Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Scaredy Cat

Everyone kept telling me not to leave the little gal alone at the shop because she was fragile and would cry or freak out if something or someone frightened her. It was a bother. The gal was just a wisp of a girl sure but she was a whore and well, whore's gotta be tough. To keep everyone happy, particularly the owner of the jack shack, I used to play along and never left the little girl alone for more than a few minutes when I was buying smoke or liquid crack at the convenience store. What a bother.
Until last night that was. What a crock! So the dude comes in the parlor and I ask him if he's ever been here before and he says he has and asks to see the other girl. I pull scaredy cat in and walk to the side parlor to hear the conversation without being seen. This little gal hit the ceiling when she saw the dude!
"I know you!" she screeched at him putting the bathroom door which swung outward between herself and the appropriately shocked man. "You're a bum! You ain't got no money!" She pushed and pulled the door back and forth fanning it towards him still screeching. "Get out of here! I know you! You're a bum, you smell like pee and you ain't got no money! Get! Get!"
The dude wisely backed out of the parlor and made a beeline out the back door while little miss scaredy cat continued to screech "get!" fanning her hands as if to push out the foul stench of urine as the man made his way out of the house.
I stepped out of the side parlor and placed my hands on my hips and told scaredy cat, "That's it! I ain't playing this game babysitting your phony ass no more! Dang girl you did great! You don't need no damn babysitter." I put my arm across her still trembling shoulders. "Yah girl, you did real good."
Sisters gotta remember we all gotta stick together.

Thursday, December 16, 2010


When I sing the Universe becomes a gaping hole into which I soar upon wings propelled by the connection to those for whom I perform.

I become lyrics flowing like water upon a dry river bed greedily swallowed by the thirsty spirits of those who can hear me.

My own spirit searches eagerly for those who flow with me hungry to sate their own emptiness as pitch changes, emotions unfurl and our worlds entwine.

Everything else falls away as our spirits meet: there is no time, no bills, no foes, and no doubts, nothing to hinder the angel that sings praises to Creation, Creator and Created.

I see myself in the hearts of those who listen, those who extend beyond merely hearing, I feel completed as they join me absorbing me into themselves when I sing.

I can remember watching Sonny and Cher when I was pre-teen. My dad hated it! Probably the fuel for my attachment but that's a story for another day. What moved me to believe I could sing was a belief that somehow I was meant to. It's sounds even crazier if you say it out loud trust me. I am moved so strongly by certain women singers, with music or acapella that it could be akin to grief. It seriously feels like someone has kicked me square in the chest and I can't breathe it's so tight. I feel that I have lost something, it's this aching sense that singing is a part of me that I need.

Truthfully, I haven't spent a lot of time analyzing this part of the IT that makes me, me simply because I have a decent voice and I have so many other items of interest on my "fix it" list that it makes no sense to touch what ain't broken. I am curious though as to what this strong reaction means, it isn't that I think that anyone could actually give me an iron clad answer, but I am open to other opinions on the matter.

Once Upon a Time

Well isn't this interesting, a blank page. If I only had nickel for everyone of those I've seen in the last 43 years. Old cliche, I know, but I am 50 and hence earned the right to babble. Funny how I didn't think like that when I was younger. I can remember how annoying those "lectures" by well-meaning family, friends and associates could be, the conglomeration of words and commands that make up a vast portion of who I am today.

You may be wondering just exactly who I am period, today or any other day. I am CherylLynn. Not gonna tag on the ex-husband's last name. I have no need to be politically correct at anytime and shan't start now. That, possibly, headstrong statement there likely gives you an idea that I am opinionated. Well I am. We wouldn't be talking now if I weren't, would we?

Describing who you are to another person has to be one of the most difficult things to do that I have ever encountered! Do I tell the plain and simple truth or perhaps just elaborate a bit? Or create this fantasy person that I have always wanted to I brag? Ew, I hate braggars. Definitely try to avoid over emphasizing, but not come across as Miss Door Mouse...hmm?!? Seems easiest to me to just relay it as I see it and not give a care about how it comes across. It isn't like you know me or something. I simply love the autonomy of the Internet!

LONG story short: I'm 50, been married twice, incarcerated once, traveled a bit, love to sing, write, help, create, and learn...and a thousand trillion other things but I promised a short story.

I write like I talk so you can imagine how annoying THAT could be.

I've decided to blog because I have alot to say. I've lived a weird life. Not unlike a million other people mind you but I can talk about it in a way that perhaps a million other people can't. I've made many, many poor choices and had to change many parts of how I think to fit into this community of ours and maybe all this crap that has been my life might just make you think about the next decision you face. That's really the beginning.