my careless contagion

Oh my. How have I gone this long without mentioning Sunshine On My Shoulders? John Denver, please forgive me.  Since John was known for his conservation efforts, many assume this song is just another ode to the environment. It is not. It is a love song . The key to that is found in  the first verse, which, curiously, comes after the first chorus. Yes, the song starts with the chorus, which isn’t completely unheard of. The song is also very long by today’s radio standards at more than five minutes. (By contrast, a typical punk rock song is about two and a half.) Maybe people had more time to listen to a song about sunshine in 1971 when it was released. I don’t know, but I love this song. The first verse tells the listener what all the fuss is about. Yeah, sunshine is great and makes things grow. So what? “If I had a day that I could give you, I’d give to you a day just like today. If I had a song that I could sing for you, I’d sing to you a song to make you feel this way,” sing...

Yeah. Random stuff. I wanted to dump a bunch of files and comment about them. It keeps me writing but in a different way. Writing about fun stuff draws me in that direction. It remains to be seen how fun this is. The more I go in the direction of happiness and fun, the more I will have that in my life. That is where I am now. Just having fun and trying to stay on the sunny side of the street. I'm happy and doing well, in case anyone wondered about me. If not, I understand. I didn't think about you either. Haha. Kidding. Whoever you are. Thanks for reading! And happy new year!  Yeah, I know. Nobody cares, especially at this stage in the game. But I'm going to have fun with this post, like it or not.  For some reason, when I open Instagram, I see stuff like this. I don't see models. I see this. Why? Because this is what I look at. IG learns and shows more stuff like this. Haha. Opossums and raccoons saying stupid stuff. I love it. Some of it is pretty bizarre. If you need...

This photo was taken when I was one year old (1978). I was walking and playing with a ball. I know a little bit about child development, and that seems like a pretty nifty thing for being one year old. I was also as happy as can be. Most of the photos of me when I am very young show a vibrance and happiness that is missing in later photos. This proves that I was not always glum. Something happened in those early years that turned me that way.  I'm told I was potty trained before one year. I don't know. Those pants look pretty baggy, like I could have a diaper on. But it doesn't matter. I look happy, and that's what little kids should look like.  I should point out that most of the old photos taken by my mother look like this. People's heads are cut off. Massive foreground. Nothing is centered. It was like she jumped off a chair while taking photos. But their awfulness is endearing, of course. They are strange snapshots of moments I never would have known exis...

This list could literally go on for days. But here's part two of the many things that make me smile! Memes. Duh. They're funny. Except for the ones that aren't. Those are dumb. Neil Diamond. He must have been on the radio at a lot when I was in the womb; that's my theory — I must have thought he was my dad or something. I just love the man and all of his music (except his Christmas album; he's a Jew, for golly's sake). I saw him perform live once, actually, in Columbus, Ohio. He had a really bad cold or something so he sounded like a monster. Not even kidding. The venue had to refund a lot of tickets. I loved it anyway.  John Denver. I may as well just say, "a lot of musicians like Neil Diamond and John Denver; you know, from that era." Throw Jim Croce in there. I melt every time Stevie Wonder gets airplay. I love so much of that old music. Can you tell I was born in the '70s? In fact ... The 1970s. I love this decade. I love the ha...

Keanu can make anyone smile. He's the internet's boyfriend. I've spent so much time nailing down problems in my life, trying to understand them, trying to move through very hard situations, that I've become very tired of that process. Writing about all of that usually comes at the end of that process, so by that time, I'm really tired of it. So, let's talk about something else.  I read recently that men are more emotionally closer to their dogs than people. Truly, a dog is a man's best friend. I have thought a lot lately about getting a dog, but my life may change again, and soon, so I don't want to bring an animal into an unstable environment. Dogs are creatures of habit, and they get stressed out when things change a lot. Hey, I get it. I'm that way too.  So, maybe I can't have a dog right now. But, what else can put a smile on my face? What brightens my day? Be it big or be it small, there are many things that put me in a better mood....

She has eyes that have captured my soul her fingertips trace my bones like they are her home when I wake I am alone and the world out there is still turning though my world is dead That girl knows sex is like dying a little be careful who you choose  to die with tonight you may never rise again When I think about her I see her as a painting painted in a happy moment by the saddest, deadest artist who swore he'd never paint again What he did with her is nothing short of a masterpiece nothing short of a miracle after heaven ran out of them she's perfect like that, though frozen in time When the lights go out tonight I'll see her again though like a dewy dream she'll evaporate again That girl knows sex is like dying a little she didn't want to die with me that's why I always painted her with her clothes on In the new morning's disappointment I'll remember her as I say my prayers and maybe she'll think of me ...

When someone you love leaves your life, you have two choices. You can either accept that fact and move on or live with the constant ache of them being gone. Apparently, I've chosen the latter.  The ache is a constant reminder of what your heart knows. She's gone. She's not coming back. But the heart wants what it wants. And it wants her. So the mind manufactures her. Everywhere.  Everything begins to remind you of her. Your calendar used to tell you many things, but now all it tells you is that it's been so many days or so many months since something happened with her. You remember the softness of her skin and the tautness of her muscles beneath it, the infinite tenderness and suppleness of her body, the way she smelled, the way her hair felt on your chest, your stomach, your everything. You tasted her mouth and now recall her soft lips and impossibly big, beautiful eyes that were yours and only yours to behold for a moment. You remember her in her underwear and ...