Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby

I was reading and writing this afternoon, and listening to Spotify. I forget which “Radio Station” I was listening to but, this song came on that I used to listen to all the time.  I’ve listened to this band since college, the song is from 2008 but I have mental ties to the band since 1993-94.  They have seen me through thick and thin, up and down and the wrong way around.  It’s safe to say that they have had a significant influence on me.  My favorite poet, for a long time, has been Adam Duritz.  He has a perspective that opens my eyes and blows my mind.  I agree, he can be an acquired taste.  My dad doesn’t care for the way he whines.  Anyhow, I was so happy to hear this song this afternoon that I almost (almost) started to well up.  This is “Mrs. Potter’s Lullaby” by Counting Crows

“Well I woke up in mid afternoon cause that’s when it all hurts the most
I dream I never know anyone at the party and I’m always the host
If dreams are like movies then memories are films about ghosts
You can never escape, you can only move south down the coast
Well I am an idiot walking a tightrope of fortune and fame
I am an acrobat swinging trapezes through circles of flame
If you’ve never stared off into the distance then your life is a shame
And though I’ll never forget your face sometimes I can’t remember my name

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t cry
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I know why
But, hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

Well there’s a piece of Maria in every song that I sing
And the price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings
And there is always one last light to turn out and one last bell to ring
And the last one out of the circus has to lock up everything
Or the elephants will get out and forget to remember what you said
Oh and the ghosts of the tilt-o-whirl will linger inside of your head
Oh and the Ferris wheel junkies will spin there forever instead
When I see you, a blanket of stars covers me in my bed

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t go, I said
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I don’t know, but
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

Well all the blue light reflections that color my mind when I sleep
And the lovesick rejections that accompany the company I keep
All the razor perceptions that cut just a little too deep
Hey, I can bleed as well as anyone but I need someone to help me sleep
So I throw my hand into the air and it swims in the beams
It’s just a brief interruption of the swirling dust sparkle jet stream
Well I know I don’t know you and you’re probably not what you seem
Aw, but I’d sure like to find out
So why don’t you climb down off that movie screen

Hey, Mrs. Potter, don’t turn
Hey, Mrs. Potter, I burn for you
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me

When the last king of Hollywood shatters his glass on the floor
And orders another
Well, I wonder what he did that for
That’s when I know that I have to get out cause I have been there before
So I gave up my seat at the bar and I head for the door. Yeah.
We drove out to the desert just to lie down beneath this bowl of stars
We stand up in the Palace, like it’s the last of the great pioneer town bars
Aw, we shout out these songs against the clang of electric guitars
Well, you can see a million miles tonight
But you can’t get very far
Aw, you can see a million miles tonight
But you can’t get very far

Hey, Mrs. Potter, I won’t touch and
Hey, Mrs. Potter, it’s not much but
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me
Hey, Mrs. Potter, won’t you talk to me”

All comments, as always, are welcome.

I don’t want to be nice

I don’t want to be nice

I bold away from demure
go call anyone you want
I am here to shake you to your core
do not shy away from the lesson
I am here to impart
stand with me
feel my embrace
trust in my instruction
know that together we will
arrest the advances of the demon
— GB


I am constantly searching for closure in everything I write.  Sometimes it works out, other times, most times, I start but do not finish.  But I had a thought.  My writing is not the only place I strive for closure.  I try to find it everywhere in my life.  What I am learning and trying to live is that life is infinite in it’s possibilities.  Gaining closure something I have aspired to for many situations in my life but it happens in fewer and fewer places.  So, I have to consider alternatives.  Maybe what I need is an answer, not necessarily the answer.  That would certainly go a long way towards answering questions I have about things in my Bipolar Life.  I don’t know for sure, and I may have mentioned this before, I believe that my encounter with Bipolar Disorder started on St. Patrick’s Day, 2003.

I know, I know… this again.  I think the fact that I lost my life for seven seconds on March 17, 2003 and that I started having bouts of depression after that may be an indication that something inside my brain took a hit that day.  Somewhere in the process of dying and being brought back set me on the path I find myself on now.  This is something I will never know the answer to, I will never find closure here, but I have to believe that I am on the right track.  I do find it puzzling that it took four to six years for the mania and psychoses to start but that will have to be a footnote to the story.

What does all of this have to do with getting closure in what I write?  Well, I think that it will be easier for me if I don’t always put the pressure on to finish what I’m writing.  Maybe what I’ve written is done without an extra paragraph, stanza, verse or line I’ve been working on for hours.  I’ll try it out and see how it goes.  Please don’t hesitate to call me on anything.

My Verse #1

“The powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse.  What will your verse be?” — Dead Poets Society

This quote and more of it have recently been used in an Apple ad on TV.  They use the quote well, it creates some drama (at least it does with me).  One of the reasons it holds such sway is because it comes right out of “Dead Poets Society,” a movie that had quite an effect on me.  It was one of the things, early on in my life, that made me want to be a writer.  I did it in college, I did it when I got out of college, I have always written in some way, somewhere.  It hasn’t always been creative writing (I did some technical writing for a few years here and a few years there) but it has been writing none-the-less.  So after some babbling along here, I’m finally getting to the point.  The quote above asks a question.  “What will your verse be?” and while I’m still considering my answer I will say that the answer starts something like this:

My verse in the powerful play intends to make as much of the world as possible aware of Bipolar Disorder and all Mental Illness in such a way as to reduce the stigma and increase acceptance around the world.  That’s  the way I would like to begin this verse.  I will return with plans on how I’m going to continue and finish out this verse.

Who is “you” ?

Who is “you” ?

I think about “you” all the time but I never wondered about who “you” really were until my ride home today.  To be more exact, I wondered who the conglomerate “you” was.  You see, every time I write about “you” I can see you like you were standing right in front of me.  I see everything about you.  I see your smile, your eyes, I see your blond (or is it brunette, or auburn) hair…. and then I start to get confused.  Who is “you”?

“You” is someone from my life, past, present or future.  You have been a major, minor, medium part of my life.  I have loved you and hated you, spent time with you or just dated you.  There are innumerable ways that  we have been involved, each and every one of them a part of me.  So, let me start again.  Every time I write about “you”, I am writing about an individual.  I have feelings and thoughts and memories of you.  Each word I write means something special to me as does each and every one of you.  Thank “you” for having been, or being, part of me.

writer as pundit

I am prolifically producing
sentences and couplets
and rhymes of nonsense
to appease no one but me

I toil over every single bit
that I type, erasing and
rewriting over and over
and over again

must I expend so much
energy if the audience is
only yours truly?
my worst pundit is me
I will give everything to
ensure every punctuation
and rhythm is put right

in the end it will be such
a monstrosity that it will
never be read, not a single
soul will gaze on it’s
freakish perfection

please ignore all you
have read, all these
mutterings mean nothing
to anyone but me

— GB

errant lines

take all of my errant lines
take all of my stops
and stuttering starts
take all of my misplaced words
and every one of my
malformed metaphors
my slipping similes
take all of that and more
put it in a sack and throw
it in a river, dash it against
a rock, drop it from a plane,
apply whatever violent act
you deem appropriate
to assure they are never
read again

— GB