Posts Tagged ‘Whitesville’

Silver Wings Can’t Be Curdled

November 19th, 2016

I took a little time out of my weekend to go to a family event. My in-laws, that family. When my mom married my stepdad, she married into a very large family. The Farmers could fit into a passenger van with room with for more. The stepdad’s family needs a giant hall to accommodate everyone. They don’t get together all the time but when they do, they try to make it count.


My stepdad sang with the family band tonight. They put on a show and set up baskets for donations for an 8th grade class’s trip and a thing where you can give a canned good for the less fortunate. For the donation, you got some music something to eat, a nice feeling.


He walked up there and sang “Silver Wings” by Merle Haggard followed by “Ruby” by Kenny Rogers. It was a heart-warming feeling for me to watch somebody I love perform for a change. I felt like the proud papa for once because I knew what it was like to be up there. All the pre-show anxiety, that feeling when you stand up there in front of everybody and your mind just goes away. That moment when you have to deal with the microphone feedback and figure out how to hold it and where to stand and how close to stand to it when you sing. Been there a million times, fella.



I felt like a freak at first. Still have this long hair. This crazy long hair. I also can turn small talk into the McLaughlin Group if I’m not careful. You talking about Kentucky football? I’ll turn it into an indictment of the entire NCAA college-athlete system. I’ll point out how UK spends more money on Midnight Madness for men’s basketball then their annual football budget. Then I’ll segway into a rant about what it means to be a “student-athlete” when the labors of such are profited off by major networks, cable TV, advertisers and video game outlets. . . and by this time┬áthe person I’m talking to just wants to move along to another subject, another table, another planet.


You wanna talk about “Ruby” by Kenny Rogers? Great song, huh? You know that song is about a veteran who’s bed-ridden pleading with his wife not to go out on the town gallavanting with her face all painted up like some kind of tart. Think about how badly our veterans have been treated after they come back from their tours. Some of them are so shell-shocked they never completely get over it. Our V.A. hospitals are so understaffed it’s a crying shame. . . and by this time you just want to disappear because I got too real too fast I’m sorry.


I was beaming with pride and joy after my stepdad sang. Nothing could curdle this moment. At least not for another three songs because that’s when they started playing an Eagles song. And that, folks, was my cue to leave.


Apparently you can’t have an event with more than fifty white people in the same place without hearing an Eagles song. It must be a law somewhere. Everybody has a peaceful easy feeling except me, because I’m out the door.

A New Halloween Tradition

October 31st, 2016

Since I have moved to a new town, I guess it’s time to update my Halloween traditions. In Fordsville, my tradition was “not answer the door because nobody knocked on it wanting candy”. That was a blessing. It pays to be an unlikable hermit.


But now a new town requires a new tradition. These people don’t know that I’m an unlikable hermit. I’ve been here nearly a month? How can I possibly introduce myself to the community proper? I gots me a plan!


For all the kiddies who come to my door shouting “Trick or Treat” will be in for an immense treat, as I sit them each down to listen to this gem of a tune.



You want a treat? You’re gonna get a treat, goddammit. A little something from Abacab-era Genesis called “Paperlate”. Just sit there as I play this off my laptop speakers and get familiar with Phil and the boys. I am going to be the most popular debutante in all of Daviess County!


And then I’m going to yell at the kids’ parents to remember to vote for Rand Paul. Because it’s all about Rand Paul, who’s debating tonight. He’s only debating on Halloween because he didn’t want to embarrass his opponent on a night Kentuckians would be home to watch the debate.


I’ve come a long way from hating people who didn’t understand Zappa or the Beach Boys post-Pet Sounds albums.

I Guess I Live Here Now

October 17th, 2016

This is my life now.


I live on the outskirts of a small town by the park with a big red train caboose in the front. I’ve started a weight loss program and attended a lesbian wedding/anniversary party. I’ve sold merch in a redneck bar for the next big country star. Two of my friends paid for me to get a lap dance from a girl named Samantha and it was great. Maybe, just maybe, things are starting to turn around for the better.


This is my life now.


I have an instagram account (@mikewritesandsings) but I barely post on it. I haven’t posted in about eight days. Mostly I click the heart button on other people’s pictures, which tend to be of babes. It’s no Twitter, which I have flogged the holy hell out of. In the course of my Tweet career, I have probably tweeted 20,000 things. That’s 20,000 thoughts I would have said to nobody. Thoughts that would have stayed in my mind and just festered and died a slow aching death. Thoughts I would have had to tell to small groups of people over and over again, like a focus study.


Am I. . . happy?


I am getting closer to happy and that is a strange thing to feel. I’m not used to it. Have you read this website lately? Ever? It will take some time to get to the point where I realize that it is okay and I deserve it.


“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” My research tells me that Eleanor Roosevelt said that. My research also tells me that Eleanor Roosevelt was a floppy-tittied dyke, but that’s irrelevant. I just like saying that. Sometimes I sing it to myself: “Eleanor Roosevelt was a floppy-tittied dyke, yeah-yeah, uh-huh.” I haven’t turned that into a song because where I am going to go from there. If you see me out somewhere, ask me about the Eleanor Roosevelt song and I’ll sing it to you quietly.


What was I saying? “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” People will treat you bad but you can’t let them stay in your head. When they hurt you, you’ll feel it. But you can’t linger on that hurt. Some people have to be cut loose. Because “fuck them”, that’s why. If you mean so little to someone that they can hurt your feelings and not give much thought to it, then why obsess over them and what they did to you?


Am I talking about something that happened to me? Yes. Will I discuss it now? No, because fuck them. Yeah, it hurt my feelings but I’ll get over it. Sometimes I think about it and ARGGHHHH I get mad again but those moments are aftershocks and they get further apart from each other.


Life can be so nice.

A New Life In A New Town

October 7th, 2016

Here we are. A new life in a new town.


I now live in Whitesville. Every day I have something I have to do. I still have a lot to finish. Stuff is scattered around the apartment. I haven’t set the TV up. Not that I’ll use it. I have people to call. Things to get done. Responsibilities. It’s almost nice.


I needed a new start a long time ago. I could have left Fordsville behind a year ago and been fine. But this is the time I’ve been given. So many things got thrown out in the move. I unburdened myself from a decade-plus of baggage.


This is a good time to be alive, personally. Too often, I’ve done this thing where I’ve let the state of the world get me down. I want to change the world but I’m no good to anyone if I’m in poor shape. So I’m taking the steps to get into better health. My emotional energy has to be focused on me first and foremost. I can’t use the chaos of the outside world as an excuse to stop caring and let myself slide further into disrepair.


That’s enough for now. There’s stuff to be done today.