Jolly Christmastime

Happy Ho Ho and Merry Holiday and Jolly Christmastime to everyone. Celebrate wholly, replete w/ a plethora of joy, and may you all be blessed in the New Year. Doff the old resolutions and do something you've never done before. Something. You've never done. Before.

Peace & Mistletoe.

The Sound of Walls

Early 90's -- imagine a passionate young couple walking along a nondescript highway w/ a pair of battered guitar cases in tow. Imagine their conversations, after knowing each other's likes and dislikes for fourteen storied months. Imagine them stopping under a bridge because of the clear rain that caught them off guard. Imagine that we stop to help them because, as they sit close on a steel rail, they wear the look of harmless whimsy and are embedded in depths of funtastic love. Imagine that we talk openly and freely and w/ a commonality between us. Imagine that they even resemble us when I glimpse at them in the rearview mirror. Imagine that he's the talent and she's the spontaneity. Imagine that they stopped by for an unexpected visit last weekend. Imagine the years gone thru and the songs written, about each other and for each other. Imagine them serenading us. And imagine that I said, "Wow, I've always liked the Sound of Walls."

A New Song for Christmas

It's hard to write a new song for Christmas
it's all been said before
jingle bells and deck the halls
all that tinsel on the floor

It's hard to write a new song for Christmas
it's all been said before
Twelve days of giveaways
all that rushing to the store

All this fuss we have for the holiday
Isn't it easier to celebrate his birthday

It's hard to write a new song for Christmas
it's all been said before
stories once upon a time
all that myth and folklore

It's hard to write a new song for Christmas
it's all been said before
cards and letters written
all those wreaths on the door

It's hard to write a new song for Christmas
it's all been said before
egg nog and fruitcake
all that food and drink galore

All this fuss we have for the holiday
Isn't it better that we celebrate his birthday

-- The Sound of Walls 12.5.09

Aliens Decking the Balls

Dear Mulder...

I had the most bizarre dream, while lying next to the Cigarette Smoking Man, under our trompe l'oeil ceiling.

I was alone in the living room at Christmas, enjoying the generic staples of tradition -- a silver salver of Christmas tree hors d'oeuvres and a half-full flagon of spiked egg nog in the middle of a warm chestnut table. Suddenly I was hypnotized by the tree in all its vitriolic glory. It was bitter for having been made up to look ridiculous, in its garter belt tinsel and dangling balls. I noticed that the balls had an incipient appeal, not necessarily because they were rotating but something more sinister and uncanny. They were hanging serendipitously, but w/ a malicious avant garde shimmer. With hesitation I went to investigate, but not before stopping by the fire for the acicular fire poker. At closer inspection, I noticed there were sylphlike aliens in the jukebox globes, wearing Motorola headsets and sitting on chintz lounges. And they were holding, what I thought to be, hairdryers. But I stared in disbelief, through perplexed perlustration -- why would they need hairdryers? I looked again and discovered that they weren't really festooned w/ hairdryers at all but rather video cameras. They were filming me, as a potential abduction candidate. I became panicked and harangued flowing expletives to the empty room, while running for the phone.

I frantically dialed and said, "Mulder, it's me" while Pink Floyd sang, "is there anybody out there" on the turntable. But it was an answering machine that alluded to that fact that you were sent away and that I could leave my precis w/ your replacement. I didn't want to traduce your character unfairly; I had to chalk it up to a melody of bad timing. While on hold, and although I felt stymied, I ran to the back door, only to see the Mother Ship descending thru its brilliant eldritch spotlight. In short order I hung up nonplussed, hit #2 on the speed dial, and unloaded my diatribe to the Lone Gunman. But while listening to their sixth conspiracy theory, I passed out in a pile of wrapping paper and bows. A missing nine minutes went by and I awoke circumspect; I checked for signs of experimentation, for any out-of-the-ordinary superimposed defects to my person and checked my eyes for black oil. Nothing out of the terribly strange, but it's probably something that will catch my notice in nine months (i.e. like those pregnant women who don't realize their pregnant until it pops out). But I don't think they wanted me for R&D -- too bland and with this blonde cruel streak in my hair, they must've reconsidered their intent of dalliance.

I appreciate your patience, for listening to my capricious story, because I know you really Trust No One.
Sadie