i'm reverting to what i think i always was

Writing sometimes takes floaty, old-school music. Right now I'm listening to a Zombies radio mix and specifically Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" that fades into "Venus" by Shocking Blue.

All these songs used to stream out of my sweet black transistor radio when I was in Jr. High, now known as middle school.

We were so cool with our stick-straight hair parted in the middle, wearing white go-go boots and micro-mini skirts. Yes, the stuff of Austin Powers' dreams was groovy reality, baby.

All of this musical randomness slipped around in my thoughts as I experimented with another poetic fall piece, but Crosby starts tuning "Wooden Ships," so I pour a glass of 19 Crimes and light the candles.

Curtains are drawn. It's dark and quiet outside, while music blares in the house.

The notes return the past, like Jr. High dances. How awkward we were, waiting for a slow song and the excuse to cling onto each other. Or, Strawberry Fields Forever when we'd be picked up in the Yellow School Bus for a day of work in the sun with friends, music and an abundance of juicy berries.

It all seems kind of Woodstock-ish. But, I was a few years to young to have gone. I wish I'd been there, peace, love and music, tripping to the sounds coming from Pandora through Sonos speakers.

Hurdy Gurdy and Lola, staring at the ceiling fan, wondering where to take this disjointed flashback of writing. And honestly, no drugs are involved, only a few wine sips and enjoying cool, far-out music. I need my dark glasses, beret and all-black clothes.

I'm reverting to what I think I always was.

Peace my friends -

Missy

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