this is, i think, a prose poem, or else a very stylized internal dialogue prose piece, or something. it's odd, and i don't know if i like it. but all day yesterday for some weird reason i was humming old mamas and papas songs, and on the train home this wanted to be written and wouldn't let me alone. so here it is, semi-polished.....also, the italicized bits are also meant to be in a different color, so they are clearly simultaneously part of the piece and separated from it. they're lines from songs; i think most of you will recognize the doors one, and the others are from the mamas and the papas songs. so without further ado: actually there is some further ado. i have retyped several times but the computer refuses to allow me to stop italicizing half way thru. so read anything that isn't a song line in plain type, like the rest of the paragraphs. i don't mind giving in to my unconscious, but i'm damned if i'm letting a computer try to do it for me....
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It was a long time ago, and everyone was pretty. Even joplin, frenzied voice, mask-of-pain face, was pretty, and though i didn’t like her singing I wanted to go up on stage and soothe her till the pain went away but of course it never did, and she died. and there was morrison, tired fire out of control, exiled finally to pere Lachaise where even now there are always flowers on his grave.
When the music’s over turn out the lights….
For me the prettiest were three of the odd foursome, part rock, part a cappella, all melodic. The two papas, square-faced lennon-looking denny and softer, maybe more harrison- faced john, and mama michelle, leggy and face like a christmastree angel. the fourth member was fat mama cass, sore-thumb standout, chin wobbling when she grooved, and not even pretty-face fat but everyone agreed, what a voice, fullthroated alto the core of every song. Michelle married john and slept with denny so although their voices blended perfectly their lives got out of synch. then bad mama m. was expelled for a while i guess for being a nasty tramp but they needed her and back she came
I saw her again last night and you know that I shouldn’t
Weird trio and odd-woman-out, no one fucks the fat girl, you know how that goes, then pretty mama and hubby papa raise his daughter, a drugfucked ugly duckling sitcommed into third-tier fame.
and no one's getting fat except mama cass
good drugs, good sex, the fat lady slept alone the fat lady sang alone then choked in her bed, the papas grew old and died. pretty mama stayed around and she's still pretty though she hasn't sung for a while.
monday morning monday morning couldn't guarantee that monday evening you would still be here with me
where does the music go when it dies? no one knows but the fat lady stopped singing long ago so i guess it really did go away, and anyway we're all memories now
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It was a long time ago, and everyone was pretty. Even joplin, frenzied voice, mask-of-pain face, was pretty, and though i didn’t like her singing I wanted to go up on stage and soothe her till the pain went away but of course it never did, and she died. and there was morrison, tired fire out of control, exiled finally to pere Lachaise where even now there are always flowers on his grave.
When the music’s over turn out the lights….
For me the prettiest were three of the odd foursome, part rock, part a cappella, all melodic. The two papas, square-faced lennon-looking denny and softer, maybe more harrison- faced john, and mama michelle, leggy and face like a christmastree angel. the fourth member was fat mama cass, sore-thumb standout, chin wobbling when she grooved, and not even pretty-face fat but everyone agreed, what a voice, fullthroated alto the core of every song. Michelle married john and slept with denny so although their voices blended perfectly their lives got out of synch. then bad mama m. was expelled for a while i guess for being a nasty tramp but they needed her and back she came
I saw her again last night and you know that I shouldn’t
Weird trio and odd-woman-out, no one fucks the fat girl, you know how that goes, then pretty mama and hubby papa raise his daughter, a drugfucked ugly duckling sitcommed into third-tier fame.
and no one's getting fat except mama cass
good drugs, good sex, the fat lady slept alone the fat lady sang alone then choked in her bed, the papas grew old and died. pretty mama stayed around and she's still pretty though she hasn't sung for a while.
monday morning monday morning couldn't guarantee that monday evening you would still be here with me
where does the music go when it dies? no one knows but the fat lady stopped singing long ago so i guess it really did go away, and anyway we're all memories now
4 comments:
Whatever it is, I like it.
Although ultimately, when it came to "plus-sized" women with great voices, I ended up like Spanky McFarlane better...
thank you! i've spent about an hour trying to type this damn thing, so i'm glad it got through in at least some way!
ah, sunday will never be the same.........
Make up, break up, everything is shake up;
Guess it had to be that way.
McGuinn and McGuire still a-gettin higher in L.A.,
You know where that's at.
Don't follow leaders; watch your parking meters.
Nothing was revealed.
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