Updated, to save space, with the dreams of last night 1/31-2/01
1. No polka or yodeling
2. Material must be a variety of styles
3. Songs must be appropriate for the soundtrack of your life
4. To screen out the cheapskates and users, you must be willing to 'send first'
5. Include your user name and return address somewhere in your envelope so I can send one back.
Old-fashioned audio burn as opposed to data mp3s preferred but not mandatory. Open to format, though the 'mix' is my general concept. No sleeve or disc art is necessary but I will gladly absorb any notes or art you might include. I see this as a little window to your individuality.
In return, I will send a disc ('life soundtrack' appropriate) along with a surprise. If this goes well I might even include songs other people have sent for the sake of sharing. Let's try and see how this evolves.
To participate, please leave a comment stating your interest. All comments revealing personal info will be kept screened and I will private message you with details.
And note: while you're at it, why not burn an extra copy to give to a friend or member of the fam?
Given how high and lush the rye grass grew she never fathomed it ever drying out. But one day, after losing something precious in its dense valley, she found her thoughts in drought-stricken Barren Space. Crouched down behind a dune, she remained still long enough to hear painful echoes between madness and reality. The weather had officially changed. This was home, now.
She did not enjoy her visions of the dammed but often contemplated the many similarities between decay and humanity, much of which she pretended to be unafraid of. The only way to stop them from attacking was to prove to be of assistance to the dry spell…
When the demons got hungry, she got an idea.
Using her bare hands she began digging up devastation with the most meat clinging to it. Sacrifice. If broken dreams were already dead then what was the harm in their consumption?
Most of the food supply she provided was lying near wells where innocence got beaten and hidden – where countless coins fell and no wishes came true – where many horses were led to drink but never did. It became routine to find corpses. Some of the remains belonged to failed fortune and fame. Other bits were so disfigured, so decomposed that she couldn’t remember what it originally was.
So she threw it to the caves.
One ingested toxin at a time, a clearing appeared at evil’s expense. The sight took her breath away. There, beside another dry well in another ghost town it lay pounding: strong, golden, inherently Good. And from that moment forth she knew that she was in possession of the very tool that had been manipulated in order to bring about this apocalyptic sham in the first place.
Then she did what anyone else who controlled the dream would do in the desert.
She reached behind her back and pulled out the umbrella.
I have decided that there is a correct way to eat the chocolate covered cherry.
This divine knowledge hit me during a sugar high after scurrying across the lot to retrieve my box of sweets from the drug store. They were about to lower the metal curtain when I gave an exasperated face from the other side of the glass like I desperately needed that one essential thing – which I very well did. She granted me access.
“Can I point you in the right direction?”
“Yes! I’m supposed to get a box of chocolate covered cherries [for my happiness]!”
For some reason, a good cherry is hard to find. It seems that stores have decided to only carry what will routinely sell to the mainstream: the cheap-ass Queen Anne and the best of the worst, Cella’s variety. This goes to show that many Americans are broke and tasteless. Whatever kind you are able to get your hands on, do look for the packaging with individually wrapped cherries.
Once you have removed the foil, pause a moment to flatten it between your fingers and fold it in half or even quarters. Such a delicious candy deserves distinction from the crinkled balling of the Hershey’s Kiss wrapper. Lie, as if there is no particular end result in mind. Like maybe you aren’t entirely focused. This is a display of restraint and control, and is admittedly easier after you’ve done it a few times.
Next is the key to all that I am saying: No matter the size or brand, you must take more than one bite. It doesn’t matter if you nibble off the top with the precision of a surgeon or tear into the first half in some dripping mess. So long as your first bite leaves something left for your tongue, you are on the right path.
It’s all about feeling the energy of the moment at the very center.