New Yorker Times | Groups – New Yorker Times


New Yorker Times | Groups – New Yorker Times.

 

An honor to be included in this collection of bibliophiles and artists of all walks of life.  Each telling the story in their own way, all supporting the process of art, and understanding the toll it sometimes takes on a soul.  There is comfort in finding your niche.  My introduction into a “legitimate” literary arena has been very passion fueled, and I pray that enthusiasm will carry over into all aspects of my daily life.

 

Thank you for clicking that link.. I am sure once you see this innovative throwback, you will share the same admiration and comfort I find sharing my stories with the other wishers, dreamers, hopers, liars and magic bean buyers.  Come pull up a cozy seat, and imbibe the waters of the river of life.

 

 

 

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My Dear John Letter: Part Two, “I get by with a little help from my friends”


     Caution:  “This is a narrative of very heavy duty proportions.” Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem, from The Muppet Movie, by Jim Henson.  I consider that fine gentleman my first teacher.  I had adults around me all my life that knew I had a special gift for words in any form.  Somehow I was lucky enough to be born at a moment in time when a guy with puppets could change the world, and he did.  Just like Gepetto.  Mr. Henson reiterated Ma’s love for the Beatles over and over before my very eyes.  He put the pictures to the words the boys were painting in my impressionable young mind.

     Throughout my entire life, if I hear the number twelve, I sing the “Number Song” from Sesame Street.  I adore frogs, and because of Jim, I now love and help protect many species of endangered frogs by teaching kids the things this man shared with children everywhere.  FOR FREE.  Yes, duh, he makes money from it, so did the Beatles, don’t you get paid to do YOUR job?  And if people like them are successful it’s because they put their entire souls into what they knew was a wonderful thing to share with the world.  Human Decency goes far in our relationships with others, don’t you think?  Good manners, general empathy for your neighbor, and personal accountability are things I’ve chosen to protect in my own little personal space.  I believe that words can change the world.  I believe that with all of my heart.  But words are empty without someone else to understand and share those words with others.

     Through Jim Henson Studios, I’ve been given a lifetime of free education, and in today’s world, we need more Sunny Days, and less Survivor.  Why not teach our kids real reality?  Mr. Henson’s been doing it very well since 1969.  And guess who he invited along to teach?  The Beatles.  Henson totally plugged The Beatles, and still does, and ya know what?  They were honored, and we were as well.  What pops in your head when you think of the word “conjunction”.  If you were a child in the post hippie revolution/ pre Welcome to the Machine, you were indeed blessed.  You had what children in earlier eras and simpler times had, free love of learning.  And that, my friends,  is how we can all change the world one smile at a time.  By being simple, and loving the little moments that makes us “Sing A Song” and find “Rainbow Connections”.  My favorite guys were always flattered that the Puppet Master (that used to be considered art, not something sinister) would portray them and with his own eyes.  He passed down their legacy to an entire generation, knowing we would need it later. 

     We have often been called Generation X, my classmates and I.  We’ve chosen as an age group to pretty much do what we were taught to do by wise men.  Learned men, who were not full of their own superiority; rather men that had incredible gifts, legends in their own time, who gave back infinitely more than they ever took from millions of children, who are now parents and trying do their best in a world gone terribly away from their simple instructions.

     John asked us to Imagine, and Jim showed us how to play pretend.  Thank you gentleman, for starting me along my path, and for also choosing a plethora (learned it on Sesame Street) of other J’s for me to be influenced by with so much love.  Thank you for teaching that being kind doesn’t cost a thing.  And that truth is seldom “nice” to everyone’s feelings, but it is always the kindest option in the long run.  If you think back Gen X-ers, I bet you’ll find yourself hearing a Muppet as your personal Jiminy Cricket, eh?  Another J.  

    They did not attempt to do it alone however.  Like so many freedom fighters, they start the war at home, teaching their children to question, learn, explore, prepare, and become self sufficient citizens of this Earth, who are generous and kind.  Think about it, have you really ever heard of a Beatle offspring or Henson progeny Growing up Kardashian?  I think not.  We are all sensing a building of communal thoughts, common grounds being restaked.  We are too busy closing ourselves off into tiny little instant gratification boxes, and are entire too stressed out to stop everything and just listen to the music, and let it do what it was made to do.  Or read a book and find infinite new worlds and ideas.  

     I’ll close with another caution:  Help! I need somebody.  Help! Not just anybody, I need someone to help me.  Let’s all just Give Peace a Chance.  If I’m not convincing you these are less lyrics than a guidebook for making it Across the Universe, let me know how you disagree, or what makes you think that.  I love a good discourse, and am hoping to find more people to talk with me, and walk with me, as I stumble down this Long and Winding Road.  Check it out, it’s like 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon:  John has a Bacon number of 1,2,4,5,& 7.  I don’t really get the math, but I get the connections.  The Circles Within the Circles.  John will always teach others, as long as someone will listen,   And, I must say, I’m always listening, and always learning.  Cause I get by with a little friends, and also learned that a stranger is only a friend you haven’t met yet.  

 

Looking through a glass onion,

Kassie

Faces of Bougainville: Dock Boys 2


A Traveler's Tale

There they are  again,  trying to catch our attention as we stood on the dock by yelling “hello!, hello!”, requesting to be photographed by saying, “photo!, photo!”.  Amused as I was in previous days when they did the same, I snapped a shot as usual.  At least I liked the sign they flashed.

I’ll raise a toast to that, little urchins — peace on earth, goodwill to men!

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My Dear John Letter, Part 1:  Meet the Beatles

 

English: John Lennon and Yoko Ono
English: John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

English: John Lennon Deutsch: John Lennon
English: John Lennon Deutsch: John Lennon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

When I was three years old, John Lennon died.  That day is forever etched in my mind an imprint that has lasted a lifetime.  Let me set the scene for you.  Picture a little girl, with long brown hair. chocolate brown eyes, and cheeks just chubby enough to need to be pinched by every female over the age of forty.  She sits before a console television, watching Sesame Street.  Suddenly, a very stern looking man flickers before her eyes; he is very grave.  She cocks her head in interest.  This is new.  This is important.  Big Bird was important, and so was learning to read.  And counting.  And singing.  Kassie loved Sesame Street.  She loved the Muppets.

 

This very sad looking man was announcing that someone had died.  A man named John Winston Lennon.  Kassie was a great reader, Mama said so, even at three years old, she has learned to observe so many things around her and absorbs those observations like a sponge, for later need.  I never questioned my inquisitiveness, Mama never saw it as anything other than a gift from the goddess her daughter was named after.  I truly believe that, Mama.  Thank you.

 

John’s picture appeared next and then grew into a smaller box inside the box Kassie was learning from.  Through the innovation of PBS, this little girl was allowed to learn as much as she wanted to, and by the kindness of a mother who wanted to see what happened if you simply let a child teach herself if she knew how already. Kassie turns to her Mama, who is changing her baby sister, and asks why all those people are crying; only to see tears streaking down the eyes of her own Mama.  THIS MUST BE HUGE!  WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE SO AWFUL?:

 

Kassie runs to her Mama and wipes at tears she doesn’t understand as music pours out of the television speakers again, and Kassie turns, and she KNOWS this man, she’s heard his voice on her Mama’s records.  He’s the Fool On the Hill.  He’s part of that band that Mama hums now and then.  He is part of THEM, The Beatles, Mama had shown her the record covers.  Her Bubby liked to play the records too, so this was very cool to little Kassie.  Kassie liked the places they took her, when she couldn’t read the words yet.  She could hear them.  They told stories, and Kassie really liked stories.  So what did this mean?  She again turns to her Mama, who kneels down to her as if she about to say a VERY IMPORTANT THING.

 

“The voice of the people has been taken away from us.”  Mama whispers through her sobs.

 

Kassie was forever instilled with the epicness of this moment in time.  The tv showed picture after picture of John and the Boys.  The Beatles separately, together, their music blending with collages of acres of people mourning.  This is forever burned into her soul.  Their words became a form of self inflicted prophecy for this chubby little brunette.  A bonding is formed between her soul and John’s.  Eternally they are linked.

 

Today, I sit at my laptop, embarking on another chapter in my own story.  That story has of course theme music, mine just happens to be orchestrated by the GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME.  If you ask anyone who knows anything about me, I am a BeatleManiac.  I love all things related to the topic of the band as a whole.  Please don’t ever mistake that I don’t respect each and every step the group took collectively, and as solo artists.  The guys understand, you see, this is between John and I.  I never held them in any disregard in my blatant worship of him.

 

I believe I have read more information on this particular figure in history than anyone has a right to.  If he were alive, I would absolutely be in prison for stalking him, or married to him, which I would infinitely prefer.   I do not feel my words are sacrilege to a monument of personage such as he.  Nor do I feel that I am even worthy of this notice, so tortured a soul was he, trying to be a guiding light for his fellow man, in his own crooked way.

 

John’s smile can light up my face, and his voice calm the most aching need in my deepest heart.  He is singing to me as I type this.  That often happens with music and me, I don’t know why, but I accept it.  At this moment, he is humming “Mother Nature’s Child”.  I’ll provide links at the end of this epic declaration of faith.  One thing no one could ever accuse the man of was duplicity.  I respect that.  John’s eyes pull me in, and his words describe every emotion and thought I have sometimes.  Now he’s singing “I’m So Tired” and he’s right, I am.  But He’s amusing me.

 

The greatest story I’ve ever told is of my love for this quirky Quarryman.  I’ve listened to interviews, I’ve read books by him, He narrates my entire existence in an encompassing fashion, he guides me to be a better me, and I am ok with following his lead.  This may seem insane to some, but I can honestly say with a clear and clean conscience that I have never willing acted to do harm against another person unprovoked.  I have only ever fought with words, unless in acts of self preservation.  Now the Beatles are singing the Anthology version of Rocky Raccoon.  The subtle undertones of teaching are in every second of my life when I’m tuned in, turned on, and taking notes.  See, that’s the link.  I’m think I’m supposed to decipher this whole thing somehow to lead at least my own family into what I pray is a better tomorrow, or I am afraid we are ALL doomed.  *Paul’s asides and quips during a jam session are always refreshing when John becomes too intense.*

 

“Gideon checked out and left it no doubt, to help with Good Rocky’s Revival.”

 

All the people I love are connected to a singular Beatles or Lennon song.  Including myself….. Sometimes, I am the Walrus. goo goo ca choo.  I understand what he’s saying in each and every note, because an amazing man who also loved John as I did taught me to hear every layer of the music.  He actually taught this as an entire quarter of our 6th grade music class in a tiny little town in the middle of corn country.  The effects of this hippie on me were astounding.  Mr. Joe Foss, you were such a crucial key in the translation, and you’ll always be in my heart.  I miss you very much, but am sure you’re chilling somewhere listening to or playing the most incredible music I’ve ever heard.  You should be very proud of your legacy.  Both as a teacher and as a man with a family who loved music.  You’ve done a fine job in all aspects, though I’m sure someone somewhere would differ.  I am aware you were a human, and that meant you may be flawed, but you were my perfect music teacher.

 

I have a rather extended family, with modern marriages and whatnot.  Family is a word I use in a very gypsy like manner.  Life has taught each and every one of us that little is permanent, and we should treasure every second we are given because we are all born dying, that is a simple fact.  “You and I have memories that stretch far beyond the road ahead”.. That’s from “On Our Way Home”.  Youtube it.  How do you stop something that seems to be able to control the auditory sensations your receive?  And should I?  It brings me comfort to be caressed by the awesomeness that is my passion for a dead man.  Now the Lads from Liverpool are telling me “Good Night, Sleep Tight”. There’s even a symphony behind Paul wishing me sweet dreams for him and me.

 

 

 

Until next time.

 

groovychick

 

 

 

 

 

Being Swallowed by the Tale


     I’ve often wondered if every writer ever felt like they lived their greatest story?  The question haunts me, actually.  Some of my favorite authors were plagued with an overwhelming melancholy, while others radiate serenity, and love.  Yet another set of my favorite bards would terrify me beyond expectation.  Every human lives these stories; though the dialogue differs and settings, characters and events may change.  It’s all the same story. The common theme is always centered around two main characters, no matter the subplot;  our place as humans on this planet we call Earth.  

     I’ve stated that I am on a pilgrimage.  I am a “Seeker of Truth” to borrow from the great e.e. cummings.  I am learning to fill in the pages of my life’s diary, that have been left blank, while feeling the past and crusading for the future.  I often wonder as did Poe if I am insane, or if the Muse is too strong, to pure.  Shakespeare penned works that have survived millennia, and naysayers still call him a charlatan.  Some of the most hallowed names in literary history have been denied in their times the brilliance that was theirs, 

     I call myself on this blog, The Oracle of Grooviness, as an attempt at balance between my physical self and my Inspiration.  Kassandra was the Oracle of Dephi in Grecian mythology, and for her I was christened.  Whether by divine mandate or quirky coincidence, I am some strange way pulled to the stories, the words, and what I see to be truth.  Ironically, I am historically an extremely horrific judge of character in my personal interactions with other people.  I tend to search for good in people so deeply, that I overlook the glaringly evil inside them.  For I truly believe that everyone has that inner truth, and knowledge of right and wrong, and if it can be touched, it will spring forth into their souls, and make the world a better place.   

     As I travel on this path seeking enlightenment, obstacles that spring up to bar my journey occasionally feel insurmountable.  Eventually, though, a song from my personal Prophet of Peace, or his merry band of Liverpudlian Lads will firm my resolve to keep looking for the beauty and the stories, for they are all around, and begging to be told.  I will record as faithfully as possible those things I feel to be of a more natural humanity.  Whether they are my tales or those of another, I care not, I shall share them freely, for honesty should never be a burden of cost but freely given and received if we are ever to be humanity in harmony with nature. 

Metamorphosis


They say life is a giant circle.  I disagree.  I think it’s a zillion little circles that have to be linked into a larger chain.  Life is labyrinthine.  We all have a path to follow, but understanding that each person has their own is hard to do.  There are those in every person’s life that should have not stayed so long, or should have stayed longer.  

Lately, I’ve been set on several courses at once, and a house divided cannot stand, so I am at a crossroads of sorts.  They say when one door closes, another opens, but I’m not sure if I want what’s behind door 1, 2, or 3.  Maybe I want what’s behind that little door in Wonderland?  Or perhaps, the wardrobe door?  Sometimes the hardest part of being a bookworm is the ability to close the book.  

So, the Oracle of Grooviness, what does she do when she needs guidance? Well, she listens to The Beatles.  Those Liverpudlian Lads have been speaking to my heart since I was a toddler.  As we speak, a symphony aches behind Paul’s voice as he tells the sad tale of Eleanor Rigby.  This song will forever bring to mind a very special music teacher who taught me to hear the stories between the notes and words.  Their genius always leads me on to other incredible artists who evoke so much emotion with their craft.

Inspiration is a slippery thing.  It is intangible, therefore it can’t be held on to.  Passion can be fleeting and overwhelming.  Sometimes, the muses decide to caress a person’s soul, and beauty springs forth.  Most times, though, they are shrews hoarding their precious commodities.  Often, just for fun, Calliope will sing her song in that roaring voice that can be as silent as a summer breeze.  

She and her sisters sing their songs in my heart and soul, and I feel that somehow all of my voices will join and become my true self.  I am listening closely to what is being spoken, and I hope that you, the reader is as intrigued as I am to see where this path may take me.Image