Jamaican Moon

Prompt: Copy

Classified-top-secret

Clyde was in London and Sharon had the flu. Jay felt isolated and vulnerable, especially since Kenny was hovering around the corridors. He would like nothing more than to see Kenny at the bottom of the Potomac, an appetizer for the fishies. But he “knew things” and had “insurance”. Jay had never been so careless, before or since. That didn’t matter now.

In front of him, a file containing a letter from a concerned parent.

Naturally there were more insidious threats to national security to attend to. Like King, that Kennedy kid, those relentless, misguided protesters, and, very importantly, keeping his own methods and sources unbreakable and unscrutinized.

But he knew that everything was connected. Everything. Politics, religion, family, art. Once things started rotting from the inside out, the tumor spread as slow and deadly as a lava flow. The world was on the brink of disaster, and he was not about to let the country spin out of control on his watch.

And now an issue almost two years old, was resurfacing.

We all know there is obscene materials available for those who seek it, the letter read, but when they start sneaking in this material in the guise of the latest ‘teen age rock & roll hit record these morons have gone to far.

Indeed. Still, this letter had been forwarded from Bobby’s office. Jay never knew if he was being provoked, or mocked, or what. He read on:

This land of ours is headed for an extreme state of moral degradation what with this record, the biggest hit movies and the sex and violence exploited on T.V.

How can we stamp out this menace? ? ? ? ?

The concern was focused on one song, which his lab had already investigated at some length, and had found nothing prosecutable.

But, said another parent, in another letter which was sent directly to Jay, whether the lyrics are obscene doesn’t matter. Because the words are indecipherable, teenagers hear the obscene lyric whether it is there or not.

At that moment, Kenny burst into his office. Jay felt his body tense with anger and frustration. “I’m busy,” he said, “Get out.”

“I have a message for you from Dotty!” Kenny said breathlessly.

“Why would she contact you?”

“Because you are busy.”

“Get out.” Blackmail or no blackmail, he couldn’t abide the sight of Kenneth.

“Yes sir, I mean, no sir,” said Kenny. “I see you are reading those silly letters.” He relaxed into a chair opposite Jay’s desk, without asking permission.

“The morals of this country are hardly silly,” said Jay, closing the file folder.

“Why don’t you just contact the Copyright Office? Don’t they have to register the lyrics? I can check for you if you like, it’s only down the road.” Kenny held out his hand.

A week later, Jay opened the file containing the letters and added a new sheet of paper, freshly typed by Sharon, back from her leave of absence.

LOUIE, LOUIE, OH NO, I SAID WE GOTTA GO
YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH I SAID
LOUIE, LOUIE, OH BABY, I SAID WE GOTTA GO

A FINE LITTLE GIRL, SHE WAITS FOR ME
ME CATCH A SHIP ACROSS THE SEA
ME SAIL THAT SHIP ALL ALONE
ME NEVER THINK HOW I’LL MAKE IT HOME

LOUIE, LOUIE, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, I SAID WE GOTTA GO
OH NO, I SAID
LOUIE, LOUIE, OH BABY, I SAID WE GOTTA GO

THREE NIGHTS AND DAYS I SAIL THE SEA
I THINK OF GIRL CONSTANTLY
ON THAT SHIP, I DREAM SHE THERE
I SMELL THE ROSE IN HER HAIR

LOUIE, LOUIE, OH NO, I SAID WE GOTTA GO
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH I SAID
LOUIE, LOUIE, OH BABY, I SAID WE GOTTA GO

OKAY, LET’S GIVE IT TO ‘EM, RIGHT NOW!

ME SEE
ME SEE JAMAICAN MOON ABOVE
IT WON’T BE LONG ME SEE ME LOVE
ME TAKE HER IN MY ARMS AND THEN
I TELL HER I’LL NEVER LEAVE AGAIN

LOUIE, LOUIE, OH NO, I SAID WE GOTTA GO
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH I SAID
LOUIE, LOUIE, OH BABY, I SAID WE GOTTA GO

I SAID WE GOTTA GO NOW

LET’S GET ON OUTTA HERE

LET’S GO!

 


 

  • Original Prompt: MusicMay 2, 2016.
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Less Tuba

Prompt: Stranger

cartoon strangers day

Stranger is a strange word. A stranger is someone unknown, and it’s root is “strange”, which kind of sets up the scenario that we should be suspicious and even on high alert when in the company of someone strange, a stranger.

A stranger is just a friend you’ve never met. Some cheerful people believe this.

A stranger is an alien and fearsome. Other people cheerfully believe this.

A good way to lose a friend is to treat them like a stranger. I believe this, less cheerfully.

The war for the hearts and minds of people all over the world might just boil down to how we perceive strangers, from new next door neighbours to international treaties.

I will definitely ponder that as I eat an orange.

For now, relating not to strangers but to merely, mildly strange, may I present a few of my favourite cartoons?

cartoon rapunzel

cartoon prodigal son

cartoon less tuba


–]

Don’t be a stranger!

~~FP

Insomnia

Prompt: Earworm

dreams

Once there was a way,
To get back homeward.

Once there was a way
To get back home.

Sleep, pretty darling,
Dot not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

Golden slumbers,
Fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise.

Sleep pretty darling
Do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby.

My brain is oh-so-literal, judging from the soundtrack it’s put together for insomnia. But the brain forgets that the insomniac will bounce through soothing lyrics in triple time, completely neutralizing their somnolent qualities.

Still, it’s a lovely song, from the Beatles’s Abbey Road album. Lovely, but with something angry bubbling to get out. Perhaps my insomnia soundtrack should be more ragey (let it all out before sleep) or more sweet (no hidden anger).

Or I could take a pill.

Surnames Through the Ages [Repost]

Prompt: Telephone

hotel maid

The first Thursday of every month they meet at a hotel, a different hotel every time, according to the order they appear in the old 2014 telephone directory. They alternate procuring reservations and paying in cash for one night’s accommodation and register under names selected in alphabetical order from the book Surnames Through the Ages, in the chapter, ”Most Common”.

They don’t speak to one another, except in private sign language. When they arrive, they turn on the television, fairly loud, and then play a recording on a device that she brings in her bag. The recording is mostly silent, with the occasional cough, or snore, or flush of a toilet.

They make love soundlessly.

Until one Thursday when they check in under the name “Sullivan” at the Post and Pigeon Boutique Hotel near the farmers’ market.

So intense is their passion that they both cry out at once. In horror they dress quickly, and leave separately, never to meet again.


Go Like This

Prompt: Why do you blog?


Hello Wednesday,

There are lots of tips and strategies out there for overcoming the dreaded writer’s block, many of them Internet clickbait full of obvious and unhelpful instruction (“Just sit down and write!”). I’ve been trying one of the recommended tactics— taking a break from the blank page. This is ideal for someone as lazy as myself, and has had the predictable result (a lot of blank pages).

So how about if I just sit down and write. No edits. Here goes. Any minute now. I feel it coming. Ready? Ok.

Alec Baldwin has one blue eye and one green eye. He is stockier than most people realize, and prefers jeans and a plaid cotton shirt to a crisp dark suit. He is used to the privileges of being a well-paid star and was rather abrupt in his attempt to flirt with me. 

“Sit here,” he said loudly, pointing to an empty chair across from him, as I passed by his crowded table. Sit here? I didn’t even know the man. I walked on.

I was wearing a sleeveless white and navy chevron pattern summer dress, tightly cinched at the waist, and black and white striped platform sandals. 

My sister didn’t believe that Alec Baldwin had invited me, albeit curtly, to sit at his table. In fact, she didn’t believe the man I pointed out to her was Alec Baldwin. 

On second glance, he did look a bit rough around the edges. 

But that is my sister’s role, to invade my dreams with spoilers, and this time I refused to allow it.

Alec Baldwin and his entourage were heading towards the exit on a path that had them pass right beside my sister and I. Perhaps he was leaving because the woman he chose had rebuffed him, and would try his luck elsewhere. In any case he breezed by me as if I were invisible and I felt, rather than saw, my sister’s smirk.

But in passing he clasped my hand and I was jolted along the path to the exit, and we all tumbled outside.

His blue and green eyes were about as clear and full of mischief as I could have hoped. His skin was smoother. He didn’t kidnap me. I shoplifted him.


I’ll just should go straight to the Wednesday cartoons now. Unrelated to prompts, Alec Baldwin, or writer’s block, may I present a few of my recent favourites?

 

cartoon firemen

cartoon duel

cartoon firemen


Serenity now.

~~FP