View Grid Expanded

Bad habit: I relate to the the Muzak! Mostly in Trader Joe's or the market. I hear it, I even comment on it, offer my analysis to any(no)one... not that I like it, how can you LIKE that vanilla calmifying crapola? In fact, you probably don't even hear it at all. Might not even be aware of its existence. And yet, here I am, hummin along! Oh, I admit it: sometimes I even (aarrgghh) harmonize to it! Imagine singing along to the Muzak? Quite embarrassing. How do I stop????

Curly_wobbly
Record Title
left-coast-jane Released ago
3
638

the french speaking people have already made the exact same corrections I'd have made. I personally prefer it to remain a bit foreign sounding, with JoeRud's adorable brit accent, and I even prefer including the small mistakes, rather than making it "perfectly french." Would you have someone else sing it??? Mais Non! Just as there were a couple of mistakes in the Petit Soldat that Metaphorest wrote and Joe, Anne H and the then-named Metafictionist sang at the Fall Formal.If you listen back, just prior to the performance, Joe told any...

This is my revised version of prior RECord.

Perrault published “Le Petit Chaperon Rouge” back in 1697.

OH? Chaperon? Interesting how we use that now.

Defender of the young woman, from the thing all men know all men want from her. But Chaperon in French means hood. OH? She wore a hoodie? Interesting how we use that now. Dangerous. Might get you killed.

It was a cautionary tale to insure a beautiful daughter’s value to marry and increase the familial property value, only IF the beautiful daughter has remained pure and chaste, so as not...

Perrault wrote “Le Petit Chaperon Rouge” back in 1670ish. OH? Chaperon? Interesting how we use that now. Defender of the young woman, from the thing all men know all men want from her. But Chaperon in French means hood. OH? She wore a hoodie? Interesting how we use that now. Dangerous. Might get you killed.

Perrault wrote it down from an oral tradition, told from generation to generation: it was from a time when a beautiful daughter’s value was simply the coin by which the man of property could buy/sell/trade up/add to his wealth. She...

"Mommy, who's stronger, daddies or mommies?"

(me: ulp)

"Well, I guess men's outside muscles are stronger, and women's inside muscles are stronger."

(them: satisfied nod)

The Noondays have always known they are THE best caste of shadow… strong, assertive, basking in the mid-day glory of their sun-god’s favor. Yes, there may be contenders, and perhaps some might find a glimmer of interest in the ghostly gloams or the wavery liquidicious longrays … but how can those compare to the solidity, the no-nonsense oomph-ness of us Noondays? they crow with pleasure to one another, and anyone else who cares to heed.

So then, who is this one, this husky healthy little Noonday who, having long listened to her...

(Ode to "owls & vines" by elayne)

Oh owl with scowl

fine fowl of mine

sits on a vine

so soft of jowl

neath feathered cowl

each line of thine

ethereal design

thirteen align

ne'er whine nor howl

but hoot and scowl

so like an owl

on vine

A man from the army knocked on our door. He told us "Your daddy died serving his Country". I didn’t know how to feel. Proud because my father died doing something good? What if he died NOT doing something good? Did my father shoot somebody from the other Country? Did my father even make it to the battle field? Did he die of a disease? Did he ever go to war? Was he just wanting to get away from us? I don’t know if I understand what "dying for your Country" is. I don’t know if I’m proud. Maybe I’m mad at the Country my father died for....
We the wretched ones bog down in awe of the Venus Who Skips blithely above the sucking sands.

Tiny story to embroider Venn's Monolith image