Song of the Day (Sunday) (it’s 8:02pm)

Agent Fresco – autumn red

This song was on the 2015 masterpiece “Destrier”. (record records). Genre is Prog Rock and these Icelandic gentlemen know how to do it.

I can’t let you fall asleep

Keep your eyes on me

Keep your eyes on me

Can we all agree

Our dreaming tree bleeds

Agent Fresco – autumn red (they write poetry)

Grab your seat and enjoy.

With or without lyrics

Depending on my mood and mind, I listen to music with or without lyrics. Not long ago, someone said to me that they disregard lyrics when listening to music, but they also don’t like to listen to instrumental music – not postrock, not ambient, not classic. They listen to mainstream music and are touched too, but on a completely different level than I am.

I listen to instrumental music to write, and the tone of the music, the melody, the tempo, the intensity, they guide my words and writing.

I also listen to a lot of other music – I am not limited to a particular genre, though I have favourites too. If there are lyrics, they have to be powerful and inspire stories or poems in my head. It doesn’t matter which genre it is.

Is it because I am a writer that I think lyrics matter? Is it because I am a writer that I admire music without lyrics?

I try keeping an open mind when it comes to music and genres. Not everything is for me, and I am quite picky and peculiar. I know what I like and what I don’t like. For me, music needs to touch something in me. It needs to make me feel, and it doesn’t matter if other listeners like it; for me, it is a subjective experience.

Not long ago, I was asked to write a review for an album that was released yesterday. ‘Are you in love?’ by Basia Bulat. It was published on a blog called ‘At the Barrier’. I felt humbled and proud that the creator of that site offered me to write about music. And apparently, I am not all that bad because he got in touch again and sent new music to review. It feels surreal, but maybe I was made to do this, it comes naturally to me, and there is always this melody or that lyric, this tune or that progression that I like or can imagine other listeners to like.

There are days when I am like music without lyrics. Intense but raw and real, overwhelming too. On other days I am like music with lyrics. Chatty, bubbly, always real, but a bit shallow.

Some people say that there is no good new music. I say: there is a lot of talent, often enough it is hidden and not what mainstream charts suggest. But if you stay curious and open-minded, you can find beautiful music and talented artists that touch you on every corner.

Music is a passion, and I understand that others don’t share it, but for me, music is like a life’s breath. I need it to exist. It saved me more than once, and it keeps me sane.

Here I am, a 37-year-old woman. Mother, wife, educator, writer, poet, lover, and I admit that music is what keeps me alive.

What is your biggest passion?

Support the arts…

During these difficult times, lots of people are losing their careers and their livelihood. Musicians and artists too. If you can, support your favourite artist. Some are putting out A Song A Day.

Many incredible musicians are doing this, but I want to single out someone special. Tom Morris. He put his first song on Soundcloud today, and what can I say?! It is a brilliant song. Tom records his songs in under an hour. It is audible, but even in this raw state, this reached me right where it is important to be touched. The lyrics are very relevant, and again, I can relate. Now, if you follow this blog-thing, you know about Tom Morris and how much I like that guy. He is talented. A beautiful mind and soul. He is one of us – and I can never repay him for the impact he had on my life with a simple hug.

If you have a moment to spare, please, support Tom on Patreon. (I have a certain sum of money set aside each month that I use to support artists on Patreon or to buy music and books, it is the only luxury I allow myself these days.)

Follow these guys:

Tom Elliott Morris

David Oakes

Matthew Ryan

Ari Gudmundsson

These are just 4 musicians who make very different kinds of music. They are all on Bandcamp, and they also share their music on Twitter. (The above are Twitter-Links)

Music is very important in times like these; for me, it is – as you may have noticed these last days.

I don’t have much to say anymore. My poetry muse left me a while ago, and all I do is rambling. I believe that we change all the time. I never intended this blog to turn into a diary kind of thing, but in times when my voice is silent, and I can’t speak, I found that writing eases my tensions, and it turns my thoughts into words on a screen.

Let’s keep evolving.

Today was another less great day. The pain in my shoulder is back full-force.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Good night,

Cathy

Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone… I am procrastinating to keep editing this story. It is available for free on Wattpad. The response has been quite nice. Here are a couple of comments from the last chapter:

So far, I added one chapter and edited more or less 80% of the existing story, adding paragraphs and taking other unimportant stuff out. I believe that I have something good on my hands. And although I am sparse with praise for myself, I think that this novel is worth every reader’s time (even in its unedited state).

Here is a link: https://my.w.tt/mahOoc4VpZ

If you are inclined to read, please do. I am grateful for every comment and encouragement I can get. Sometimes, comments help in the editing process; asking questions and clarifications make me see where the story is not clear or where more words are necessary. There are parts that seem logical to me, but that’s because my mind fills the gaps that exist. I know the characters and their flaws because they are in my head and in my imagination – it is not the same for a reader who has a healthier distance to these characters.

As always, thank you for your support.

Have a nice weekend.

Cathy

cold coffee

I pushed the door open with my foot, startling you. Your eyes were filled with sleep; mine were full of mischief. I came to your room with the intention to wake you up with the smell of coffee, but seeing you like this; naked, hard, embarrassed; it did things to me.

You were a guest in my house. A friend. The polite thing would have been to apologise and leave. But I couldn’t. I was hungry. Starving. And not for food. You looked at your erection, then at me. I licked my lips and tried to find a safe place for that cup of coffee in my hand.

You sat up and reached for the sheets to cover yourself. I shook my head. “Don’t, ” I croaked. You rose an eyebrow, probably intensely aware of the situation too. I kept my eyes on you, avoiding to see myself ungracefully join you on the mattress through the mirror on the wall.

“Hi, ” you said as if you were seeing me for the first time. Your hand was already in my hair, pulling my head; my lips, to yours.

Outside, rain was joining the wind that had been up all night. Inside, we were joining too.

Everything fit. Profoundly. Almost overwhelmingly. The natural flow of things didn’t take us aback. It didn’t leave room for doubts or vanities. Every touch meant something. Every time I felt your tongue on my heated skin, it felt as if I was becoming a part of you. Your hands explored my body as if they had never done anything else. The weight of you on my tongue was exactly right, and your taste made me swallow you as often as I could. I was drowning in our lust.

When you finally penetrated me, it only took a moment before the world exploded for me. Shivering, sweating, swearing, I encouraged you to keep moving. But you didn’t. You lay on top of me; your hands were caressing my hair, your eyes were searching my face for something that I couldn’t pretend wasn’t there. A smile appeared on your lips. Proud of yourself and how you had undone me, you kissed me. You were pulsating inside of me, but not moving. Heavenly torture. I begged for more, gyrated my hips underneath you, but you were stubborn. And too close to be consumed by our lust too.

Two micro moves later, you stopped breathing. Your sweat was dripping down on me from the tip of your nose; your eyes were closed. A strangled noise left your lips just before you started to breathe again.

I had seen you. I had felt you. And it left me breathless; and not only because your full weight was on my body now. The beauty and surprise of us in this situation was overwhelming. You kissed my temple and rolled off me with a loud groan and a chuckle. Your arm covered your eyes, and your hand was running up and down your stomach. The most handsome man who I had ever been with.

I put my head on your chest, your heartbeat sang a song for me, while I retraced the pattern of the tattoos on your skin. Your eyes were filled with sleep again. I covered us with the crumbled sheet, making sure that the wet spot we left was covering me and not you.

In a while, I would worry about the meaning of it all, but right then I decided to go with the flow and let it happen.

Only the coffee had grown cold.

Heatwave – mature content

The heat, it got to her. She had always had a healthy sex-drive, but this here right now was a lot, even for her standards. She felt insatiable. Always in the mood.

Naked as she was, she let the light breeze, that found a way into her bedroom, caress her skin. It was as if her lover was gently tracing her nooks and folds and crannies with his tongue. She closed her eyes and arched her back. This felt good. Her hands knew where to go on their own. No explanation needed. One hand massaged her breast and played with her nipples, while the other hand traveled south. Legs spread wide, she didn’t waste time. Too good. She was wet. Not moist; no, dripping wet. The sound her body made as her fingers entered her spurred her on. She needed it. Right then. Right there. The smell of her own sex engulfed her and laid a thin veil over her senses, blocking out her environment. Sweat was covering her; droplets rolling down and pooling between her breasts. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue moaning deep within her throat. Almost there. She didn’t take her time, didn’t prolong the explosion that was at the tips of her fingers. Her legs were shaking. Ragged breath. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes were closed. More. More. More of this. Her hips moved on their own accord, trying to find more friction. The tingling that had started inside of her was spreading fast. She threw her head back with another moan. Her back was arched, her hair was drenched in sweat. Pulling her legs back to reach more; to enter herself deeper. It was there, she felt the wave coming. Ready to let her lose her mind.

Another touch startled her. Not her own hands. They ruined her orgasm. Calloused, male hands. Asking for permission to continue what she had started. She took her hand from her pussy, tasting her own lust with a sly grin. Eyes meeting eyes. Dilated pupils didn’t hide their carnal desires. The sensation of his hands on her was too much to bear. He knew how to push her buttons. He knew exactly how to read her body. What had started slow and casual was building up again. She was biting her hand to keep herself from screaming out her lust, but he didn’t allow it. He demanded to hear her. And there it was. The right touch. The right pressure. Too fast. Too soon. Her entire body tensed. She stopped breathing. And the heat swallowed her from within. Sensitive to his touch, she tried to move away, but he was not done. The night was young and it was too hot to sleep anyway…

music

And just in case you are wondering what I’ve been listening to lately:

Luke Sital-Singh. And his album “Time is a Riddle”. I found it by sheer coincidence and was taken by it in no time.

This is Luke’s third release, and judging by what I am hearing here, I will like the other albums too, once I get around to listen to them. I am quite happy about this find. It’s been a while since I found a new (new to me) artist like this. If you like Ben Howard, this is for you too. And if you are into comparing artists you are likely to agree that Luke’s voice reminds of Kelly Jones. (Vocalist of the Stereophonics – my first live show of 2018)

Goodnight

And thank you.

xx

Cathy

my heart is open

My heart is open
My arms are open
I will be here to share your pain
I will be here to stand in the rain
My heart is just a fraction broken
My secrets still unspoken
I will be here to see your soul
I will be here to make you whole
My heart is open
My heart is hopin’
I will be here to see the burning desire
I will be here to be your fire
My heart is just a fraction broken
My soul has awoken
I will be here to stop you from leaving
I will be here to make you start breathing
My heart is still open
My love will never stop lovin’.

memory lane

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain I will never forget you.

I wrote about this one before but I can’t find it anywhere so I will write it down again. This was said to me. Not written, but said. And I thought it was weirdly romantic. He laughed then, saying that it is our kind of romanticism, and he was right. In the meantime, this man is not a part of my life anymore. We knew the day would come but we tried to ignore it until it was there and he left. Which is okay and his proper right to do. But that sentence there, it keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over again. If it is true, then he will not forget me for a long time. I don’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by him. He who meant so much to me at one moment in time and who still does, who will always do.

When I shared this sentence with a friend, she was disgusted and thought it was very disrespectful. And I wondered if I had rose-tinted glasses on to be happy about these words. Now, a long time later, and these words still get to me and they are still disgusting to other people. For me, they are the ultimate declaration of love.

Funny how people see one and the same thing and feel so differently about it. Or maybe I am just weird. By the way, that same man said to me that he felt abject loneliness without me and that I was the only one who could fill the holes in his heart, in his mind and in his soul. Indeed, he is a writer… but come on… Those are amazing words to hear… Alas, love or an infatuation is not always enough. And I am not a romantic person anyway…

(written in August 2016 and still true)