RDP Wednesday – GRATEFUL
Hello darkness
so glad to see you
drop on by again soon and feel free to bring your friend “strange ” with you.
I am always so thankful when we have time for our little chats- I always find them
inspirational.
amm
Photo A.M Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
Photo A.M. Moscoso
RDP Tuesday: Match
Everyone has a double, if not on this world then it’s possible that in a Universe of alternate realities you might not have just one double.
You could have an infinite number of copies of yourself for every action that you have ever made or not made.
Imagine that, an exact double of yourself- someone who not just looks like you but thinks like you and is it possible might know what makes you tick? Maybe they even act like you and get that same funny look on their face when that song about Pina Coladas starts playing on the radio and they know they have to listen to it because it’s coming over the loudspeaker at the Market and they can’t shut it off so they go to the manager’s office and explain- rather forcefully why they need to shut that damn thing off.
I don’t handle surprises well, my reaction to surprises and uncomfortable situations has gotten me into a lot of trouble in the past and if I wasn’t as careful as I have learned to be, I’d be back at The Home right now not on a bus on my way to work, like a normal person.
Today is where my story starts- this morning on my way to work a woman sat next to me on the bus.
I pulled to my left and jammed myself against the window- I loath touching people- it doesn’t matter if it’s on accident or on purpose. It makes my skin crawl.
I went back to pretending to read my book and I sort of snuck a look at her without catching her eye. I don’t like talking to strangers you see. In fact, I don’t like talking to anybody at all.
People annoy me-so I do what I do best. I people watch. I’m not the type of person you would ever really look at twice- it’s because my face is less then ordinary. Plain, simple , uneventful.
I took a quick look her jaw and then I got away with that without being noticed I went back in for a peek at her ear and just as I was about to take in her entire profile our eyes locked.
Or should I say- my eyes locked on my own reflection.
Her nose was my nose, her dark eyes were my eyes her hair was styled like mine and the way her lip curled a little when she was forced to acknowledge another human being was my curled lip.
My double, my match, this was not good.
We stared at each other and I put my book down- I watched her eyes fall to my lap where my book was and her eyes snapped back up to my face.
Both our lips were curled up into a little snarl at this point.
I see, she was reading this book too. She probably didn’t like it but I was willing to bet she would read it to the end anyway, just like me.
” Are you my double? ” I asked because I could not think of anything else to say.
” I think you are my double.” she corrected me.
We continued to stare at each other.
” How much alike do you think we are?” it wasn’t really a question. It was more like a thought.
” We do look a lot alike.”
” Do you suppose we think alike to?” I wondered.
Her eyes went from being flat and non-descript to the exact opposite of flat and non-descript.
” I’m sure we don’t think alike or act alike or share anything other then -” I began
” an uneventful and boring face. My Dad used to say that about me and -” she continued
” so did my ex-husband” I finished our exchange.
” I can’t have my secrets, ” she said ” running around like an ill trained dog off of it’s leash.”
” I agree.”
I put my book into my purse.
She pulled the cord and the bus slid to the curb and we both got off at the stop.
We went down the street together and I know this- only one of us will be walking back to the stop later and I am certain there will only be one of us left to finish writing this.
RDP Monday: PLANGENT
Photo A.M. Moscoso
There are no flowers
in my vases
no one knocks upon my door
nobody remembers my name
it was lost to the wind and rain years ago.
There is nobody next to me
when I dream or wake or sleep
there are no flowers in my vases
and in my eternal slumber
I hear nobody weep.
Photo A.M. Moscoso
RDP-Sunday– ROAD
When I was a kid, I was absolutely enchanted, and there is no better word for how I felt then ‘enchanted’, by the story I had learned about a man who faced the Devil at the Crossroads and struck a deal with the Devil to become the best and the fiercest, despite the fact it would doom him, Blues Guitarist ever.
The Devil himself gave Robert Johnson what he wanted and in the end the Devil got what he wanted too.
I should clear a few things up here.
First of all I heard the story about Robert Johnson before I ever heard his music- it was one more scary story that my childhood brain soaked in and on it’s own it grew to epic proportions.
By the time I heard Johnson’s music I was playing the guitar on my own and I understand how having those long sleek fingers helped Johnson to play the way he did. In fact I developed- as my teacher put it – ‘ a freakishly long reach ‘ with my own left hand despite the fact my hands are small and pretty much what you would expect to see on an average size woman.
But lo and behold it did help me with my technique.
Along with that I had been learning about the politics of being a musician and I had a good idea about why established guys who he would have been in competition with Robert Johnson for gigs ran around and told everybody that Johnson couldn’t play.
On with the story,.
By the time Johnson came back a year later, so the story goes, he had improved with Supernatural speed and had the skills of the Devil himself.
Of course, the guys who were initially saw Robert Johnson as competition and claimed he was talentless had probably become secure in their own abilities and their focus shifted from the outside to the inside.
Besides, it face saving to say Johnson must have struck a deal with Satan then admit you were a scared little wimp who was afraid to hold his own against another musician-especially since that is what you do every time you play.
The reality of who Robert Johnson was and what his real story was is just as tragic and dark as the legend that grew around him.
But that’s another story and much of it was lost to history.
But still, that story about a man who faced the Devil at the Crossroads and went on to his fate with nothing but his guitar and a ticking clock attached to his soul still enchants me.
In my mind, that Robert Johnson has taken his place among the greatest characters of the supernatural- his spirit is the type of spirit that I go out go to the Cross Roads and look for when I want to find a story to tell.