Percussive Abuse

I want to rip into your skin, set fire to your lungs.
I want to tear your heart to shreds, like you've done mine.

New song, folks. Deeper, darker, drearier than the usually peppy me. Hope you enjoy it.

Badda Bing, I gotta show for you

Farvellys, occasionally blogging as We Fight The Giant Squid, and also known as Carmen, has secured herself a gig at Random Row Books in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Doors at 8pm, Show at 9pm
Open to all ages, races, and smiling faces! Come show some love!
$5 cover

You can listen to the music @ farvellys.bandcamp.com

Enjoy!

*P.S. I know I just referred to myself in the third person. Apologies! Please forgive! I had no other way of finishing that sentence!

Love,
Carmen

Repost repost repost.

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696

Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433

LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255

Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386

Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743

Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438

Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673

Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000

Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253

I like don't like want to change to remain the same.

I am charming,

let me sing you to sleep with a soft, sweet, floating vox
I will paint the day away until no color remains in the sky
My daily yin and yang is a half-eaten New York style cheesecake on a black plate
all in our bellies adding more and more and more as we laugh and laugh and laugh...

I am not charming,

I play emotional chicken with myself, daring daring to rush headlong into mistakes
ending up scattered in pieces of insanity along the axons
I read between lines until they blur inexplicably
I toss the mess into a burning fire which resonates, originates from within.

I have no idea what I am doing

I really don't. I just re-read several of my older posts, and I am ashamed. I wrote as if I actually knew something about the world. Pride goeth before the fall.

This is me. I am imperfect, unkempt, irrational, irrepressible, irreversible, unintelligible. I am broken yet solid, pieces of spirit, light, air, water, designs, whims, whirls, flits, dust, dirt. I am.

She is intelligent, vivacious, impish, stormy, hilarious, adorable, adoring, ethereal, celestial, the reason I continue to spiral along the mortal coil.

My heart burns for her, my beloved little daughter. Happy Day, little one. Every day with you is special.

I want, I want, I want...

If I were hysterically well-to-do, I would be this woman's sole patron.

And I would purchase this belt buckle, and this delicious ornament for my long, thick hair, and something so delightful, so much of a style risk for me that I would literally swoon to have it touch my skin: this daring, lovely, celestial piece.

Ahhhh, if only. Someday.

Encircle Me While I Float Across the Sky

I want to meet (a) musicians who I can meld with seamlessly. I want their musical sonance and virulent cloudbursts of audial technicolor to wrap around my simple melodic strains like an enfolding embrace. It would look like this:

Except maybe not quite so amateurish.