Together through Music

Copyright - Bjorn Brudberg

As a young kid, Marty and his mama spent weekend nights in rural southern bars listening to dad play with his band.  As a teen he learned to play under countless hours of alcohol-induced instruction and degrading comments from his dad.

The family went through financial hardship.  There was no playing catch in the back yard.  No family nights huddled by the radio. Divorce left young Marty alone with his dad in a run down shack on the edge of town.  Through it all,  music bonded the two of them like chords and lyrics do a song.

Marty went on to become a successful musician. He played on stages around the world. It brought him financial stability.  However,  his greatest joy was playing alongside his dad in the smokey bars back home.

_________________________

This fiction was written for Friday Fictioneers.

Visit and read the rules and join in the fun!

Till we meet again.  Good day.

Mind of Shoo

My Voice

hand at a computer

I have a voice.  

A voice not mouthed.

One expressed along an artistic highway

from my brain through my fingertips.

Exiting onto paper, instruments or canvas.

For everyone to hear 

My voice is loud and soft.

My voice is dark and colorful.

My voice is high and low.

Often left to ones interpretation

and with hopes of stirring emotions.

Yet, it is my voice.

Expressed through my brain.

Yet from my heart.

Listen.

For it sings and speaks

in music, words and color.

My voice I give to you.

From my fingertips

to your heart.

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This fiction was written for Picture it & Write.

Till we meet again.

Good Day.

Mind of Shoo

Shattered Images

Joseph finishes his writing for the evening. He places his pen down gently next to the paper as he takes a last sip of wine. He rises from the chair and takes a seat on his couch. “Time to relax and forget about the evening” he thinks.  Time to enjoy being. He then looks up and places headphones on his ears and turns on his iPod. The Cure’s “Picture of You” will play over and over again. Now time for his daily fix, a necessary evil that haunts his every being. He tightens the rubber band on his arm, exposing his vein for easy injection. He grabs the eight ball off his coffee table ready for injection.  A quick poke of his needle and the deed is done. Minutes pass and Joseph’s body falls onto the couch in somewhat of a fetal position. His eyes affix upon a half filled glass of wine on his table.  The background slowly becomes a blurry glow of colorful lights.  Is this real or just his imagination?  The music at this moment is so clear, as if the singer is directing the lyrics directly o him.

“So delicate lost in the cold You were always so lost in the dark.”

He tries to focus on the blurry colors in his line of vision but it’s not working.  It is as if these are the only lights in the room. He feels his body begins to shiver as if he were cold yet finds himself sweating profusely.  “What is going on?” He can’t tear his eyes away from the glass.  The colors behind it are haunting him.  Why can’t he make them clear. He hears more lyrics from the song.


“If I had only thought of the right words I could have held on to your heart”

He thinks of what he wrote just a few minutes earlier. The words on the paper next to the glass still in his view.  The colors behind it still won’t go away.  The letter is dark.  A few hours before there was a second glass of wine along with his. Now that one lay shattered next to the front door of his studio apartment.  Wine slowly running down from where the glass impacted.  He stares at that image momentarily. It reminds him of blood from a horror movie.  His eyes shift back to the wine glass.  Alone on the table.  Alone.  Like he is at this very moment.  Music blaring into his ears.  His mind memorised by the colors behind that glass.

“There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more Than to feel you deep in my heart”

Everything begins to become blurry as he hears one last line of this song.  The music slowly fades and the room becomes totally dark.  He lay motionless.  The photo of the female who earlier walked out the door lay on the floor next to the couch.  She now gone from his life.  Now life has gone from him.  

“There is nothing in the world that I ever wanted more Than to never feel the breaking apart, my pictures of you.”

This is a work of fiction, written for:

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This was written for Picture it & Write

I urge people to join in, comment with your paragraph of fiction to accompany the image. It doesn’t have to follow my story or reflect the same themes. It can be a poem or in a different language (provide a translation please). Anyone who wants to join in, is welcome. This photograph will be reblogged under Ermisenda on tumblr and added to the Picture it & Write gallery on Facebook and Pintrest.

OH Precious Vinyl

OH precious vinyl, where have you gone?

I miss the messages from my favorite artist

written within your album jacket just to me!

My birthday money spent on you

either in 33 or 45 rpm speed.

Sending music into my room

for me to sing along.

 

OH precious vinyl, where have you gone?

You are not longer with us

constantly being replaced by new technology.

Cassette, cds, mp3s.

I miss my trip to my local record store

with my mother years ago.

Thumbing through rows of cardboard jackets

all colorful, each cover their own story.

Protecting the beautiful music within.

 

OH precious vinyl

You may be gone from the public eye

but not from me.

You are hidden inside

stacks and stacks of jackets

worn around the edges and discolored.

But still shiny and perfect condition.

Ready for the player to spin you round and round.

With a needle to act as your microphone.

To play me a memory!

 

This was written for THE MAG

Write a poem or short vignette using the picture featured in this post as your inspiration. Feel free to take the image to use for your post.

Bonding with Kids Daily Prompt: Musical

This was written for the Daily Prompt: Musical

What role does music play in your life?

There are so many different aspects of my life where music has played a prominent role.  From listening to music with friends during my teen years, dancing during the disco era (yes I am admitting it!) to going to concerts of my favorite bands.  Music is something in my teen years that I shared with friends and it was important to all of us.  It strengthened our bond.  

Now that I am way past my teen years, I use music to bring me to different places mentally.  It can help me out of depression, ease my mind from life’s challenges or brings back great memories of my younger years.  Music has placed stamps on my course through life.  

As I have gotten older, I began to listen to the lyrics.  And reading the lyrics.  This aspect of music has brought new light to what musicians offer.  As a young man, I would just sing the song and never understand truly what was behind the song.  Now, I am constantly amazed how they poured their heart out to the public.  They weren’t afraid to share their struggles of their life even when it was obviously painful.   I think of “Time for Me to Fly” by REO Speedwagon.  Great song from a musical sense.  But listen to the lyrics.  There is a young man understanding a relationship has been one-sided and he must move on.  So beautiful.  The music on Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumors” album is filled with the pain of two couples breaking up during the recording process.  How did Ronnie Van Zant write such a beautiful song as “Freebird” while he drank  and partied to excess?  Like it or not that song will be around for eternity.  I heard John Mellencamp once say in an interview that he wrote “Jack and Dianne” for himself but over the years he understand it is not his song any more, it is the audiences.  And he was fine with that.  How cool.  

Isn’t Stevie Beautiful

Currently I have to say that music has been another way to connect with my kids.  Unlike my father when I was a kid, I am enjoying current music while my kids will like songs I listen when I was their age.  My daughter came up to me recently with a Fleetwood Mac song and asked if I remember the song “Never going Back Again’?  I was floored.  It’s not one of their more popular songs but it is beautiful.  How did she find it, I can’t recall.  But the connection is wonderful.  Same with my oldest son.  We constantly trade songs on iTunes.  And listen to music on You Tube.

I remember a line in the movie City Slicker’s where Daniel Stern’s character says something to the effect of  When he was 18 and him and his dad couldn’t relate to anything, they always had baseball”.  Now I don’t ever feel that distant from my kids, but I feel we always have music.

Right now I am so in love with the video and song by Annie Lennox called “No More I Love You'”.  HERE is the video.  It’s so very soothing and so beautiful both musically and visually.  

Oh I could go on and on.  I’d leave with how music puts me in a place of calmness, even when life is throwing everything it has at me.  Escape.  Even if it’s only for three or four minutes!

Till we meet again.  Good Day!

Mind of Shoo!

Daily Prompt: Musical.

Beautiful Music

Copyright-Roger Cohen

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS WHERE EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY

We are a growing community of blogging writers who come together each week from all parts of the globe to share individual flash fictions from a single photo prompt (above). The prompt goes up early Wednesday morning  CST to give each writer time to compose a story by Friday. Some use the photo as a mere inspiration while others use it as an illustration. Use your imagination and think outside the box.

I am over on words, but I couldn’t cut back much more.  In fact,  this is just a clip from a story I am writing which came to mind when I saw the contrast in the two cellos side by side.  Actually, the photo was perfect.  The two cellos are protected by the wooden box.  From all things on the outside.  Here is what came to mind when I saw the image above.  I call it “Beautiful Music”

After riding our bikes on the church grounds, I sat on the steps with best friend Monty.  Two ten-year old kids in a rural southern town enjoying a summer day together.

A bike approached.  The man on the bike said “We don’t like coloreds on our side town.  Go home.”

Racism.  I learned of it at the expense of my best friend, who was black.  All I could say was “Sorry man.”

Monty smiled and said “You take cello lessons right?”

“Yes I do.”

“We are like two cellos except our exterior is different shades,” he replied.  “We have the same number of strings.  We’re shaped the same.  When played we sound the same.  Just beautiful music.”

I Wish

I wish I could paint a picture.  On canvas with colorful brush strokes.  It would hang in a museum to share with the world, so bright and radiant.  To interpret as you wish.  For people to look at and wonder what was on my mind while I held that brush.  For it to have meaning to each visitor.  Whether it be happy or sad.  My own Van Gogh, painted with pain and anguish for the world.  For me.

I wish I could pick up a guitar then put a pencil to paper and write a song.  A song to share with the whole world.  A song to sing to people on the street as they toss their change into my guitar case or on a stage with the audience singing to me as if they wrote it.  I hear their happiness or is it sadness, so loud and clear.  A song that will last generations and is no longer mine but everyone’s.   Forever.

I wish I could write a story.  A story penned so eloquently with my pain and suffering.   A story I can share with the world.  So people could read and understand that they are not alone in their suffering.  Written for me but knowing there are others that can’t pen their feeling as I can.   With the hope that they may someday meet me and say thank you for writing what they feel.  They have healed.  My gift to them.

I can’t paint nor play a guitar.  I can’t pen my thoughts eloquently. 

But I can dream.

Till we meet again. Good Day.

Mind of Shoo