ting to come back to

awhile now i eh do this and i re/learn my damn lesson the hard way when i accidentally delete the file i was keeping all the shit i intended to blog. so lemme not stick on these3 i wanna be able to tackback to.

this for a few reasons. [and i so glad my music theory understanding enough that i could follow the whole ting because] i love this song deeply, regardless of how much its popularity make it overplayed i always thrill to hear it, love how it so layered+complex and manage to have this seemingly light melody but feel melancholy-to-dark in that way i like, so much so i always assume without ever checking is a minor key because is make me feel that certain kinna way certain songs do that i never understand and then i find out they minor [stevie's do me this, and, of course, shadow] and this video's get into the elements i think make alla-that so, because i always find it interesting that it often used to signify frivolity and that people find it kitsch when i find the tune anything but, which also make me realise my primary experience of the song affected by the fact that is the darker-feeling d-flat version with blues-countermelody discussed here i meet 1st and love best and thus play+hear most, so much so even though i never know or even try to analyse before what the difference is i know some other times i hear it out i's be slight disappointed, not loving the song less but some of them other versions send me straight back to listen to the one(s) i have instead for satisfaction, because i like weird and how lovely to learn it have weird shit about a song i already love, because, orfeu negro references.

this because even though i know from before why we dislike the sound of our own voice i think it explain my lifelong struggle with being told i talking loud in moments when i feel like my level being dictated by not being able to hear meself over whaever other sound(s) currently present (that seem to make no difference to others in the space) especially when the other sound(s) musical. i always been sound-sensitive plus struggle to hear human voice, hadda listen real intently when people talking to me but simultaneously catch the faintest bassline on the breeze from many plenty blocks away and can tell you wha' tune playing and be able to make out even at distance where the mix going and feel like i hearing that clearer than whoever talking to me right in my face. and my ears tune into my own speaking voice least of all (voices inside my head always make themselves perfectly heard, though); wha' she say 'bout mechanical filter@9minutes, followed by the biological+neurological filters sound exactly like that struggle to hear myself speak feel; come like my filters wukkin too good for my own good. a revelation.

and this because rule of 3 plus i find it so good at wha' it actually purport to be and intriguing in a kinna-feel-to-do-this way...

walk good.

fff#88

so this probably a new record for fff longtaking, but i playing a little because i think i need to, so it take awhile this rounds to write something i content enough with to share.

far from perfect but worth the exercise, for me; flash fiction friday #88 trigger: write of not/judging a book by its cover.

he wasn’ even remotely my type. not even a tiny, little bit wha’ i’s go for. usually.

this was a lingue redskin something. a long, tall caramel macchiato with greyblue ice in he eye. sugary finish but so obviously not sweet. a sharp cut cheekbone and a slice through one eyebrow suggesting fire under the ice. hand-span like a pro-basketballer and swag to match. not. my. type.

usually.

usually when a stranger i not on giving me current, i’s ignore. hard. me eh want nobody get the wrong idea and then is me-one fighting them off later. i know my size and wha’ mankind capable of and i eh need that battle.

but this lingue redskin something…

this lingue redskin something greyblue eye flick over in my direction and i nearly jump out my own skin. why he even watching over here? i just here trying to quietly kill time until my nex’ appointment, minding my own business, why he looking here for? i studiously look the next way. i not out here looking for nothing.

i stir my drink, check the time, again. i hate waiting. especially in public. this couldn’t be over fast enough.

and then this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye. this lingue redskin something fully watch me out the corner of he eye and one time i feel meself start to get warm. i feel meself get warm starting in my chest and the warmth spread up my neck to my cheeks and down to my belly, threatening to spread further, lower. i grind my backteeth and look straight down into my drink, thinking cool thoughts. calm thoughts. i try to picture cucumbers; cucumbers cool, right? but them cucumbers quickly turn from green to caramel and from fruit to meat and that eh work at all. i take a big gulp of my drink. what i feeling to do is dash it ‘way over my head to quench this rising heat. but, be still.

i there just trying to be still and hydrate and now this lingue redskin something turn to fully face me. even with my face insistently pointing into the dregs of my drink i feel he eyes, ice-lasers targeting the crown of my bowed head. and this lingue redskin something not looking away. and i cyah stare into my glass forever.

you might feel black people cyah blush but you would be wrong. and this lingue redskin something have me crimson, i swear, just sitting there trying to not melt completely into the puddle my insides already become. i dare not look up, or around, or anywhere but the bottom of my glass because i do not know why this lingue redskin something having this effect but i did not come here for this and need it to stop before i wet down the people and them good good furnitures.

i slowly raise my eyes. i eh know why, i so scared for two of we two eye to make four because if that only happen…

it does. and what i read as current before come like a electric shock now, swear them sparks people be talking ‘bout in stories actually fly, straight out my head like cartoon bolts, straight outta my head like my every coherent thought deserting me all at once, leaving me alone+unattended, unprotected, with this caramel macchiato stranger.

and as i cyah think and can only feel what was warmth then heat now a slow burn spreading through my nethers and my mind the lingue redskin something approach. and he approaching and my everything on fire but he greyblue eye cyah cool me and my glass properly empty and all my saliva run backward to come from between my leg and all i know is i surely about to embarrass meself if i only try+open my mouth and the lingue redskin something say,

“thorry, eh, mith, but you look thooo familiar…i know you from thomewhere? i over there watching you and wondering and jutht couldn’t take it no more and had to athk…”

…yeah, not remotely my type.

walk good.