Beyond Sirius Sea

Are you a person who forgets a name the second after its stated? How about over-asking or a standard … “sweetheart, honey, darling”, etc.? Maybe a formal name will do (Sir) or perhaps a slang slur can slip for an individual (Oopsie, Tootsie). As for me, there’s to many nicknames to mention without complete and utter humiliation and way too many inflammatory names slung in my direction for my “delicate” preferences “these days” to reference.

This story softly strumming your summer way; plucked from so long ago, probably ancient history, for sure. About two emerald-eyed siblings left abandoned in the “old country” of Ireland. Noel and Shelly their names, and they embarked on a quest for reasons pertaining to extreme elements, a magical harp, bloody wars, hunger of epic proportions, and a mystical doorway only accessible during solstice.

Come along with me, you’ll see … and we’ll seize this day! Imagined voice, wicked slide guitar for this electro musical backdrop, sentiments, and badass stylings from the gorgeous and timeless, Titiyo, circa 2001. My first ghost story of 2024 for your enjoyment. Brought to you by a blazing campfire from an indigenous epic storyteller among “other things” at Lake Camanche in Northern California.

In today’s shuffling madness of the locomotive breath (or industry, industrials, or the indestructible), runs the all-time “loser” headlong to his death. Inspired, more ways than one; here, there, online everywhere … by skies of Wi-Fi, clouds of memories, and the lyrics of Jethro Tull’s ballad to trains, scary planes of existence, and God’s awesome process; also, endearingly a friend named Charlie, classic rocks, and karaoke.

“You have to believe we are magic” “Through every turn
I’ll be near you
I’ll come anytime you call
I’ll catch you when you fall
I’ll be guiding you”

So many lists, so little time. That’s the OCD talking. Over here things to do, and over there … more things to do or not do, online everywhere you look. See, I already have us confused and turned around. Let me do an about face and get to the heart of the matter. Do this, don’t do that, stay here, don’t go there and we’re back to the start. This is a story about play-on-words, hidden places, maybe “human” faces, traces of folklore, and extremely awesome destinations.

I was half-eaten and left on the curb by either a werewolf, hound from hell, or rumored “pet” neighbor pig. It was pitch-black darkness, still of the night, and once the attack happened a whirlwind of events transpired leaving my guts spilling out and shaken to my core.

The sun pushed through some idyllic looking, snow-white puffy clouds, on a vibrant, true-blue, Saturday, morning. Far less than a cruel summer’s weekend planned, and mom wanted us out of the house, “Pronto!” Presumably, to do the mountain of weekly laundry, that piled up at the bottom of the wickedly dark and creepy stairs.

We’re cut from the same cloth and both “true blues” when it comes to certain ideas, beliefs, notions, and venues with exceptional menus. Not to mention people, places, faces, and extreme escapists. (Phonetically it sounded good from over here anyways, or that way, on-line, everywhere and always) A warm breeze outside this Mother’s Day and a song in my heart makes for sunny and golden memories.