Inside out

First glass of beautifully smooth Remy Martin fixes the blues; the second one is liquid Lethe.  Who needs reality.  Home cooked poetry and performance curry married to discipline encourages confidence.

Remember 'woman must write, just write' said Cixous.  Well Helene, belle Helene, de longue haleine, here are the words, words, words, wors, wors, wors, rows, rows, rows, dros, dros, dros, drows, drows, drows.  Ah the power of three.  Ha, ha Perseus, it's all yours. There you go!

Requiem

All mechanical things are done.
There is nothing left in me now.

Laughter is a betrayal.
In which I want no solace.

Surrender is the imperative.
Humanity exposed.

Raw, open wound into which
blows dirt, grit, spit, pain.

Into this vacuum, a new bedfellow
comes - joy thief of my years.

Point of View

I've been listening to this song for some time now; comes up in a playlist I use while working at home.  Until recently it hasn't been available on YouTube but 14 hours ago someone posted so here it is.  It catches me every time  with its haunting little melody and its sentimental lyrics.  It's the kind of song my mother would have liked. It would have appealed to her romantic spirit. Although lately I've been hearing a lot of things about  her that suggests she needed more romance than she got.  I don't think you watch me mother but I  find the song comforting because it's the sort of relationship I'd wish for.

There's no voice more powerful than the first voice you hear but is it yours or your mother's?  And when your mother's is gone whose voice is left?

The stars and I come out
And hang from up above
The stars shine down their light
I shine down my love
The perfect place to be
To watch you from afar
Do you ever see
How beautiful you are

For those who have a mother still, Allison Mooorer, 'The Stars and I (Mama's Song)'.  Indulge your sadness for without it how can we know when we're happy?