TL's posts with tag: randomthoughts
So I - unlike some of you - but like others of you - started a blog on this happy site in June of 2006. I followed the likes of Sassy, Joyce, Nimah (who doesn't seem to be around anymore) and some others - because of TOS issues at 360 - and I set up a summer home. As the world spins though - the freedoms afforded by this quiet site brought out the inner porn star in so many here (not my original set of friends - they are gems) and I ended up with a circle of contacts who couldn't even post a sentence without a sexual inuendo...so I sold my summer home and opted for a more quiet, tiny bloglet - out of the erotic overflow so to speak. Just me and some sweet people from SP2 and a few other dear personal friends...and then 360 oblivion....and all the foogies are milling about - lol. So welcome to all of you 360 refugees. I will refrain from comments like nyah nyah I told you so - because I stil have virtual realty at 360. I will simply put out my humble welcome mat and invite you all for tea and cookies. I will say this. Most of the entries here will not be public. I learned my lesson at 360 about keeping the windows open whilst parading virtually naked. It won't happen here. Especially with respect to my bastard children - the poems, short stories and novels I am working on. I will post them here or at least I will post links - but those posts will only be accessible to specific friends. No more public exposure - lol. Which reminds me. You may have noticed if you are new - blogs can be posted with 'restricted access' - so you can post stuff accessible only to say 'family' or 'business associates' instead of public. Or you can post your thoughts as completely private. that's a nice option for those of us who write - but can't finish a thought....lol. Peace. and welcome. I hope you don't get the abandoned feeling that I got over at 360. For my sisters and brothers at SP2 - I will be more participative now....my little project is over and I have missed you so. This post is public...but like I said....they usually won't be....Tam wanders off - buttoning every button on her shirt.....pulling her hat down over her eyes....
 Truly random thoughts today sprouting up in my frontal lobe like errant vetch. Those of you who live in the northern tier - must have at some point run through a field of vetch - for a moment before it tangled you to the point of face planting...if not. Google is your buddy this morning. The pic doesn't do it justice - but it comes in purple, pink and gold and its tangly... I wonder why I'm wearing blue when all I have available for eyeshadow is green and purple. I wonder why I have a box of earrings I never wear. I wonder why there are string cheese wrappers proliferating under my PC desk. I wonder why I never heard "Weanie in a Bottle" by Weird Al before last night. I wonder why I'm too chicken to take a sick day even when sick although I'm not sick today unless sick of putting on a dress counts. So last night the Teen found www.projectplaylist.org. Fifty songs later he is in Rock Heaven. Just like his mom, Fred's musical palate is varied. Everything from Lorena McKennitt to the Beastie Boys. Of course the HOH got involved which meant a trip down music legends lane. The old guy has been amassing a collection of CD's and sampled everything from Pink Floyd to the Chambers Brothers to Genesis - yes it was a vintage fest in my living room. Problem is - I can't frickin' stand listening to two things at once. Its an estrogen thing. Really. They did a study. Men can listen to three different things at one time and block two. (especially if two are 'wife and child' during a sporting event.) whereas we women pick up parts of all three....because we have to listen to HOH and spawn all damn day whilst trying to soothe ourselves with Enya...yeah. Of course I tried to assist as neither of them can spell Black Sabbath (sweetleaf - they dug in the musical basement for that little ditty) and then it happened: that thing which fractured my thought processes. The stuck song. You've had it. You have a loop in your head....you can't actually remember a phrase....but the melody is there...and you can't hum it cuz the connections between your vocal chords and your brain are knotted. You even remember the commercial - but not the product advertised - and you are sure the song is less than seven years old. Sigh. I spent copious time searching song lists from the past seven years - songs that sample classical works....songs in advertising. This morning I have a phrase - "there's a million different people" but I'm not sure if that's even really in the song...and here I am. Hating it when the brain shorts out...like when I can't remember Julia Roberts name (you know, that actress. She lives in New Mexico. She was in that movie. You know - with the laugh...and she's holding that guy by the tie on the DVD cover. She has a perm. You know - that guy everyone thinks is cute.) What will I be like when I am old and gray and can't remember exact details. "I can't find my car. You know. It has doors. And tires. With those things on them. Yeah. And I parked by one of those light things. Right." I can't help wondering if somewhere some one is sitting alone with my face in in their memory thinking "who is that girl? Did I go to school with her? What was her name? Yeah. The one who fell off the Jungle Jim and had her dress up over her face. Wonder where she went?" Sigh. The mind is a terrible thing. Work beckons. I dread the day. Perhaps the mindless drone is why my brain won't connect. YA THINK? peace.
 Closing This Month
Margaret Reid Poetry Contest - $4,500 in Cash Prizes
Postmark Deadline: June 30
Now in its fourth year, this contest seeks poetry in traditional verse forms such as sonnets and haiku. Both published and unpublished poems are welcome. 50 cash prizes totaling $4,500 will be awarded, including a top prize of $1,000. The entry fee is $6 for every 25 lines you submit. Submit online or by mail. This contest is sponsored by Tom Howard Books and assisted by Winning Writers. Judges: John H. Reid and Dee C. Konrad. See the complete guidelines and past winners.
Tom Howard/John H. Reid Poetry Contest
Postmark Deadline: September 30
Now in its fifth year, this contest seeks poems in any style, theme or genre. Both published and unpublished poems are welcome. 30 cash prizes totaling $3,500 will be awarded, including a top prize of $1,000. The entry fee is $6 for every 25 lines you submit. Submit online or by mail. Early submission encouraged. This contest is sponsored by Tom Howard Books and assisted by Winning Writers. Judges: John H. Reid and Dee C. Konrad. See the complete guidelines and past winners.
Just a couple of offerings for you so that I can take a little time and socialize....peace. If you need poetic inspiration check out Sacred Songspace. On my friends list - a public poetic offering updated mostly weekly...peace.
 Picture is entitled - Light where darkness should be - and was lifted from Deviantart.com Yesterday I my PC at work decided to croak...I moved to another which did not have our accounting software on it - pretty damn difficult to be productive as an accountant when your accounting package is inaccessible...as if that mattered to anyone but me. My 'agent' wants to set up a webpage - on their site its 150.00 - if I had 150.00 would I be spending it on my book? or perhaps food? or Gas? So I am a tad cranky. My muse is fuming somewhere - arms folded and expletives flying at a ferocious cadence...best to keep her locked up today... So I leave an offering for you if you are so inclined - what do you see in the picture? tell me here or send me a link - or just whisper amongst yourselves. Peace PS...deb is back. You know I'm excited but more than that - I am relieved. Some of you amazing talents have a monster in your head - and sometimes the monster wins. I hate it when it happens but it does....in my case, I just feed it till its too fat to chase me....then I tease it. Yup.
 Cliches italicized for your convenience....an SP short to amuse you: "Son, what are you doing?" Sarah stood, hands on hips in the small kitchen staring at her son as he stood sleepy eyed in front of the open refrigerator. "Getting Rico's breakfast" The tall teen boy scratched his buttocks with a beefy hand. "Ok well its not gonna jump out at you - come on - grab some cereal and let's go." Sarah turned on her flat black shoes and stomped out of the kitchen. "Mom, we're outta milk." Randy brandished the cereal box at his younger brother. "You know, just put the damn cereal in a bowl and get your ass to the car!" Sarah snatched her purse up off the floor and dug in the bottom of it for the car keys. "Mom needs to get a life." Rico pulled a chipped bowl out of the drain tray and tossed a handful of cereal into it. "Smartass" Sarah looked over her glasses at the younger boy. "Rico, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." Randy handed his little brother a spoon and slung a backpack over his shoulder. "la i wa you may ih" Rico shoved a spoon full of dry cereal into his mouth and spoke, little pieces of cereal falling onto his red tshirt." "What the hell son!" Sarah tapped the back of Rico's head with the flat of her hand. "Mom, "life is what you make it, remember? Joe Dirt?" "Yeah whatever, like you are so chalk cajun, don't talk with your mouth full. and it was home is where you make it...damn. Home. Like this crack house in which we live." "Mom. Don't say bad words." Rico swallowed a mouthful of dry flakes. "Mm Life cereal. He likes it, Hey Mikey." Randy gave his little brother a shove as the three made their way down the porch steps. "Mom! He's calling me Mikey again." Rico spit pieces of dry cereal at his older brother. "Don't spit and don't whine - "
"Don't let life pass you by" Randy interrupted his mother, grabbing her around the waist and dancing in a circle with her.
"Son, my hand is gonna pass by the back of your head. Do you understand late?" "Chillax. We're living the good life remember?" Randy let Sarah go and ducked into the passenger seat of the car "Life's a bitch and then you die." Sarah squealed the tires as she backed out of the driveway. "Mom, I know you're stressed but its ok. We're not that late." Randy patted his mom's shoulder. "No. You're not that late. I'm going to be late and one of these days I'm gonna get fired for coming in ten minutes late every day because my children do not respect me." Sarah gripped the steering wheel tightly as she accelerated on to the freeway. "Mom, life comes at you so fast, sometimes you just have to slow down and deal with what's important and let the rest wait." "Randy, I want you to be a winner at the game of life. I'm not trying to be an evil bitch. But rules are rules and work is work and on time is on time." "And the needs of the mommy outweigh the needs of the son. Live long and prosper." Randy held up his hand in a Vulcan greeting. "Ok.Son. Ok." Sarah glanced over at her boy as he put his MP3 player earbuds in his ears and started to headbang silently in the passenger seat. She looked in the rearview mirror at her younger boy, who crunched dry cereal and stared out the window. This is the life.... ____________________________________________________________________________________ A moment of mad poetry....Mind Freak SP style my mind is a coyote scavenging the scattered scraps remembrance refuse pissing in the brilliance of sacred spaces yakking profanities in the steller breeze poetic emanations dropped scat in the desert heat Your succored cyanide deadly sweet Fangs clenched in a strychnine embrace I forever chase Bleating sheep Vicious thoughts devour gentle lambs Fatal hunger slinks at the edge of a civilized mind Crunch the marrowless bones you left behind Opportunistic consumer I feed my greed in your manicured shadows Gods dog no respecter of persons I serve no purpose beyond survival This creature panting in my wild amber eyes Deceptive disguise Destiny's flesh untamed Frenzied wrenching splintered free Gnawed losses numb the pain Better to bleed than concede Stumbling closer to dead than sane Like that mongrel at the end of your Paper chain. 052407 only 3 days late.... TLB I'd rather chew my hand off than use it to satisfy....on demand...get it? ___________________________________________________________________________________ and now for a moment of blogging on a bright saturday afternoon. I am considering rejoining the ranks of uninteresting as a fellow blogger has sent me the instructions for blog freedom. Ah yes. After hours of fighting with the hubby's new electronic device (an MP3 player) we finally learned that big bertha (an HP lazer jet) does not play nice with other devices and we must unplug her if we want MP3 players to work. Imagine that and whodathunk? I took the time to go back through the last fifty or so comments - or at least the non repeater comments (some of you visit daily and I love you) through monday - and drop by all of your pages. Thus my absence until now. I did some housekeeping and redecorating. And I have made some decisions. I won't post them. I will put them into action and those of you who visit - well hopefully my actions will bear fruit where you are concerned. Peace. Those of you who have stuck by me through my inabilities to get off my own page and visit yours...thank you. Hopefully I am past that inability and I will be reading as well as writing. That's much more fun anyway... so I was driving home the other night when I was literally enveloped in the most vile smell...since neither spawn was in the car and I hadn't recently ingested beans I was quite repulsed and surprised. then I saw them. Four of them. Worse than cement trucks, I hate cattle haulers. Needless to say I broke several driver courtesies and a few county laws in my effort to get upwind of them...sigh. I hope that was all the drama my weekend produces. Peace.
 Well, the taxes are done and my pocket is lighter, now if I could only unload some of the heaviness in my soul. I know the damage that can be done by dumping toxic waste repeatedly into the stream of anything including the virtual bubbling river I so love to wade through on lazy mornings and afternoons...but the angst and ashes are too heavy for me to carry. My family, my life, it seems my spinning world does nothing but circle the sky - never landing - never moving forward my angelic traffic controllers on strike and the peanuts are so dry. All joking aside my 'dad in law' is seriously ill and my 'sis in law' is helping take care of him until she closes on a home at which time my hubby will be traveling to assist - meaning me and the spawn will be batchin' it...creating a virtual hairball of epic proportions....Fred's (the older spawn) GF has a serious situation in her family - my son at the tender age of fifteen is trying to be a good listener as a family spirals toward chaos...and we cannot stop the spin... The recent rains we had flooded the front room (leaky roof and the plastic failed) the floor is soaked...lets just add noxious sprinkles to the already despicable wreck where the bills come and the family sleeps, shall we? And there is no way foreseeable at our present escalation toward retirement that we will ever grasp the brass ring or the tin ring or even manage to get control of the rust ring in the tub and make our dung heap a home...I try not to look up or around when I'm there....because it breaks my damn heart. And then there is this prickly rashlike feeling under my peotic skin that tells me "you're a writer, Tam...write. Publish. Be. Lawdy mama I wanna choke the gizard outta that irritating voice that whispers plot lines and poetic piffle in the midst of my daily shlep toward obscurity. I didn't win the 1000.00 best christian poetry EVA' contest so its back to the trenches on the whole submission thing - but I did scrounge up a whole passle o' free contests, so tomorrow I'll post the link. On the uptake, the cough has abated somewhat so I am reasonably confident my lungs will remain lodged within my ribcage and will not be flung forcibly from my left eye or squirted unceremoniously through my bladder as I thought last week. Some things do get better over time. So that's part of the list for the day. I stand at the door of oblivion screaming my horrific warning to those of you with one hair's worth of talent: yes...WAKE UP! Quit wasting your time - quit the day job...don't get sucked in to the black hole of mediocrity...FLY before its too late... If you will excuse me I must retrieve my anus from the abyss now....Peace...I'll be back tomorrow...you've been warned.
 So the media vultures circle the dry bones of another monster of our own making, the villification process complete - we stand arms folded and nod our heads in agreement whilst the world spins and babies cry and young men and women still make more money selling crack than cracking the corporate ceiling. Imus had no right....so let's keep dragging the corpse through the streets until we have all spit upon it - whilst the rapists rape and the plunderers plunder and the gangsta rap booms till our windows shake...shall we? I'm not pissed at what happened to Imus...I'm pissed at the media who made the monkey, fed the monkey and now is shooting the monkey and throwing the monkey carcass over the fence to rot without taking RESPONSIBILITY for the monkey. Imus went too far because the media circus let the chain out....inch by rusting, disrespectful inch. And now..."Oh we fired him. Its rap music that's the demon now. We are innocent and holy..." whatever.... so that being said...Tam makes a mental note to watch her mouth and the contents of her heart - because words go to the bone don't they. As a writer...I am nothing without my words. I can either uplift, or shred.... Haven't been around the last two days, did you notice? No? Ah que... Simply stated, my life is a shambles. I have a hacking spitting peeing cough - too many obligations and the last two days my boss has been in the office first thing and hasn't left until last thing...which negates the opportunity for lunch time, breaks, and breathing let alone blogging my happy butt off. And have you ever noticed that when you are sick...nothing gets done? I have no clean undies, (TMI moment...sorry) I can't see the counters for the dishes or the floors for the dirt...there's no food in the fridge and dammit if the husband doesn't expect me to take the stinking CAR to the shop today...oh, and finish the state taxes. Yes, Tam did taxes on thursday rather than blogging. No wonder I'm in a foul mood. So I have to get my life back in order, or at least find the top of the stove...and then maybe I can play...come over for tea...peace.
 Can you smell what the Tam is cookin'? Yup. Multiple dendrites all a sizzle. Its that thing. that feeling. That slow drop when the motor is turned off and the prow settles down in the water....and the waves...they gently ebb. I draw a breath...then sob for the ride now over. What the hell is my problem? I feel suddenly lost in the middle of the ocean with no landmarks...no seagulls and no companion. (and no oars in the water.) Writing a novel makes one myopic I suppose. I understand why the great ones cloister themselves in some secret exotic place, hunched over the keys whilst the world spins and moments fly. Slipping between the pages to dance with those who reside just the other side of the flickering screen or advancing page....While the rest of us wannabes froth and foam and scream at our lives that encroach on even the brightest spark of inspired scene, whispered bits of dialogue that haunt us in the shower - only to flitter away on the evaporating steam when the dog barks or a child demands mated socks and clean boxers. You see I have fought SO HARD to produce, yes to BIRTH my paper child into being. And now that she is complete...and I am still...I feel like I cannot breath. So the plan is to take this evening off. Perhaps I will cry in the shower. Maybe I will sit with my child in my lap. I may visit some blogs. But for my sanity - I must formulate the plan. And the damn dendrites are so smoked they're crispy. So this weekend I will be back at it. I have a second book in process and this one has a publisher/assist type agreement going. Then there's a sequel sprouting in my cranium...and a historical fiction novel possibility hovering just out of sight....yes. I cannot sit here in this cesspool because the gum I used to block the holes is slowly loosing its stickiness...and I flatly refuse to drown here in my small boat. I cannot remain lulled into a worldcoma by the gentle wavelets of mediocrity that sing the muses to sleep on rolling days of skull numbing infotainment overload, crises du jour and the latest crap about Bald Headed Brit...yes. That soul sucking thing we call a normal life. I've never been comfortable in the vampire's lair...and now that I've felt the rush of cool winds of change on my tearsoaked cheek...I must pull that cord for all its worth...and escape this pond. Peace. Had to get that outta my system. Simply stated - I'm impatient and there is nothing I can do to promote publication possibilities...it is out of my control...in God's capable hands. so I must focus on the next thing....or I'll find myself on a street corner draped in spandex and swilling zima. To all of you who have been so patient with me lately. Thank you. You matter to me. I'd toss the blog in the cyber toilet if you didn't. I'll be around to visit. I will have a bit of time now to socialize. And I've missed you terribly.
 Do you see the picture above so easily lifted from the internet? Yes, it is a box of Wheaties. Kindly refrain from urinating in the box as they are mine, my breakfast of champions and I prefer them unsullied by the filtered waste of the world. In the vulgate: "Don't pee in my Wheaties" Thank you very much. Coupla things here for those of you who know my promise to minimize cererbral meltdown and virtual excrement flinging upon my page - today is my personal day of asylum. Yes I am a temporary refugee from the sane, secure, and stringently restricted. Its on. I'm off and if you love me - laugh with me or look away. First. I have decided to max out the friends list. I figure if I tap the top of the 300 cieling - the rest of the invites will stop gumming up my email - and I can actually circulate amongst my friends with no guilt about ignoring the person politely knocking on my virtual door - right? Second. Mail is now for friends only - and please, no spam, no glitter graphics - no cute stuff. Yeah I like it - but there will soon be 300 of you on the page and I want to visit YOU. I want to read YOU. I want to know YOU. If I can't get to your page because I'm sifting through your myspace kitsch....well...we both lose. If you post a blog tho' or you need a prayer, or you just want to say howdy - why have you stood me up again when I baked cookies and bought Hornitos....please, send an email. I'm cool with that. The blog? Still public so comment away. Let me make myself CLEAR. No couching, no subtle words, no pretty metaphors. I am flipping sick and tired of being sick and tired. Got it? I'm done. I am a novelist, dammit. Ok, I'm not a paid novelist or a published novelist or even a novelist worth the read, but the BOOK IS MINE! I wrote the damn thing. I am taking it as far as it will go. I'm plastering it all over every editors door I can find. I may be sad at times. I may be almost paralysed - but as long as one nerve ending responds to stimuli - I AIN'T DONE! (caveat...the book was actually an answered prayer and I am seriously stunned that it was 'given' to me. I don't discount the blessing. Ever.) So that being said. I will also be circulating amongst my buds here on 360. People like the poets and alums of SP. Wraith, Spirit, Moon - the poets of Songspace, my JesusFreak friends - my awesome men and women who speak truth - Ann - Astra - Jaki - my lights - Alfa, my newer friends, Chrissy, Catherine, Seanymph, Gaby, my Filippino connections - my cyberspawn - its time for me to go back to what I used to do and that's spend more time blessing you than bringing you down. I can be your cover, your protection, but I can't be a wet blanket anymore. Peace...(taps on glass....whispers....I'm baaaaaakkk - dances off page clicking her ruby slippers together...)
 Yes, even Tam's tire of the treadmill - the steady drone of an existence in fastforward whilst the mental gears grind in reverse. I find I must hammer the gears - add some nitrous and forceably take over the machine again. I wonder about some of you. Others - I long to connect with as I did just a few months ago. Still others - I'm learning to love. But there are a few of you....I just want to ask you why are you here? Somewhere in the dust and dendrites the banshee rattles her chains and growls - "You shouldn't have to ask....you should know." The banshee never lies. That's why I hate her. I wonder why the generic invite you sent me was your only point of contact? I wonder why when I vehemently stand against genitalia shots - you set to amass a collection of fools (myself amongst the rabble) only to unveil a random crotch in closeup technicolor. I wonder why when I have never and will never download yahoo IM - you ask me to chat? Perhaps it is your modus operandi to pee in the wheaties of the gullible daily. Mea culpa - the scent should register. I have some friends here. I have connections. I seek contact. I desire mentors. Are these statements clear enough for you who do not know me? If you aren't already a friend and you think the lion is cute - thank you. But friendships are never formed on the basis of cutesy pics pilfered from the internet. I am a real girl with a real soul and a real spirit. I'm way past sixteen and happily married. The time I have to invest in blessing the lives of others is limited - so please, read me before sending that invite....do us both that favor. Some of you have never commented on my page. I wonder if I am truly just a collectors shot. I wonder why you keep me? What purpose do I serve? An unread writer....some of you have been with me almost a year and you have never commented. *sighs* For those of you who are newer...its okay. There's time. But for others....I wonder.... It's time for me to reconnect with the dear friends I have here on 360. You are precious to me and you know who you are. Some of you - I used to visit every day. I want that connection back, so I'm goin' for it. (I'm coming to visit - put the tea on) Some of you are newer - and have made an investment of time in me. I thank you for it. I will be returning the favor. And some of you....I suppose I will continue to wonder for the rest of my life. Maybe you will comment. Maybe you won't - but you are more than a headshot....I value your words. So I will be visiting. for those of you not already on my friends list - if you want to connect - read me first. Comment on a blog or two. Then send a real invite - not a generic one. Its a public blog...you don't have to be on the 'list' to comment, capiche? and if you say something funny, thought provoking, interesting or just plain nice, I'll return the favor. Really. As always. If I've missed you lately - hit me with an email. This will be the last Tuesday post for awhile. I will also not post on Wednesdays (But I will be bloggin my butt off now on the weekend) I have a job, a worship service, and a class I teach. I don't have time to visit my dear friends here on those days so why blog on those days as well.) To keep it real....I discovered this week I was placed in favorites hell by a woman I dearly care about. I assume it was because I either offended her by my words....or by the lack of my presence on her page. I simply cannot take you for granted - if I desire your presence. Its give and take, not take and take. Peace. I'm switching to night time blogging so that I have more time to visit and also - the fat is not going away whilst my butt is in the PC chair...so I must start some type of 'exercise plan' (oh the horror...) and I know if I don't do it immediately in the am - I won't do it at all. Catch me on thursday evening - I will be my better self. Yes, the weirdo will be back in the drivers seat, but I needed to be real with you...just for today.
 *Oye mi canto
Lamentations to La Luna
*Coyote girl
She cries
Sonnets to the muted skies
Drunken lovers rise
Snapping tendons cloaked in sweaty expectations
Curse the veiled moon
Deluded agave blue dreams seduced
Apprehensions fangs render lesser men for ever free
Detached from guilty hands that caressed her flesh
Never majestic
She clings to broken songs
The sentenced stagger off commuted
From warm wood she births a dirge
Oye mi canto
Under a shrouded sky
Coyote girl
She cries
Raven hair and her breath
Caught up in leathered lace
Lame betrayers limp away
Lamenting her poison embrace
Unable to recall
The sad contours of her face.
TLBoehm
020207 *Oye mi canto - remembering that Gloria Estefan song.....hear my song - loose translation *Coyote girl....coyote is often used as slang for 'ugly girl' or 'latina/caucasian mix...' or the act of freeing oneself from an ugly partner - chewing ones arm off to escape.... It so happens that if I had a spirit animal - it would be the coyote....and my first paid publication? Yes - it was an article on coyotes... Peace
 Once again if you are expecting my usual offering of burnt oatmeal and arsenic laden angst - you won't get it today. Perhaps tomorrow. Seems of late I can only go limited increments of time before someone pees in my wheaties. Let's not couch it in frilliness, shall we? Wraith - I'm considering YOU today as I phrenetically tap out my own brand of cyber Morse code across the virtual void that is 360 and other sites like it. I am thinking of the cost of dreams yes but even more - the cost of not protecting those dreams. When we allow the sludge, the biomess, the insidious parasites of life, family, work, myriad obligations...and the opinions of so-called friends who rob the dream of its vitality...killing it on the vine before we ever pluck it and taste the sweet fruit. So often dreams wither because we do not know how to protect them. I would love to post my dream here in its 81000 word entirety. I crave acceptance. I desire feedback. I am interwoven amongst the fabric of my dream. But I was given clear direction by my Creator (no I don't sit down to tea with God and discuss plot lines and dialogue - I miss about ninety percent of everything my Father tells me because the dendrites are set to BLARE.) to protect this dream. And that means - don't show nobody. So I ain't and I'm et up most days but I have watched my dreams wither....its devestating. Crop failure kills more than the dream. It kills the dreamer. When its published - I'll share it. Until then - there's other stuff from the Tamster here - servicable, lightly humorous...and I am so full of it - there's plenty more blather for the masses. Really. But my dream must be protected. And so must yours. In what ever fashion protection manifests, whether God or your internal muse or the wookie on your nightstand admonishes you - you must obey if you want to see the dream to fruition. For me - it means silence. A virtual blackout. For you it may mean choosing your business partner with care....it may mean telling the idiots who tsk tsk at you to p*ss off. Or it may simply mean diligence over time. Whatever it is - remember - we are given dreams for a reason. Just as airplanes 'want' to fly - the soul desires lift. It is built for that purpose. You are made for a purpose. Dreams are mirrors. Pay attention to them. Feed them. Nurture them. Above all, protect them. It doesn't make one damn bit of difference if my printer bites the big one in the midst of printing my stinkin novela. The fact is....two years ago it was literally a dream - or the rememberance of a dream. And I asked constantly for MORE. Now. I have a 205 page second draft. I could have had it sooner had I been diligent but I let the field lie fallow for over a year. Mea culpa. Now? Its here. I'm salivating for my test group to read it but you know how teens are - and Tams not a patient puppy. If the printer breaks....I have another. If that one breaks, I have CDs if that doesn't work I can find another way....diligence. persistance. obedience. What ever your dream is....do not allow THEM and you know who THEY are to deter you. Don't step off the path. Don't look away. Don't let the years and tears rob you of your purpose. Peace. Jeff. Thank you. Wraith. Its yours. Just keep moving forward. I got off my blog last night and did some visitin' - I hope to do it again this week. I'd forgotten how much I love reading you all. Peace. I have some invites to consider. I've been waiting. Giving myself a bit of a hiatus from blind acceptance.... reconsidering some very recent connections. Stamp collectors. High schoolers. I hesitate to restate the obvious - but if you never blog, you post porn, you're still in high school - and you're just here to chat....you're welcome to lurk, comment - but chances are nil that I will accept your invite. There are others who will. I'm not the only combo plate on the menu. If you have no picture...no profile...I have friends to protect. Chances are nil that I will accept your invite. If you only have two friends but you write and you have pics and a profile...totally different. Its difficult for me to be 'choosey' but yahoo has limitations and I must abide by them - and set my own. Peace. For the friends I still haven't visited - yell at me. Love you!
Ah yes remember that whole 'thing' we had goin on in the 80's? That love affair with Big Red across the pond? David Bowie sang China Girl and and some other forgettable group did "China" and Grace Slick talked about Chyna wait...well yea. You remember don't you? I remember I used to use a phrase "You'll miss me when I'm gone." Stole it from a friend who probably stole it from a movie...Then I bought this Culture Club LP....and was able to sing my veiled threat to all the idiots in the universe who duped me....real and imagined. And now in life's sadistic full circle roulette it is my time that sings this to me....The free time I crave slowly taken by morons, supervisors, and Freds IPod from hell. All the little pieces of time for Tam squeezed into 20 frantic minutes in the morning providing all glasses are found with both lenses unmarred - sets of shoes are available and canines are not starving in the back yard. This is why I blog instead of combing my hair. There is only so much time - and a girl has to prioritize. Yes, Tam is suffering time constraints...(the entry title - I'm a writer, I play with words. To see if you're paying attention...if you know me...you know I'm not leaving...so you know I'm leading in to something else.) In my limited POV - blogging is reciprocal. I write. I love to write. I will write almost daily as long as I have the mechanism to do so. I NEED it to stay sane. And I HOPE for readers. But I also READ. And right now....I am sorely missing you. Your page. Some of you, I used to check on almost daily and now I know its been weeks. I check your faces to make sure you are still on my list. But I only have so much time. I hope you understand. The dust will settle. The invites will subside. And I will be off and reading. As for you newbies - if you are making comments - rest assured - I'm not going to delete you. If you blog regularly not necessarily daily but if you are around - I'm not going to delete you. If you choose to simply lurk and comment once in awhile...I will return the kindness and come sniff around on your blog. This is a public page and all are welcome. The friends list is an arbitrary mechanism imposed by Yahoo programmers...it is no measure of friendship. I welcome Kalee, Meg, Candy, Jeani, SimpleMan, and IAmAbel to the page. I hope to get on this evening and go visiting. As always, if you've blogged and want me to read it...shoot me an email....I'll pop over. (mmm popovers.....) PEACE! I love you people.
 Imagine this. In the chill of the third morning shower on a two bath water heater the Tamster has had an epiphany. Brace yourself. Men are fractal. I remember a slower, sienna tinted life where I could simply sit for hours on the porch with a beer in one hand and my other arm slung over my faithful dog and just watch the birds fly, the grass grow. I was complete. But now? As I sit penitent and furtive at my PC three feet away from THEM who art watching AntiqueâÂÂs Road Show am bombarded with the frequency of a car alarm at four am with their incessant pleadings. (you see I am amiss in the Plath-like availability of a frigid attic in which to compose my opus. Nor do I have a basement refuge in which to commune with the rats in my psyche. This is the desert. We built squat homes with no basements and no attics. It is my cross to bear.) Do they not realize that coaxing a cohesive novella on to the page is like grooming a large dog? Sometimes the brush slides through easily creating patina of rich color, other times it sticks on the nappiness so thoroughly that an impatient yank will only cause pain and hair loss. And sometimes the dog just gets up and walks awayâ¦.But men. They care naught because they are fractal. They want more prepared food after dinner. They have headaches and belly aches and spare me from what ever else may be causing physical discomfort. They want tea and bananas and oh LAWDY MAMA they want to talk to you about the food pyramid and how they understand you are addicted to fatâ¦.yet they still purchase bacon and cheese and boxed pasta because they are what? Yes. Fractal. Their focus challenged mentality is rubbing off on me â leaving me with the personality of a rabid Jack Russell Terrier. Where does it end? Anyway. I actually reached a goal despite the chafing wooly blanket of family life last night and hit the 200 page mark on my novella. To be technically correct I really donâÂÂt know how big a novella has to be before it is considered a novel but 200 pages and 80000 words seems to be in the novella range so this is what I shall deem it to be. Besides, itâÂÂs a fun word to type. I have 25 more pages to go in my second edit â so I am ensured it will be slightly longer than 200 pages as I wrap up the wrap up and tie it off with bright bows of plot twists and narrative. I plan to print it out for perusal by one of those fractal inhabitants of mi casa on Wednesday after I finish off that last portion of unedited pages. He is a voracious reader. IâÂÂll give him the dreaded red pen and bite my lip. It should be fun. I feel the need to apologize to many of you. Spirit, Wraith, my SP sisters, GingerBits, JeanRose, MeiXiu, Chrissy, Missy, Santulan, Slim....and a few others.... â the old guard so to speak along with some very friendly newer ones, Astra Navigo, Heather, - some of you post daily as do I â and had grown so accustomed to visiting you daily. Now with the wrap up on my novella, the dreaded payroll year end and fiscal year end in my job, and this whole Y360 interesting thing, well TamâÂÂs having trouble hauling out into blog land. But the novella is wrapping, year end by its very nature will end, and the interesting pages will shift to other unsuspecting peepsâ¦.And I will shake off the fizzing dendrites and come visit. If you posted something and you need me to read itâ¦.shoot me an email. You who are my friends, you know I love you. A few welcomes and then I have to wrangle a âÂÂtweenâ â to Connie J, Bethzookie, Bert T, Christian, Zhena, RedHeart, and Bobbe. And I may have missed Belle, Andrew Mc, Pamela, and Karen K. Amongst the new names there may be a soul or two who stays on after the lights and sirens cease and the yellow tape blows away on the desert windâ¦. I have a few invites to peruse â some mail to read â and this weekend, IâÂÂll be visiting some of you. (I like cookies and tea and salami.) Peace!
 And so it slips in on shrouded feet, chilled fingers up my spine in darkness. A subtle rustling melancholy seeping into my soul. Spilling from my eyes silent. The dischordant music of a broken child. I dance to it in my dreams.... It happened last night after the family was drooling and snoring in their respective rumpled sheets and I with a moment of empty room paradise sat tangled up in my own mired thoughts - eyes focused on the flickering panorama of public TV - absorbing the shifting sunlit depths while whale songs sifted into my spirit - that black hole place - that whirling vortex in my center that threatens to eat me in the middle of an azure tinted summer skied day...And so I did what I do best...what I do now...I fed it my tears. Perhaps its the pending hedonistic "Me" fest looming, or the corporate machine grinding... or just the sludge of my past gumming up the mental works - but sometimes when I've been foaming at the mouth - biting and clawing for survival as I have been for the past month - fighting for my career, my physical health all that other crap for which we battle - when I finally am able to STOP the MADNESS - I am confronted by that little girl inside me. The one who used to lie in the dark as her parents fought in the other room....the one who was never asked to dance...never pretty....never popular....and never EVER the flavor of the day. Yes, that girl. That inconsequential child who cannot remember sitting on her mommy's lap, but always to the side...I catch her soul sometimes staring back at me in the mirror. And I want so much to tell her - Its ok. But sometimes - she just doesn't believe me. We all have our flaws, our tripping points - our critters that scurry out just as we think we've poisoned and trapped them all. I am no different. I have a lonely inner child. It is why, although I crave attention - I also view it as suspect. It is why although I am enjoying the temporary status of 'interesting' - I question the validity of it all. What am I truly giving? Who am I blessing? What purpose do I serve in the scheme of things? Tears don't heal the broken child. Only love can heal a soul. That is my mantra, my purpose, my focus - and the issues of the day, the mindless drone of the corporate gears, the glut of superficial gimme gimme candy coated holiday kitsche - all that stuff - it scrapes the spirit raw. We are not keyed to be monsters or machines. So my challenge whilst I drink my pan drip coffee and prepare to visit blogs till my EYES cross is this: Go find that broken child in your life. Go tell that broken child - "I love you. You are beautiful. You matter. You are whole. And you are ok." Find someone to put your arms around. Be gentle with someone. Even if it means that you stand in front of your mirror and just be gentle with yourself. You matter. And if you could just get a taste of that love....oh, you would be satiated. Peace. I welcome P.June, Aweiserbud, Robinhud, Missy A, 11.Bravo, Seanymph, Snafu, and Sherry to the blogblock called Tammy. Most days - I keep it light because light illuminates all it touches, but once in awhile...I'm a real girl and real girls cry and stomp their feet. Today I'm shaking off the tears and letting my little girl out to play in the sun. PEACE!
ah the wonderful thing about a day off - I can BLOG MY BUNS OFF! I went visiting this morning and now I am back to bug. I grew up on the Muppet show - this was one of my favorite clips, so when the boys called me Wednesday to share it over the phone - I thought....I gotta post it. Along with a poem from the vault of Tammy.... Peace. First Love It\u2019s the Muppet Show Featuring our very special guest: Oh Miss Piggy I hate vous With your bacon dripping \u201cKermie\u201d voice Glazed blue eyes saying kissie kissie Stringy ham blonde hair Your little pork body stuffed into that purple satin gown A bulging lavender sausage I want to stuff an apple under your pudgy nose Wrap tin foil around those pink ears And bake you under pineapple rings and cloves at 350F Until you are golden brown I could eat your poodle Fu Fu for dessert You sow Stealing my Kermit away from me Kermit, my little green love I used to run home from school every day To watch Sesame street Just for a glimpse of you In your trench coat and jaunty hat Your bugged eyes with Chevy pupils gazed into mine And I swore off frog legs forever Oh Kermit My heart was yours alone But you married that swine And left me alone to wonder Do you call your Muppet babies Piggywogs or friglets And should I get a snout implant TL Hughes 5/85
 Regarding my last weird post, Wraith pretty much said what no one else could...who are you talking about...(psst....Tammy's Banshee taps the glass...she's talking about me - the more fun one.) Yeah. Its kinda like that. So lemme 'splain it to you (for those of you who know already - or for those of you who don't care you may excuse yourself from the page while I continue) I'm a one trick pony. I can't drive a standard, can't throw a ball, can't even parallel park without endangering small animals and my rear tires - but demmit - I BE a writer. See, when I was a teen - I was awkward, ugly, and abused. My parents were rarely sober and even less empathetic. Not their fault - they had their own pain. I had no close friends in physical proximity after we moved from AR to NM - and unfortunately never developed the skill set to make friends...I was alone. I wasn't Christian - all I basically had was some disco music and my pen and paper. So I learned to purge on paper. I learned to say all the things that were in my head and in my heart...To bare my soul. And to be unashamed and honest on paper. And I still do it. Tam's not lesbian. Tam's not psychotic. Tam's not clinically depressed. Tam's not a hater. I'm Jus' Tammy. Writing is what I do. No secret agenda here. So sometimes when you visit - you'll get a poem like yesterday. Don't freak out. And as I've said before - I'm about as erotic as a bowl of froot loops. (and if you can make a sex toy out of breakfast cereal...why are you wasting your time reading this blog? HUH?) I'm a generic girl - married with kids and a pain in the backside job, bills to pay, you know the drill. Anyway. I was reading Cyn's blog this morning and she made a comment that really stuck with me regarding religion. (oh my goodness look at 'em scurry from the blog...lol) She said she decided she was going to work on becoming the person her dog believed she was...and I instantly thought of my own mutated yardmunchkins. What do they think of me right now since I recently had to take a stick to one of them cuz he thinks he's Arnold Shwartzeheeler when in reality he has few teeth and less brains. And the cringing male canine offspring from his aging loins that he was trying to rip underneath the dang van was really attempting to get away and not make doggie pasta out of his father's face. I take no pleasure in whacking a pet with a blunt object - but I still have a scar in my hand where I tried to break up a dog fight and the dogs teeth met in my palm. It was most unpleasant. So my dogs if they consider the Biblical aspect of Tam...they're waxing old Testament. Could explain the dead mouse in the food bowl. It was either an offering to me or it was a warning...(We fixed old Mickey's butt. We can fix yours too.) But I do wonder about my own brand of eclectic faith these days. While some problems have abated and I know I'm blessed - there are still those monsters that creep up on me in the middle of a sunny day. Those thoughts of death that pop up in my soul while I'm blasting Madonna CD's in my car on the drive home. The ache in my heart when I sit down at my desk job - knowing I'm a better writer than an accountant and wondering what purpose I really serve in the grand design of my Maker? Certainly I believe in Love. Powerful agape love - kinda like a dog has for its master - Cyn's got a good point. But certainly the dog knows its loved. Do I really know God loves me when I am still the same ugly awkward chica? Misunderstood and blogging on her lunch break because she keeps hoping someone somewhere will understand? Even a little? yeah. Its kinda like that - isn't it. In closing. I admit I do have my moments of questioning...not the presence of God, but the relationship between us because after all - if you don't have a relationship with your creator....then you have nothing but empty space.....and I desperately want to fill my empty spaces. So my chicken enchilada casserole awaits as do your blogs. Todd - I hope I answered your questions sufficiently - and Cyn, I'm going home this evening and will apologize to Buddy for beating his tailless butt because after all like my Creator - he does seem to forgive me for all the pain I cause him. See you in cyberspace. peace The picture was pilfered during a yahoo search for Coyote. Why coyote? Well - its as close to a spirit animal as I have...according to some sources - some native Americans called the coyote "God's dog.." there's your connection. Do you get it? Ok.
 Ok so the gentle Tamster is feelin' a bit frazzled today trying to muzzle and duct tape her ever present banshee alter ego within the damp and drafty black hole that is their shared brain. In other words - I'm fixin' to be irate. But because I have new friends and don't want to freak them out until maybe after Christmas - I'm REALLY trying to be NICE. So here are the misfirings of my gray matter in no particular order. For those of you who are sending invites - although I hate to do generic lists of rules becaues who the heck am I anyway if not just another idiot with an internet connection? I'm no extra crispy taco plate so there's no reason for me to cop a tude. So I will make a pleasant request. I will certainly check every page of any person who sends me an invite, taking into consideration that you may be completely new to 360 - as was I last year. However; if you have no profile data, no picture, no information - then I have no way of knowing your intent and therefore it would not be prudent to accept a blind invitation. I am a real person with real friends - and I wouldn't want to expose any of my buddies with public pages to unwanted visitations. So - I will give you time to set up things on your page - capiche? My other restriction is this: Genetalia. I'm a married woman with two male children. I see all the male genetalia I can possibly handle and I also have my own attached female genetalia - so I really don't want to see anymore of that either. That being said, I do respect and recognise the difference between ART and PORN. I also write bad poetry so I have no problem with slightly erotic poems. But you won't get porn here, only corn so I try to avoid the outright pornographic bloggers. OK? Now. I'm sitting here looking out my window admiring the incredible blanket of snow all over my car. And rather than basking in the Prechristmas frosted magic, the juices in my stomach are working their way up my clenched esophagus. I really try not to blast my job online anymore but whilst people were exiting their places of employment in droves yesterday afternoon - I was 'waiting for permission' because of my status as "support personnel" Yeah. Female driver with front wheel drive and fifteen miles of icy freeway to commute on phone sitting for burly men with burly company trucks, company phones and company plastic. EXCUSE ME! I slid off the road twice on the way home. Doesn't give me that warm fuzzy peace on earth feeling. Today - I will leave when I leave and I will get there when I get there and if my scheduled day of vacation on Friday is pre-empted - there will be screaming and biting and kicking. And possibly some expletives. Finally. Fabienne had an interesting comment on yesterday's blog. You'd think that since I sometimes tout my Christianity - I would be a black and white girl. But I'm not. Truth is - I am terribly analytical. I am a thinker who squeezes the very essence out of just about anything until it is pale and lifeless. So if you remain my contact (which will be completely your choice) you will see that randomness in my words. Blog posts that get away. Poems that end in different places from where they started. Those who know me - just laugh and pass by when I get like that. (smiling) So while I do have some concrete in my life, my thoughts are mutable. I am usually open to the ideas and the thoughts of others. Don't be afraid to disagree with me - as long as you're not ripping me a new one, I'm usually pretty accomodating. Just so you know. I welcome Ozzyie, Fiamma, Maede', Jackie, and Lady Gray Dove. And I may have skipped Jessica -so welcome to her too. For everyone who is dropping by and saying nice things - thanks! And to my dear friends who put up with my incessant blogging - I owe some of you some long winded visits - Watch out. I'll be lurking soon! If I missed a blog, shoot me an email. Peace and be safe this holiday season. The pic above was taken from KOAT.com. An Albuquerque view of yesterdays commute home.
 | Croaked | Sep 25, '06 12:41 AM
for everyone |
 We were sitting at Soup'r Salad yesterday and my ever so loving son is messing with my new do and suddenly puts his hands under my chin and makes a long "croaking" noise whilst bringing his hands out away from my neck....translated - Mom looks like a bullfrog. I responded with my best "you are ever so pummeled" look - and he says something to the effect of "you don't have two chins you just have a frog neck." Funny, I missed the subtle differences between "CHINS" and "FROG NECK" Do frogs even have necks? The conversation decayed as did my mood from that point on. Just a few things today as I ponder the increasing rolling hills that used to be the flat plain of my body.... The party croaked. About ten people showed up. And to cap it... IT KNEW. Seems my ever so blonde and dorky older one left his essay out by the PC...the essay that said "this weekend I get to go to a surprise party for my dad...." At least the old man waited til we got in the car to tell me..."So did I act surprised enough?" Yeah. Jokes on me, again. The writing class....croaking eminent. We had a whopping four sign up. I know I shouldn't get off into numbers...but when you have a passion, and you don't want to spend your passion on the black hole of the world - the dark side - the mundane, inane, and profane 24/7 (even I am guilty of the occasional dark, erotic, or stupid) when you really desire a big ole rainbow trout and you get....minnows....or a turtle...or lilly pads....well its disappointing. And, I got no ideas for my story this weekend. Too many let downs I suppose. Too many hits to the ego. And now for something more on numbers. I just want to tell you if you are on my page...you aren't a number. Although I am surprised at the number of "friends" I have - in reality there are about ten of you who are faithful - a few more who are wonderful good friends too busy to visit daily - and a few of you who make the rounds once in awhile - some of you never comment. And that's ok. I only have a couple of favorites - people whom I am too chicken to invite but yet I still like to visit and their blog is public. Everyone else is a friend - catagorised either by your content (many of you are writers) or your location ( I know some of you who live here in the SW) But what I want to say is this. I only look at the friends on my page. I don't count friends on your pages. I don't check up on who you are hanging out with on line. And even more important - I don't make a decision on you based on what other people say about you. I only consider you as you consider me. As you inspire me. As you admonish me. As you make me spit my coffee in laughter, or bawl like a baby. Our relationship is one on one. I have made mistakes in my past. Passed judgement based on someone elses opinion. And I lost a good friendship. We all go through difficulty - and some of us use our page to get that chaos out on paper where we can deal with it. I do it. I talk about my family, my hubby, my job. In short - I cannot fault someone else for what I do myself. So if I am ever on your page and I cross the line...let me know. When you come to my page - I want you to feel like the coffee is on and the welcome mat is out - and there is a cameraderie between us. Remember that you matter to me. Remember that I value you. Remember that there are some of you who can talk to me about serious things and know that I will remain your buddy. So if you are here - reading this...know you have a buddy here. And some of you - who have known me for a while - you have a very loyal friend. And none of you have an enemy here. Now I 've said it before but I will say it again as long as I am on the subject. I've never reported anyone. I've never deleted anyone from my page based on differing religion, lifestyle, or strong opinion. I have only deleted for the following. Continual smut - trash - degradation of women - constant genetalia shots...I hate that crap. Inactivity for more than three months. (I've extended that to six now...lol) If you're ten....you're outta here. Physically ten. IF you're emotionally ten you can stay. And although I haven't run across it - if I did - I would also delete anyone peddling child or animal abuse, ethnic cleansing, or kiddie porn. Thank God I haven't run into any of that. So - I hope you read this and it gives you a sense of peace. I'm often an idiot - I often have little to offer - and I'm never the daily special - so I pull no ego moves here. I tell you again. I value you. And it is never my intent to do harm. Only to bless you and to make you smile. That's the only reason I'm here. That's my purpose. As for the drama, there are those days when I wish I could physically grab some of you and just hug you. Just so you know you are loved. But I can't. I can only tell you about my own lame life and hope that you crack up for a minute. Because so many times I sit here alone...crying....wishing...praying...and I read something. I get a comment. I see somebody's silly avatar or blast. and for a moment I'm smiling. This is what I pass along to you today. Peace. Just don't go there with the whole double chin thing ok? I'm feelin' sensitive about that. Got a turtle neck on...combing the hair forward.... HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!
 One of the things I've learned about bein' a Tammy is that there must be a psychic gyroscope in my heart - because if I am anything after everything I am always trying to find that middle ground. That point of balance. When life is a pendulum I am standing there dead center waiting for it to stop over my head. I don't know why...but that's how I roll. So I often examine my little peabrain thoughts - after the past few smarta** blogs I find myself on the eve of the anniversary of a life changing event. 9/11. And like many of you...it just happened a few days ago didn't it? I can close my eyes and see the second plane - while I was putting on my panty hose and getting ready for my anonymous day...I remember what I wore. I remember driving to work and seeing no airplanes in the sky...I remember... So many good writers define the pulse of a nation. They bleed current events. They rail against the indefinable wrongs...They protest and purge. And some of us - spew personal angst, forlorn moments and selfish love. I am mostly in the latter category, sad to say. And I often wonder if what I say is worth saying. I dug through my vault of poetry from the dork side and found two lonely semi protest poems. The first was actually a song. A reggae song. Came complete with words and a melody - which is very rare for me. I still remember it. I remember writing it. The second - I shared once with a guitarist who set it to music. Unfortunately like the moment in the grass - the guitarist and the music are gone. But again. I remember the moment...I ain't Dylan. But occassionally I do have a few things to say. peace. Just Gone Almighty God And the government Tell my people How their moneys spent It be gone yeh yeh It be gone IâÂÂm stuck in this little Situation Got a hand on me thereâÂÂs Complications I be gone One law For you and me âÂÂNother law Set the killer free WhereâÂÂs justice It be gone, yeh yeh It be gone One child Go off to war MamaâÂÂs son A child no more He be gone yeh hey Just gone TL (Hughes) Boehm é8/31/87 Fighting For The Cause Oh itâÂÂs brutal and itâÂÂs gory And the wretched shed so many tears For the benefit of glory And the end to mankindâÂÂs fears Do you see that man over there? The one who lies in pain Wipe the blood from your hands comrade TheyâÂÂll never notice the stain WhatâÂÂs the point in dieing? Fighting for the cause Leaving the children crying Lives trapped in terrorist jaws We stand in the light of glory Oh the honor and the fame While so many sons play with toy guns And from the tombstones learn daddyâÂÂs name How many lives are shattered? Loved ones killed in a foreign land The give the flag for consolation But can they really understand Ooh the memorial services are beautiful But it doesnâÂÂt explain the reason why So many lives are turned upside down And so many people must die DonâÂÂt forget the survivors The ones who lived to tell the tale The ones who fought so valiantly Whose courage didnâÂÂt fail? See the burnished medals On the twisted skeletons of war WhoâÂÂs heroism we worship WhoâÂÂs tortured souls are no more TL (Hughes) Boehm â Music: Dave Madsen é10/23/83 For the members who died as part Of the Beirut peace keeping force And all of AmericaâÂÂs fallen sons And daughters
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