At work, trying my best to forget my current situation, we had music time. The music teacher read a musical storybook entitled "The Cat Came Back", which included an episode where a cat got sucked up into a tornado only to come back home by cab the next day.
A child sitting in front of me said "There are going to be tornadoes tonight, Peter. I'm serious."
I started to laugh. "Really? I don't think so, bud."
He looked at me with such a stern face. "It's not funny. They're coming."
We went back into the classroom, where we had the children draw to music. Ironically, my coworker chose Cloud Cult's "Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes)" for the session. The same child drew with such ferocity and determination, blending pastel crayons together with a cotton ball in a fury, I was moved to tears.
He drew a picture of a man in a tornado without knowing what the song was about.
I feel like, while channeling the album's concept, he also was channeling me, trying my best to make peace within my tornado.
"What happens in Afton stays in Afton." --Afton PR Campaign
After the lightning storm passed, and my drunken makeout subsided with the moon hiding behind the clouds, a concoction was brewed for making my innermost hidden demon wake up for the first time in years.
I was left alone on a moon filled beach, sitting on a picnic bench, looking at a yacht anchored in a small cove across from me. That's when he stepped up.
"Hello, Peter."
(Still looking at the yacht)Peter: "Hey there, B. Figured you'd be by again."
B: "I'm inside you, I can't hide forever. You did a great number for Patch about me, didn't you? I kind of rubbed off in your conscious thought scheme recently."
P: "I thought I got rid of you, I was just making some new demons. Lesser demons."
B: "Nope. Just me."
P: "Why are you showing up now after all these years? I had my mantras, I cooled it down with that whole "Shit Field" fiasco. Worked in the past, why isn't it working tonight?"
B: "Pete, c'mon, man. Think about it. You're away from home. You're cramped with all the people that instigated my birth for the night. You can't get away. I had to come. It was a perfect equation."
P: "I like her, that's why, right? It's because I like her."
B: "You're possessive. That's my number one trait, my friend."
P: "But I've been talking about doing something like this forever, B."
B: "Well, now you know. Emotional attachment will bring me along for the ride."
P: "How long you gonna stay?"
B: "Hmmm . . . I think this might be similar to the two prom fiascos you went through."
P: "You stayed around for two years after that."
B: "Yeah, well . . ."
Holding my head, my voice changed into two different frequencies as I paced back and forth between the trees on that moonlit beach. He wants to consume me.
Obligations are abound. I feel stuck. I feel suffocated.
Obligations include seeing family, going with friends to the needed summer locales (camping, ValleyFair, the Dells), work, music . . .
We're getting away from it all this weekend, but I'm not getting away from myself. I really do need a vacation, because I feel like something's about to break.
Finished recording "Double D-Day" for Lizard People. Now on to post related tidbits of production . . .
Here's some footage of Taylor's manic, glorious take for Verse 1, recorded this evening. We settled on using this take in the end, adding some rockabilly kickback delay for good measure.
A voice inside stepped into the light. He faced the council harboring the law of the brain. Harboring both reason and lust at bay. It seemed that so far Reason and Lust were at odds, fighting over their claim to the throne when it came to the topic of a blond angel.
The Chairman spoke: "And who are you?"
Tiny Voice: "My name is not important, sir. I'm merely another synapse passing through."
Chairman: "What would you like to say to the council?"
Tiny Voice: "I'd like to propose a wager."
Chairman: "A wager?! My dear sir, we are not in the business of making bets on petty sinful gaming schemes! We're proper here--"
Tiny Voice: "Oh really?! Then why hasn't the court come to a decision regarding the girl?! It's already been a month, and it's been taking up most of our resources, draining power away from the job search campaign and creativity."
Chairman: "We will not be lectured on our failings nor our successes, my young friend. If you are going to go on with this stunt, then--"
Chairman: "Will someone tell me what the hell he's talking about?!"
Eyes: "There is some relevance to what he's saying, sir. It appears that a motion picture, currently being watched, has sparked a small influx of activity within the logic quadrants of the Headquarters. A man in the film has just accepted a challenge of eating fifty eggs in one hour, and it has sparked our vessel to produce this new voice in our presence."
Tiny Voice: "Quite right. I raise a wager of fifty days! If our vessel can hold out for fifty days without the touch of the girl, Reason and Lust must sign a Cease Fire agreement."
Chairman: "Absurd! A bet?!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "Where are you, Chairman?! You've inhabited a young man. Two years ago you took office, and most of the loins beneath have not worked a day. Just this month the loins quota has nearly quintrupled in activity!!! They've been given work! And you just want to throw a chance like this away!!"
Chairman: "I'm sure the loins will survive in the near future if we don't see to this bet. That's why I find this bet ludicrous! Your precious loins will all come down with a case of blue balled unemployment if we agree to this foolish game!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "And for how much longer? Sir, despite the recent activity throughout the body's hormonic division, my brother and I fear that you are putting everyone at risk for another drought brought on by the Wrenchman, including potential death by the shotgun kept in his closet due to the Wrenchman's Jealousy Overhaul!"
Chairman: "And what if the Wrenchman wins back our girl during this time? Our girl will most surely look for sustenance within the clutches of the Wrenchman!"
Tiny Voice: "It's either one week more of slow work where Lust will drain due to the Emotional Baggage Bombs thrown down from Reason, or a plethora of work after the fifty days, when the girl potentially takes up residency wihin the Lovelife Vacancy."
Chairman: "Can't we find other vessels to suffice this vacancy?"
Tiny Voice: "We've tried sir. But you run your Logic Department so dry with overwork that the Anxiety Trashpile has been peaking in the red, prompting our vessel to never want to leave his room. We're about to have a major disaster within Logic. We fear lunacy is imminent."
Chairman: "What is this?! Are you trying to burn me at the stake? This is not about me!"
Tiny Voice's Sister: "IT IS ABOUT YOU!!! IT'S ALWAYS BEEN ABOUT YOU!!! WE WANT YOU OUT!!! OUT!!! OUUUUUUT!!!!"
Chairman: "I recognize your brother . . . he's . . . the one I took the position from, the former chairman."
Tiny Voice: "It's time you step down, Baxter."
Chairman: "NO!"
Tiny Voice: "Ladies and Gentlemen, feast your eyes on Baxter, the former Logic Warden. He ran that department into the ground five years ago, creating the Great Panic of 2004. Since we've been busy rebuilding, he's climbed his way to the top of the Council Chair, slipping underneath our radar, not doing damage himself, but instructing others to do so. Why do you think we've felt so lethargic these last five years? It's over, people! YOU'RE THROUGH, BAXTER!!!"
Baxter: "You'll never catch me!! I'll morph once again, taking over another important department with a new disguise!!!"
Loins President: "No . . . " (He shoots Baxter in the chest with a revolver)
Baxter: "GASP!! I just . . . wanted . . . to help . . ." (He dies)
Loins President: "Go ahead, Chaplin. Take the throne."
Tiny Voice (Chaplin): "Gladly, sir!"
(The crowd cheers)
Tiny Voice: "It's a new era, people! It's time we got back on the right footing! Just like we started on so long ago! Sorry for the delay, but I think we can manage! Starting with this fifty days wager! All in favor?"
Crowd: "AYE!!"
Chaplin: "Against?"
(No sound)
Chaplin: "Then let us commence the wager! This meeting is adjourned until fifty days' time!"
(The gavel sounds, and the council room is full of glorious uproar!)
Over a Denver Omelette this afternoon, I talked about death and came off as somewhat pessimistic when proclaiming that everything manmade is tainted and imperfect. There is a distinct possibility that I've become emo inside, hiding behind Carrot Top hair and a radiant, toothy smile.
I asked today: "Have there been cases where people've woken up during their own funeral service?" I totally think that if that would happen to me, I'd laugh and say "This is perfect!" I kind of want that to happen, actually.
I went home and found this little tidbit: (From Variety News) "Relatives shocked when he "rose from the dead" --Chile man wakes up in his coffin at his funeral--
An 81-year old man in the small Chilean village of Angol shocked his grieving relatives by waking up in his coffin at his own wake, local media said on Sunday.
When Feliberto Carrasco's family members discovered his body limp and cold, they were convinced that the octogenarian's hour had come, so they immediately called a funeral home, not a doctor.
Carrasco was dressed in his finest suit for the wake, and his relatives gathered to bid him a final farewell.
"I couldn't believe it. I thought I must be mistaken, and I shut my eyes," Carrasco's nephew Pedro told the daily Ultimas Noticias.
"When I opened them again, my uncle was looking at me. I started to cry and ran to get something to open up the coffin to get him out."
The man who "rose from the dead" said he was not in any pain, and only asked for a glass of water.
Local radio also surprised listeners by announcing a correction to Carrasco's death announcement, saying the news had been premature."
Cloud Cult -- "When Water Comes to Life"
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