Showing posts with label Reminiscing Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Reminiscing Words. Show all posts

Monday, December 9, 2013

Reminiscing Words: Let Me... Words are meaningless

When someone begs to tell you anything remind them that "Words are meaningless." It's in the actions of how we live our lives that matter most. Telling someone anything won't stop them from continuing to live or start them anew unless they want to. Oh you could try but that is simply a waste of your precious time. Unless you like wasting things? 

This was a story that came from an evening where I witnessed a performer being heckled and also had to listen to a brokenhearted friend's woes once again. Needless to say she thanked me for the story and never took me to another show again. 

Enjoy!
Kisses, m. 


Let Me
(7-1-2011)


Juno Temple and Brittany Snow c/o tylershields.com





Let me tell you one thing, I’m through with the games. I’m done.” It’s the same lie I tell myself every day except it’s realized itself into words that I’m telling the incomparable Missy LaRue. She’s spent the better part of three years following my song with a dance in this third rate club. Somewhere between the first and second act of the night I tell her about my new ex-love and how much of a revelation it’s brought upon me.

What if I told you that you were going to die? If I told you that you were going to die tomorrow would that change how you lived today?”  There’s not an answer in the house. It’s the one thing Missy likes to end her set with and tonight is different cause something happens when she asks it. It’s a hypothetical question meant to get the audience going ‘round in their heads. Never once does Missy ever expect a damn person pipe up with an answer. But tonight when she ended with that thought, somewhere off in the far right corner it came, a small voice that grew louder and louder until I heard what it was saying.

“It doesn’t matter.” The small man yells from the corner of the club before following it up with a colorful word or two between his rant. He’s telling her off. Telling her that she doesn’t know a damn thing after he calls her a self-righteous bitch before telling everyone that she’s a lying piece of work. Now Missy La Rue doesn’t jive with much of what other people think about her. Not one bit, but when you traipse across the advice she’s given others that gets her a bit worked up. Cause Missy don’t talk for vanity or personal gain. Missy wants to see people succeed and she knows like I know that most people won’t do a damn thing unless someone tells them to. That’s where her horse and pony show comes in.

Honey, quit lying to yourself!” Missy tells me before motioning to the powder puff by the mirror.
“I’m not lying. What?”
“Honey we all say enough with the game. 'I quit.' 'I toss in the towel.' And although you can’t quit the game of living, you'll still lie to yourself and say it. You know, the only thing you ought to be through with is thinking you can change people. That’s what you should think. Every time you drag another one of these third rate bastards back from this third rate club and tell yourself that it’s love, that’s the lie. That man wants one thing and it sure as hell ain’t love. But he’ll tell you that just the same to get it. ”
“Oh Missy, you’re being…”
“Honest. Darling, I’m being honest with you. Which is more than anyone else in this world or next will ever be with you and don’t you forget it. I’m honest with every person I meet and their behavior dictates whether they are friend or foe, not mine. My sharp tongue won’t harm you if you take the truth like it is a sword to the chest. A lie is the kind that stabs you from the back.”
“Missy then how will I ever…”
“True love waits. A man that wants to know you, all of you, he does so. It’s what he’s after and he’ll be glad to wait for much more. The ones that want ONLY will settle on that. Just that.”
“Missy, I love you. Thank you for…”
“Darling you don’t know love, but I get your sentiment anyway. You’re ok in my book.”

Now sugar, you’re entitled to your opinions about my show. I don’t think much about people who don’t have a lick of sense in their head. And fact be told, I love me a man with enough gumption to stand up for what he believes in. But first things first the name calling I can’t abide by and the second thing… the way you talk to someone you’ve never met speaks highly about the type of character you are. And you’re message is coming in loud and clear.”

Missy continues same as always. When she takes the path from side stage and walks down into the crowd she motions to Mike the stagehand to move the spot to follow her down into the crowd. The oohs and aahs of the crowd grow louder and louder until Missy is standing right next to the small man.

“Well sugar, what’s your name?  
“Jerod” the man breathes into the microphone while a thin blanket of sweat coats his face.
“Well, Jerry darling, what do have to say?”
“Um,” the small man swallows and says nothing.
“Come now, cat got your tongue?”
Silence emanates from the nervous small man.
“That’s what I thought, Sugar. Where was I? Yes, let us talk a little more. I don’t expect you or any of you to follow my word to the law. In fact that’s not at all what I’m about. I’m not a role model, I’m not a savior, and lord knows I’m not a saint. I’m simply here telling a little of what I know to those who may or may not know some of that already. And maybe it might help someone from making the same mistakes I've made. Oh yes! Jerry darling, are you ready to talk?”
“Ma’am, I don’t much agree with what you just said. I don’t like what game you’re running here. You’re trying to get people to do what you say and you’re a liar by that much.”
“Alright, that’s an opinion. No one is running a game any which way or how. And honey you shouldn’t make what I’m doing about you. Cause you don’t have to come here to listen to what I’m saying or watch what I’m doing. These people out here in the crowd, do you see them? Take a look. These fine people they get what I’m doing and what I’m REALLY about. And they do.”
With those words the audience roars with applause. Missy smiles and pats the small man on the back while the noise and laughter grows and when it rescinds she speaks her last words on the matter.
“So honey, I’m afraid your opinion… it doesn’t matter.”

And with those words, Missy let the man sit exactly where he was. Leaving him with his own words to ponder and the crowd with a show that they wouldn’t much forget when they wondered if tonight was truly their last one.



Reminiscing Words: She'll Get Hers... Let Her Have Him.

Revenge c/o tylershields.com


"F**k it! Let her have him..." Is something that I should've said once upon seven years ago when I thought I was in love with "the love of my life" before he decided to go back to his ex. But I didn't. I wrote. This lovely story (see below) was originally written with a twist of course. [Read it here: She'll get hers (09) - 1st written in 2006/2007. edited 2008. Posted in 2009. Ha!] I was afraid people wouldn't understand so I flipped things a bit... but I wrote it anyway.

After this one I wrote another. But didn't stop there. I wrote another. And another. More and more. Terrified of the gamble of it all, I still wrote everyday. And it's rather funny in hindsight how much I wrote. Then, the need for revenge ended but the ideas did not. So many things later... I still write. I still get inspired. I still get hurt. I still get angry. But I don't feel the need for vengeance. Why? If that guy had been the love of my life I never would have needed revenge. I would have let her have him. Enough said. They deserve each other... miserably. 

Do I worry about being in love again? Or how he'll see my words? No. My love will accept my past as exactly what it is: the past. As I will do the same for him. He may not understand where I was when these words were written but he will not judge me for my creativity. Love accepts, as is. You don't love someone if you need to change them. Anyway I know there's a guy out there with a unique spark for pondering the same darkness or at least an appreciation of it. 

Enjoy a little bit of vengeance revised...

kisses, m.



She’ll get hers

Photobucket




Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.
Home-wrecker.
Whore.
Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”