.
There are TONS of them out there.
Skinny.
Curvy.
Surprisingly loud, flared legs at the bottoms.
Bedazzled types, with sparkles and sequins and flashy appeal.
Boot-legged and laze-about the house ones,
Rugged ripped up, mother patched-up, pre-damaged types...
All in any color wash you can think of.

But here's the knock.
You don't find the perfect one every time you shop.
Oh contraire.
You almost NEVER do.
And when you find that "perfect pair,"
It's one of those incredible, breath of fresh air, oh my GOD moments, as if your bottom half might just scream out-
"Finally, something that makes our ass look human!"
"At last, a voice for us curves!"
"They don't clutch our waist like a corset!"
"They actually touch our toes!"
"I can actually SEE our toes!"
And the like...

But then again,
The perfect-fitting jeans do eventually wear out.
And there are other pairs that neeeearly fit, of course.
Some don't fit well at all, but we love them for... maybe the style or look of them.
Or maybe another pair you own looks TERRIBLE, but you love that pair most because, well, there is nothing quite like the comfort they provide you.

Regardless,
I don't believe in the "perfect pair of jeans," anymore per se.
I believe in near-perfect.
Because I still think there may be a pair out there that may fit me better.
Even when I discover a pair I adore, even when they fit like a glove, even when they make me feel like my legs are gliding thru space and time,
I still know there might be something better...

And I think a girl seeking out the dating life must be aware of this metaphor.
It helps cheer her when she feels her spotlight as a social butterfly begin to flag.
It boosts her when her confidence is plunged through dirt and debris from the hem of a man cut too stiff for her fitting.
There will be another fit.
There will be another seam.
And even when the "perfect fit" is seemingly found,
And she decides to buy and wear him...
If something happens, say
He is torn to shreds,
He busts a hole in the knee,
He fits your shape no longer...
There can be another,
If you decide you are ready to search again.

So, quit worrying about your perfect fit!
(I often have to remind myself of this sometimes.)
Just worry about yourself.
Be in your best shape and form.
Be in the form you want to be fitted.
And then keep yourself that way.
Or even better.
That way, when that amazing pair comes into your line of vision,
You are well prepared
And most importantly,
A good fit.

:)

...

If I get the hook,
Will you get off my stage already??

:P

Poor Little Fool

What wrecks my soul most?
My love of the insincere?
My contagion for the lost and sewn-up heart,
Badgered again and again for bruised drugs
And bad economy?

I want you,
The fickle and wild, sleazy, cool sludge.
Why can't I find trembling sweetness
In the embrace of sturdy, honest oak??
Shall I die not knowing why??
Shall I be doomed to crave pagan intimacy,
And live out my days pining for a kind of love
That shall always leave me destitute and thirsting??
Do we ever get tired of wanting to fall in love?
Can a human like me ever be satisfied with just the bare facts,
The sitting quietly and calmly in love?
The couch romance- close together, never wondering-
The "Content to Take in Television Chatter
And Fall Snoring Asleep in Front of the Ballgame" courtship??

Ay, me.
I fear the worst.
Ugh.
Love,
Thou art a tempestuous fool!
And your hold on me is anything but forthright...

Will I ever be able to justify you??
To anyone??
Or more importantly,
...To myself?

To Professor, With Love

This song was given to me by a dear friend, and so I dedicate it back to him. He's gone back down south, but his lovely sarcasm is very fondly missed here in Chicago. And so, to Rex Harrison, with my sincerest gratitude:

Back Down South
-Kings of Leon

"Come on down and dance,
If you get the chance,
We're gonna spit on the rival.
All I wanna know,
Is how far you wanna go,
Fighting for survival.

Underneath the stars,
Where we parked the cars,
Ain't showing signs of stopping.
Pretty little girls,
Naked to their curls,
Ready to lay in the coffin.
If you wanna go,
I'm gonna go,
I gotta fire burning.
Come on take my hand,
Hope you see your man,
Baby's gonna be a big one.
Baby's gonna be a big one.

If you see the lights,
and we hear the fights,
It's gonna be a stunner.
I've got something here,
If you give me one more beer,
I'm gonna call a runner.
I don't want to say,
What I have to say,
If I'm a' kicking off now.
If you wanna go,
I'm gonna go,
I'm going back down south now.
I'm going back down south now.
I'm going back down south now.

If you wanna go,
I'm going back down south now.
Go on take my hand,
I'm going back down south now.
Wait 'til you see the light,
And we hear those fights,
I'm going back down south now.
I don't want to know,
How far you wanna go,
I'm going back down south now.

I'm going back down south now.
I'm going back down south now.
I'm going back down south now.
Oh, yeah.
I'm going back down south now."

Poetry for a Reflective Evening Under Covers of Night and Self-Defense...

I've got the runaway smile to steal your eye
But not your heart...
I am roving mischief on the sleeve of Chance,
Begging,
Beckonnnning
For sweet ignorance's kiss...

And yet...
Blissful regret stings me
Like an elegant paper cut.

I run
Savagely
Into the arms
Of a Maybe,
Forcing myself on him
Like desperate death.

Oh, the lips of Remorse are cruel indeed!!

See, I do not fully regret this night leap
Over the bow of the good ship Prudence.
I have flung caution (so many times)
To the sighing friendship sea
That a wiser person
Should render me
"Incorrigible,"
Unworthy of anyone's time
But dear Attention,
Who, on the day of my birth,
Swooped down from his lofty perch
And landed square in my living room.
Long and loudly, he protested rightful ownership,
Until his passionate love
Gave him due cause to snatch me up,
Without pause,
Into his burly, bereft, and bustling arms...

...With Gaston for a guide,
Can I really be blamed for this weakness?