Old world blues

On Friday we ran into an old acquaintance of mine.

An...an ex.

We dated for a while in high school,

when we were young

and innocent,

and thought we could rule the world.

He didn't stick around long enough for a proper reunion.

He saw me - like this -

and he asked me how my cats were doing.

He knows I almost always have a cat or two around.

I told him they had...passed on.

Francis looked so genuinely sad when I said that.

He promised to get me a new cat.

He rushed away before I could say another word,

and an hour later he was back,

with a little kitten.

Its coat was patchy -

not that it was missing any part of it,

but there were splotches of brown,

black,

gray,

white,

and he has the deepest sea-green forest-green green-green eyes.

Which fits, I think.

Considering the - the other two had red ones.

I don't know how he found out

but Francis confronted me some time later

with eight words:

Did that Cheshire bastard do this to you?

I couldn't say no.

It's not in my nature to lie.

I bit my lip,

and nodded my head

almost imperceptibly.

He nodded more vigorously.

Ran off,

hopped in a car

and drove away.

Last night I had a dream.

Cheshire was there.

Francis was there.

Cheshire was laughing.

Francis was dead.

I'm so sorry, Francis.

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein.

After its latest, greatest owne-

no. Not owner.

You can't own an animal, any more than you could own a human.

And what are humans but animals, anyway?

I'm naming the cat Frankenstein,

after its latest

greatest

caretaker.

So much better than I'll ever be.

The scales are tipping so far in the wrong direction...

We need balance.

Being a Tale of Danger and Fear Involving the Evasion of a Very Slender Man

Herpin'

anna derpin'.

Balance.

You're on a camping trip.

You're all sitting around a campfire,

at midnight,

roasting s'mores

and telling ghost stories.

Then you step up,

and you volunteer to tell the tale

of Cap'n Gorehook,

the ghost pirate.

And it goes a little something like -

but then a terrible roar comes from the forest.

A sound like a cannon shot rips apart your ears.

Arrrrrr!

screams a gravelly voice.

Laaaaaand hoooooo!

screams a...

squeakier voice.

And then a squawking parrot

flies in and pecks at the others!

A big man with a matted beard and strange outfit

moving like a whisper,

so silent among the pine needles,

walks into your circle

and starts digging up the fire,

looking for something underground.

Eventually he finds a huge chest,

that he opens and inside

are coins.

The whole time,

your campfire mates are just watching,

giggling,

whispering,

but then the pirate screams at them,

and they all run -

but not you.

You walk up to the pirate

and high-five him.

You take one of the coins,

unwrap it

and pop it into your mouth -

delicious chocolate.

And you giggle

and he chuckles,

and all the others

are hiding under the beds

in the RV.

Schrödinger

 nononononono NO!

I'm sinking like a stone in the sea

I'm burning like a bridge for your body

Where strange things and shenanigans happen.

R.I.P.

to all who we have lost.

Balance.

You're at a magic show.

The magician is a new one,

but he looks like he'll put on a promising show.

You settle down in your seat,

quietly eating your cotton candy.

He gestures wildly.

He says some silly magic words

and waves his hat in the air,

and guess what shows up?

A huge elephant takes the stage,

and he's riding on top of it!

Applause fills the air.

Then,

he calls for a volunteer from the audience.

No one raises their hand.

Suddenly he lifts his arm

and points right at you.

You stand up quickly.

He hands you a huge basket.

You open it.

There's nothing inside.

He snaps his fingers,

claps three times,

waves his hands over the basket,

and says some more magic words.

Suddenly, it begins shuddering.

You hear something shrieking,

coming from inside it.

The man opens it again,

and out fly a dozen pure, snow-white doves.

They flutter around you,

and for a moment you look up into the air

waiting for them to fly away - 

but they don't.

They perch on your head, your arms,

anywhere they can reach.

They love you.

They know you're a kind person.

That you're a friend

to all.

Love you all, people.

but not myself

Today I don't feel like doing anything

I just wanna lay in my bed

Altum videtur

Fly away, little birdie,

fly far into the sky!

Balance.

They're everywhere.

Dead rats.

Mauled,

as if by a dog.
 

But I know who did this.

It's him.

Cheshire.

These -

these cuts

they can only be from his sword.

The sword in his cane.

The one he used to

to

well, you know.

Every day,

another dead rat,

eviscerated,

disemboweled,

at my doorstep.

I thought it was Sierra or Mab at first -

they are cats, after all.

But the consistency and the nature of their injuries...

He has no remorse.

Cheshire was sweet when I knew him,

when he was still Lewis Jacobs Lyman.

When he was still my Jack.

Jack wouldn't do this.

Jack would try to nurse them back to health,

no matter how bad they looked.

Jack would have given them a proper funeral,

and I would have been right by his side.

I'm scared, yes.

But I'm also strong.

I don't have to let fear consume me.

Into the gala, now's the time

We're ready and we look divine

It's simple. You need something delivered, but are being stalked by... You-Know-Who. We are good at Running and like money. Elementary, my dear Watson~!

Teehee!

Teeho!

Balance.

 You're at the post office,

on Valentine's Day.

There's a young man

sitting on a bench,

just outside.

You sit next to him.

Beautiful day, huh?

you say.

No response.

You have a Valentine?

you ask.

Did,

he says.

He coughs. A tear runs down his cheek.

Left a week ago.

You smile.

You take his hand and smile for all you're worth.

You miss her, huh?

 you say.

No. Him.

You're taken aback,

but only for a moment.

You smile all the more.

You pat him on the back

and give him a short,

tight hug.

You wait,

patiently.

Eventually he smiles.

You've cheered him up.

Thank you,

he says.

You hand him the box of chocolates

that you had just gotten in the mail.

You don't need to be a mind-reader to see

he needs it more than you.

Schrödinger

i can't remember

And if I were a tree growing tall and green

All I'd want is you to shade me and be my leaves

A place where I talk about music and random life stuff. :D

Marching all around,

marching up and down.

Balance.

You're at opening night.

The opening number is ending.

Your heart is pounding.

You're about to go on stage

when you're hit

with a wave of fear.

You can't go on!

You'll embarrass yourself!

You'll damage your reputation!

You'll lose all your friends!

Oh, dear, oh, dear,

oh, dear.

What will you do?

But the song comes to an end.

You have two choices:

fight

or flight.

With the knowledge

that at least you'll have tried,

you go on.

You begin your solo.

You have shut your own ears,

hoping beyond hope

that you won't have to hear yourself.

That nobody else will.

But when you finish that first song,

when you open your eyes

and look out at the crowd,

they're not cringing

or booing.

They're applauding.

They're standing.

They're cheering.

And all you can think is,

How did I get here?

K.S.
nonononononono

If it fell over, would it make a sound?

And if it did, would it be the sound that you like? 

I just deliver the news

Can't see me!

Ooh, look at this!

How strange.

Balance.

You're walking down the street.

It's cold and foggy outside.

Eventually,

you happen upon an old,

dilapidated,

crumbling library.

It's barely a library anymore.

It's just a shadowed, empty stone box.

You duck in for a moment,

to get out of the cold

and catch your breath.

You hear someone

call out,

Who's there?

You turn and look.

It's a young boy,

coming in behind you.

He's wearing rags

and pushing a cart,

half-full of newspapers.

Why are you here?

you ask.

He tells you.

He lives in that broken-down library.

You're shocked.

You take him home with you.

You take care of him.

He grows stronger.

One day,

a couple shows up at your door.

They look very well-to-do,

but are sad,

distraught.

They ask if you've seen their son.

The boy comes forward.

They see him,

and they nearly tackle him

out of joy.

They take him home,

and you live happily,

knowing you've reunited a family.

-Don't Shoot the Cat-

Kisses like cocaine, hits me like a freight train
I can't tell her no

Qui tacet consentit

One two three four -

we will walk right through that door!

Five six seven eight -

who do we appreciate?

Balance.

Sierra is growing so fast.

He's much better now

than he was when I found him.

And he and Mab are so cute when they play.

I'm so glad I could help them.

Also,

at rehearsal today,

I saw a man in the audience.

I couldn't make out his face,

since he was sitting way in the back,

in the dark.

I don't think anyone else noticed him.

He didn't say anything,

he didn't wave when I did,

and by the time we were done and leaving,

he had gone.

The way he walked

seemed almost familiar.

Almost doglike.

But I only saw it for a moment,

as the tails of his coat

swished out the door.

I was so intrigued,

I checked the security footage.

He only showed up for a few seconds,

and seemed out of place.

In fact,

he seemed like he belonged in the play.

The way he moved,

it was almost as if

he wanted me to memorize what he looked like.

Well, I did.

A long tailcoat,

and pants so dark

you couldn't see the creases.

A dark bow-tie,

and a top hat,

with something tucked into the ribbon.

He even had a monocle

 and cane,

and a thick, gold pocket-watch and chain.

The strangest thing about him

was that he had a cigar in his mouth,

but not lit -

he was just chewing on it.

He was a bit heavy-looking,

but mostly very athletic-looking.

Then he tipped his hat to the camera,

and disappeared.

I asked some of the other cast members

if they knew anyone like that.

Something was bugging me.

I knew him.

The way he walked,

the way he moved,

even the way he stood.

The next time I see him,

I won't wait.

I'll rush after him.

I'll remember who he is.

Maybe

I'll even get an outfit like his.

It was simply fabulous.

I loved it.

Are they wondering what we might be?

Are they thinking of you or of me?

This is who I am. This is what I've done. Now who wants to take on the champ?

Can't see me if I'm here!

But I'm still here!

Can't see me!

Never mind.

Balance.

You're auditioning for a Broadway play.

You're last in line,

after a long assortment

of famous singers

and gorgeous actors.

The readings are first.

There's the part of Amanda,

the overworked step-mom.

There's the part of Bruce,

the imprisoned stylist.

There's even the part of Corey,

a bird that makes friends with the cat trying to eat him.

Then, the singing.

They sing about how they love the theater,

they sing about how their lover deserted them.

They sing about how much worse their life is than anyone else's,

they sing about how much better it is.

A thousand songs,

all beautiful,

all wonderfully sung,

all meaningless.

Finally,

it's your turn.

You trudge up the stairs,

knowing you won't get a part,

hoping beyond hope that you will.

You whisper at first.

You begin to stutter,

you stop.

You think that if you say one more thing,

you'll ruin your chances

forever.

But then you close your eyes,

and you sing.

You sing,

you sing the most amazing song any of the people in that room

had ever heard.

You belt it out as if you couldn't hold it in anymore,

and even as you take a peek at your captive audience,

you grin,

because it's your song,

something you wrote,

something you composed.

When you finish,

some of the other actors

scoff.

They boo.

They ask you who you think you are

to come and upstage them like that.

You ignore them almost the whole way out the door,

when you turn,

you shout back,

I'm the champ.

The next day,

you get a call

from the casting director.

You got the lead.

-/|\-

No one can change your life except you

Don't ever let anyone step all over you

I'm outside your window looking in at the pretty light in your eyes.

Can't see me.

Can't catch me.

Can't get me.

Can't hurt me.

Balance.

It's a cold,

snowy winter night.

You're sitting inside your house,

sipping hot chocolate,

eating marshmallows,

smiling and having fun by the fire.

You giggle and grin

you shuffle and snicker.

You're having a great time.

Then, you hear a scratching noise at the window.

Something's there.

For a moment, you're afraid

but then you get up and walk towards the window.

There, staring in at you,

is a half-frozen kitten.

You can't help but clutch your heart

and stifle your tears.

You hurriedly open the window and pull in the kitten.

You feed it and wash it and heal it and warm it.

Most of all, you love it.

After some time, you realize

that this is the neighbor's cat,

the neighbor who treated it so badly.

You decide not to send it back home,

but you know you can't keep it.

You take the kitten to a friend,

a good friend,

someone you know will love it as much as you did.

And when it's all grown up,

the cat recognizes you.

It knows you saved it,

and it thanks you,

silently,

and you smile and cuddle it.

You're still sad you couldn't keep it,

but you're glad that it grew up

healthy and happy.

Forever will come someday.

On the empty streets of this nowhere town

The melting shadows fade

Multum in parvo

One...

Two...

Twenty...

Ready or not, here I come!

Balance.

Yesterday,

late last night,

I went back to the park.

I left Sierra and Mab at home,

sure they could take care of themselves for a little while.

When I got there,

it was totally empty.

Nobody else was there.

The clouds above me started to draw together,

started to rumble and darken.

It began drizzling,

so I laughed and danced in the rain and the darkness,

the only light coming from the moon and stars

and the lamps.

I've heard a lot about the rain.

It's a sign from God,

or a warning of things to come.

It's an omen of death,

or a blessing of harmony.

Or,

it's just rain.

As I danced and laughed,

I got a feeling

that someone

or something

was watching me.

I stopped for a moment,

I turned in a full circle,

I looked for someone else.

I couldn't see anything

until I looked at the trees.

There he was,

but not screaming

or hiding

or even moving;

he was just standing there,

looking sad.

His head was down,

the rain was falling on him,

as if attracted by some magnetic force,

though it seemed to pass right through him,

or become a part of him.

He looked so sad.

I didn't have a thought in my head

but to cheer him up, somehow,

though I knew I should stay back -

I sat in the grass, and watched.

He didn't look evil

or monstrous.

He just looked sad.

He wasn't huge

or flailing,

just sad.

It hadn't been ten minutes of us looking at each other,

when he disappeared.

I went home,

thinking.

What does he feel?

When he's left out in the rain?

Without even the shelter of the trees to provide for him an umbrella?

Doesn't matter where the bus is headed
I just gotta go

You know that you have seen this all before; this yellow brick road and its apple trees.

If I only

had a home.

Balance.

You're in the city,

the big city,

maybe New York or Los Angeles

or Chicago or Denver.

You've just gotten out of a cab,

at the hotel you're staying at.

For a moment,

you stand outside the doors,

waiting and watching

all the others hail their own taxis,

celebrities and soldiers,

politicians and just people

all walking around in this city.

No matter where you are,

the view is the same.

These sad, sad people

going about their daily lives,

never realizing how dead they are on the inside.

You decide to take action.

You run back and forth along the sidewalk,

you dance and leap and shout and sing.

Maybe someone joins you,

someone who sees what you see and wants to make these people happy again.

By the next chime of the hour, you've got an army

of these runners and dancers and leapers and shouters and singers,

these lovers and fighters and players and winners and losers,

these people,

these random people

making everyone else smile.

The people watching,

some of them, they say they've never seen anything like this before,

some of them are wondering what twister made you knock your head,

but all of them

are thinking

"I want to see this again."

Hello.

But it was not your fault but mine
And it was your heart on the line

Everything is as it should be.

Left,

left,

left

right

left!

Balance.

Your friend is still a little worried.

So you comfort them.

You regale them with tales of adventure and love.

You hug them or hold them,

or kiss them or smile,

you promise that you'll never let the darkness get them.

Finally, they're fine,

you both know what the sound is,

you both know what the darkness is,

and you both know how to find the light in it.

You both know

that everything is as it should be.

--Schrödinger

I know you want pop

You want dance, you want rock and roll

There's a light at the end at the darkness, and we walk towards it hand in hand.

Find me!

I'll give you twenty seconds.

Ready? Go!

Oh, you found me!

Good job!

Balance.

Remember now your darkened bedroom,

except this time, you're not alone.

This time, you've got a friend,

or a lover,

or your pet!

You hear that sound again.

You know in your heart that it's nothing to be afraid of,

but your friend doesn't.

You ignore the sound, forgetting your companion,

you figure that they'll just know how to deal with it.

Some time later, you hear whimpering,

or crying,

or maybe they just shake you.

You ask what's wrong, and they mention that strange sound.

You laugh, and they look at you strange,

because it's obviously something horrible;

how can you laugh at that?

You grab a light,

you take their hand,

and lead them to the source of the sound.

You point with the light

and show them what it really is.

They relax.

You shine the light back to where you came from,

and out of the darkness,

you walk towards the light,

hand in hand.

--Schrödinger

I'm walking on sunshine

Oh-ho-oh-oh!

I'm a blank canvas, a person remade. I'm a circle that has no beginning nor end. I'm fear and anger and elation and hope all at once. I'm a person with no purpose other than searching.

One,

two,

three,

Four!

Balance.

It was that time with your best friend,

when you had a horrible fight and you thought you would never make up.

For a while, you cried, or acted tough, or even ignored them.

Eventually, someone else noticed how strange you were acting.

Perhaps it was another friend,

or a brother or sister,

or a parent or even just a stranger who saw you being sad.

They asked you what was wrong, what was so wrong,

and you pushed them away,

because no one deserves to know about your life,

no one deserves to intrude on that sacred friendship,

the sacred friendship - that was no longer.

Maybe it only took a moment,

maybe days,

maybe weeks or months or years,

but eventually you gave in to yourself,

something you had been afraid of.

You were angry at this person for intruding,

but elated that they did.

You were suddenly blessed with a hope that maybe,

just maybe,

you could save this friendship.

You poured out your heart to this person,

you told it all, you explained everything,

how you felt, how you still feel,

you told them exactly what happened,

because if even one detail was wrong

it might never get fixed.

Once you were finished,

you knew what to do.

You had to wipe the slate clean.

You went back to your friend,

and one glance,

one look told both of you that it was alright now.

You both knew there was a new canvas to be painted,

a blank starting place,

you both knew you were now people remade -

but not really, were you?

You had gone in a circle,

from friends to enemies and friends again.

You realized that this whole fiasco had no start or ending,

it was just a circle.

The next time you had a fight

with anyone,

you went searching for that person

who had helped you so much.

This person might have shown up again,

or might not,

but their one lesson always remained with you,

that no matter what or why or when or where or how you are,

you're also just you.

Talk to me!

Let's pretend we don't exist;

Let's pretend we're in Antarctica!

Non omnis moriar

Saw it coming, hm?

Never saw...

THIS!

Ha ha!

Balance.

Spirits have been lifted for now,

so let's delve into my box of a life!

A few days ago, I went to the park.

As I sat there on the bench,

with that glorious sunlight on my face,

I heard a mewl from behind me.

In the bushes was this little kitten!

I've had lots of cats,

all of whom I've loved very much,

but I've always ended up giving them to the little ones

who need them more than I do.

But this was different.

This little kitten needed me.

I scrambled over to her and scooped her off the ground.

She's not very old at all. Not more than two or three months.

As soon as I picked her up, she stopped crying.

Then, she glared over at the bush again,

and I heard another sound,

another kitten,

much fainter and much sadder.

I set the first one down for a moment and crawled into the bushes,

and there was another, like I thought,

even smaller and more fragile-looking than the first.

His whimper nearly made me cry and bawl, but I gently took him out of the bush,

and saw how hurt he was.

One of his eyes is shut and scarred,

and the other is only ever half-open.

He's missing part of one ear,

and his coat is ragged,

his tail almost completely bare.

He's about as old as she is,

so I think they may be siblings,

but it's hard to be sure about these things.

I took them both home and washed them and fed them,

then brought them to a veterinarian for a check-up.

Besides his injuries, they're fine.

I haven't decided what to call them yet

(I was thinking George and Martha

or Fang and Lamb

or maybe Fange and Mamb?),

but rest assured they're in good care.

And if they don't dance, well

they're no friends of mine

Agito ex via

Hey, look at this!

Now look at this!

Ooh, balance!

Which one is best?

This is kind of nice.

Then again, simplicity is always a good choice!

Balance!

And so many colors!

Look at me, I'm big and bold!

Slender and slanted!

Supported throughout!

Or simply crossed and rant'd.

Hi!

I can already tell we're going to be the best of friends!

You can call me Schrödinger.

We're going to have such a good time, I know it!


I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad