Me, Myself, + Music Monday: The 5.29.2017 Edition, aka: The Cosmic Chain of Peace, Love, Resistance, Beauty, + Living Memories Edition

There is a house in New Orleans/They call the Rising Sun/And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy/And, God, I know I’m one.  –The Animals, House of the Rising Sun

My Cosmic Brothers + Sisters:

The music coming out of my Sylvania Water Dancing Bluetooth Speaker is from my Classic Rock Radio Station on Pandora, via the Windows X desktop app.  The music that was created in a time where original music was given mad respect that went to shit this decade, thanks to the evil Heartless Party O. 45, ViceRoy Pennywise, and their crew of slavemasters + oppressors are leading, and letting themselves crumble to shit while making Panem a reality out of the United States of America in the process, is associated to my resistance to the politico pickle we’re in, and those of who are just fed up with the bullshit associated with that, freedoms that our soldiers fought for us to keep, and, most importantly of all, the people who are in my life.  When I mention people in my life, I mean those who have stayed with me for the last 6 years of my life, supporting and believing in me, including my friend and ex-boyfriend, Daniel Paul Harrienger II, who is married to Lorena Rios-Harrienger, who I’ve yet to see, but I’ll bet is as gorgeous as I am, too, and who I’ll accept as my friend, no matter what.  The marriage betwixt the two was unexpected, but, when Dan had to tell me on the phone a week and three days ago, that shock stabbed me in my heart so fucking hard I cried most of the day, trying not to think about it, but the tears of pain were also tears of joy, because, to be motherfucking frank on this, by that day’s end, I became grateful enough to forgive him, Lori, our families, and, best of all this, I forgave myself for everything that happened, and everything that should’ve happened, but didn’t.  I cried so fucking hard that day, that I became too weak to get angry with anyone for anything at all.  Even George, my neighbor, hated to see me in bloodshot tear-filled eyes, wanting me to go psycho on my own best high school choirmate. But I couldn’t-and wouldn’t-make myself do that shit. My grandma may have raised me for 22 years of my life, but, hell, the truth is:  She didn’t raise me to go apeshit psycho on an ex-boyfriend, therefore, she didn’t raise me to be a punk bitch nor to be a psycho-ass modern-day answer to Gerard Butler’s Leonidas in 300, I’ll give all y’all that for free.  I’m more of Stuart Redman when I’m the usual bad bitch, but, piss me off, Leonidas will be what you asked for.  In simpler terms, I had too much heart to hurt anyone that day.  Acceptance and forgiveness were all I had to do.  Since then, Dan told me I can come over anytime I wish (but I should call him about that first, whenever I do), also told me whenever I see him and Lori to just say hi to them [which I’ll be respectfully obliged to do], and, most importantly of all, just be myself and on my best behavior around them, too (e.g., not to say anything stupid and negative about them at all, of which I have be mindful from five days ago on).  Yes, last Wednesday was our first hangout in 2.75 years at their place on Matterhorn, on this side of Dyer Street, down Hondo Pass, on the right side, thank God for that….and for the happily wed couple…..I hope it doesn’t end in a nasty divorce, even though I wasn’t even invited to their wedding, okay?  I don’t want to be the reason for that divorce decree to kill all 3 of us. [I’m sorry, but I’m singing Guns ‘N’ Roses’ Paradise City, because Memorial Day, for Pete’s sake!]

Before I go and get my Facebook live reading sessions on, I’ll give you the reason behind the name of today’s edition, which will be written in, say, two to five parts, depending on how much housework is in store for me:  Even though I was born in 1992, on Thursday, April 30, 1.5 months premature [Yes, I’d still be older than my other friend, Dillon Fields, by one month and three days, had I stayed until that day to be birthed], at 6:04 in the morning MST/7:04 in the morning MDT [like, what was I thinking when I got coerced by public schooling to get up at 5 in the morning?!], I have a very sharp mind on what songs were up in the 50s on up.  Grandma played those tunes sometimes, and it still feels like the fifties-eighties were yesterday to me.  And, yes, I still remember that CSI + CSI:  Miami had different songs by The Who as their own theme songs, thanks to CBS giving The Who permission to use them in the proper respect with which each show is associated.  I still got it, esp. after all these years.  And, also, I associate other factors with classic TV shows, like the Korean War is M*A*S*H, for example.  [Alan Alda, aka, Benjamin Franklin “Hawkeye” Pierce, is still adorable, even as an old man].  The Fast and the Furious was another 50s film before the shit became a huge badass franchise for the past 1.7 decades.  [Ya don’t believe me?  Please look up The Fast and The Furious 1950s; thank me later.]

This is just the beginning of the blog posts coming up today.  I’ll be writing later on this morning, once I’m refreshed from napping.

-Rosé Smith.


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