Wordgrove Post & Review

Quoted in the Grove:
A leader must have the courage to act against an expert’s advice.
~James Callaghan

The sky turned black with the flapping wings of chickens coming home to roost.
~James Callaghan

There are no instant solutions.
~James Callaghan

~~

Posted from the Grove:

Two by Request:
Bleak and sad by turn, there’s the music and the lyrics for expression in these videos, but watch for the rest of the story as it unfolds in their eyes. Note the added dimension, their phrasings and utterance as the songs get told, stripped down souls without disguise.

~Moby: Porcelain   (3:10)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IDLDrcgU9g

~Gwen Stefani: Used to Love You   (3:47)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeT_nYtjgTQ

~

~David Lynch: On Creativity   (2:34)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNufijIDD-Q&feature=youtu.be

Embroidered Zoetrope: Earliest movies woven of yarn. Two minutes of old-fashioned eye candy to the mesmerizing music of modern trance (2:10)
http://elliotschultz.com/work/embroidered-zoetrope/

Popcorn bustin’ its kernal at 15,000 frames per second, super slo-mo, super hot, super kool (1:43)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DDigjlBlSY8&feature=youtu.be

(Thx to Rusty Blazenhoff)

~~

Prewritten for Thurs (02/02) @6pm PT/9 ET is: trap door, boa, crap shoot, burlesque   (any 2 or 3 out of 4)

~~

@Writers Platform

Prewritten: rim, stampede, ritual

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

Observing the ancient rituals…
Boy sees girl, asks girl out to dinner.
Sitting staring above a candle,
her tongue slides along the rim of her wineglass
as her eyes smile.
His thoughts dance, his heart beats
a stampede through his chest.
He notes the swell of her breasts,
the curve of her cheek,
the stray curl that keeps escaping
to dangle against her brow
which she keeps trying to tuck behind her ear.
He feels a jolt as he realizes
She is the one.
She notes the new haircut,
his cologne that lingers in her senses
from the hug she gave him when he picked her up,
his quiet smile, and kind eyes.
These are the things she wants to remember.
That this night is just the beginning,
as she imagines his face as it may be in 30 years…
As she surprises herself, realizing,
He is the one.
These are the moments to savor
and keep precious forever.

~

~Greymane: Native Need

A distant thunder rolling midnight clouds across the plain
The tribe waits on the canyon rim in ritual restrain
A million heavy hoof beats drum a desperate last stampede
Another crimson winter when the desert starts to bleed

~

~Piffin: “Slow-Motion Stampede”

I’m out of the gate and you clutch at the sheets
With every kiss that I plant
My lips go down and your breath picks up
With the cadence of a ritual chant
Salt and lime on the rim of a glass
Help me to map out the ride
Taking my time on the rim of your ass
As snow piles up outside

~

~BarTalk: Pamplona Bull

~~

Impromptu:
Listen to the howling wind in this video…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3eILoQChD_A

…while viewing this live action feed of Odin’s snow covered parking lot in Reykjavik, Iceland
http://myndavel.hve.is/view/index.shtml

_____

~Piffin: Tip

Half past midnight.

I sat in the car and waited.

I smoked a cigarette, looked out at the snow and ice.

There weren’t many vehicles in the parking lot at this hour, so I kept mine off, so as not to draw attention.

It was windy outside. Every now and again, a gust would rock the car. I was starting to grow cold.

I spotted Kacy cutting across the lot. She was bundled up: mittens and a parka; leg warmers and fur boots. She kept slipping on the ice, finally slowed her roll to a penguin step.

She made it to the car, got in the passenger side.

“It’s ass cold out,” she said, slamming the car door.

“You got it?” I asked.

“The fuck you think I’m doing out here?” she responded, handing me the bindle.

I gave her the cash.

She counted it.

“We good?” I asked.

She nodded. She didn’t get out of the car.

“We’re good, right?” I pressed.

“Yeah, we’re aces,’ she said. “But, if it’s no big, I could really use a ride out of here.”

I looked out the windshield. The ice. The snow.

“Kacy,” I said, “I’d love to give you a lift, but I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

She looked at me.

“For real?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Right here?”

I tore at the bindle.

“Okay, chica,” she said, opening her door. “Catch you on the flipflop.”

She got out, slammed the door, walked off into the wind.

I unbuttoned my coat, took out my works.

I unzipped the case, opened it. The needle tip sparkled in the parking lot light.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Not anytime soon.

~

~MissMerry: MM Impromptu

Prison guards with cold asses
stay in their towers and complain:
“What is this style wherein comely lasses
wear uniform pants?” – boggles the brain.

~

~Greymane: Impromptu

Warm behind my wall of glass
Senses opened wide
Desolation’s lullaby is howling just outside
Take shelter from the mournful winds that gather in the storm
He comes for those who turn away unable to keep warm
Wrapping icy promises with Winter’s frigid breeze
he plays his windy symphony with breathe he cannot freeze

~

~BarTalk: Reykjavik Storm

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
This isn’t about love, because love works. It’s about politics.

~

There are four stages in a marriage. First there’s the affair, then the marriage, then children and finally the fourth stage, without which you cannot know a woman, the divorce.
~Norman Mailer

You never really know a woman until you meet her in court.
~Norman Mailer

Alimony is the curse of the writing class.
~Norman Mailer

EndQuote:
Love is a serious mental disease.
~Plato

~~

Posted from the Grove:
Requested in the Grove:

~Lady Gaga: Teeth
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1sDD0Oei4UU

~

Ed Sheeran: You Need Me, I Don’t Need You
(Only one-man band to play Carnegie Hall)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DV0TJZ7Kp40

~~

Prewritten for Thurs (01/26) @6pm PT/9 ET is: rim, stampede, ritual
(any combination, 2 of 3)

~~

@Writers Platform

Prewritten: romp, balcony, sloppy

~Greymane: Wobbly

Some say the world is round as reason, balanced by the cracks
I like to think we live in kingdoms grown on turtles backs

Beneath a dome of waters that the Truth won’t let us see
are castles built of tortoise shell in jungles made of sea

A promise of the painted moon in oceans made of sleep
with towers standing bright against the darkness of the deep

Turtles trudging stardust trails burdened evermore…
A sloppy romping turtle stomp from shore to distant shore

If worlds wobble weary with the turtles tired crawl
I’ll stand below your balcony and catch you when you fall

~

~Piffin: “The Bra’d of Avon”

Lo, Juliet on balcony
A Shakespearean romp
Of love and hate and youth and fate
In feather, gown, and pomp
With stage production lackluster
And verse sloppy, at best
The only thing that saved the show
Was Julie’s comely breast

~

~BarTalk: Backlot Two, On Backlot Three,  and a ku

~~

Impromptu: ku on a nipple

~Piffin: ku

Sunlit arc perfect
Lipstick from the night before
Shows me where to kiss

~

~Greenie: ku

Buds perked pinked ready
begging for to be devoured
take me now within

~

~Greymane: ku

Chilling insistence
Like a blade across my back
Frozen arousal

~

~BarTalk:  ( . )(  .)

~ . ~

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Quoted in the Grove:
Learning music by reading about it is like making love by mail.
~Luciano Pavarotti

Music is only love looking for words.
~Lawrence Durrell

Love cannot express the idea of music, while music may give an idea of love.
~Louis-Hector Berlioz

~~

Posted from the Grove:

Special Request
~Tommy Emmanuel (Aussie guitarist extraordinaire)

Classical Gas
Blisters the fretboard
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S33tWZqXhnk

Over The Rainbow
Sweetens the sound
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cHeNscKZN0

~

My guitar is not a thing. It is an extension of myself. It is who i am.
~Joan Jett

~~

Prewritten for Thurs (01/19) @6pm PT/9 ET is: romp, balcony, sloppy
(any combination, 2 of 3)

~~

@Writers Platform

Prewritten: signature, polka

~Greymane: untitled

He played every year at the Polkafest
but none of the girls seemed to be impressed
They all were immune
to his signature tune
accordion to what he confessed

~

~MissMerry: Prewritten by MM

Opalescent energy floes
Aurora Borealis
Shimmering in the northern skies
wrapped in patient, silent stars.
The souls of our loved ones for whom we cried
the collected energies of all who died
Illuminated.
Neon signature of God.
Electric waves of the sun
let us have a peek
The spirits dance.

~

~BarTalk: Lombardo’s

~~

Impromptu: guitar, cured, shelter
(any combination, 2 of 3)

~Greenie: The Shelter of The Grove

In the shelter of the Grove
guitar strums a tune
music fills the air
curing an ache in my soul
leaving me at peace

~

~Greymane: Reaching

Echoes on the silent winds get colder all the time
They tell me winter’s come again in frozen pantomime
I call on fallen memories that shelter me from view
I wrapped my dreams in cured disease I could not battle through
I placed a lonely song upon the wings of my guitar
and prayed the sound would track you down no matter where you are
I reach forever reaching for the presence of your soul
to place inside the place I hide the things I can’t control

~

~MissMerry: MM Impromptu

There is no security in the life of a guitar player, but FLoyd played guitar. FLoyd BECAME his guitar. After a few drinks and a hit on the pipe, his fingers flew across the frets. The cigarette smoke swirled around like fog, the sounds of voices settled, quieting down until the only sound in the room was the band, and Floyds guitar.

Face squinched into the “I’m about to cum” look, he stroked his guitar like a lover at first, then frantic in the solo. In his groove, he never missed a note. He enveloped the room, every face turned toward him, even the barkeep standing, hands still, watching Floyd play.

FLoyd lived the life… for his habits, for his dick, and for his music. There was no way he could be cured of any of it. It was not just a lifestyle, it was his LIFE.

FLoyd died happily in the arms of one of his favorite hookers. His heart burst after playing 3 sets at the Pearl then finishing off a quart of Jack, a couple of grams of coke, and an Adderall someone in the bar had given him.

He had played well that night. He had lived like he played – full speed, balls to the wall, all or nothing… His was a life that ended in success. The recordings we have of him don’t do him justice though. You kinda just had to know him.

~

~BarTalk: Gimme Shelter … and a ku

~ . ~

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