Dream Fantasy: Twizzles & Bits!

Dearies,

were you to let your gaze fall into the confines of that humid, dark box I call my head you would surely find an endless loop of bounding, leaping, triple-axled, sweaty-bodied mania. That's right: I am still in love with the Winter Olympics! (note: this despite the semi-constant hovering of that elfin creature they call Bob Costas who pops up at the most inopportune times saying things like "let's cut away from ice dancing and go back to Whistler for the men's ski jump flip-o-rama". hey guess what Costas? some of us don't want you to cut away from mother-effing ice dancing! some of us are just now falling in love with mother-effing ice dancing!) Which brings me to my point: I love mother-effing ice dancing!!!!

Yes, you probably thought that with the appearance in my dreams a few nights ago of the shimmering tree-sprite that is Johnny Weir that it was all sewed up, and that I had found my calling (or at least the luring trills of a potential BFF) and that the Winter Olympics had soared to the highest roost possible but my god, after watching a few minutes of ice dancing, my jaw fell into my lap, my skin broke into goose-pimples and I heard myself making involuntary little chirping sounds as a microwaved burrito lay untouched on the paper plate below me. Which is to say: I was transfixed, transformed, transgendered and transported! (note: not literally on the third one). It was a glorious, body-quaking event, one that I felt resonate to the core of my being with such a strength and potency that I have not felt since Christmas time when I saw a double-feature of "Did You Hear About the Morgans" and then a few minutes later "Did You Hear About the Morgans".

Here's what happens: 1)Boy and Girl enter ice rink in fantabulous costumes, some with feathers and boas and straps. 2) Boy and Girl ice dance!!!! and then, hours later 3) Taffy McKittrick lays awake, still quaking with delight.

This morning I am not quick to anger. This morning I am happy to be steeping in the heady brew of incompetence that my day-job supervisor fosters like so many fertile eggs. This morning I am a-soar as I listen to my cube-mates discuss the banalities of their lives. For you see gentle reader, this morning is not like other mornings. This morning I have ice dancing.

Further Entanglements with She-Yeti: Tickles

Hello glorious buttery readership! here again we find ourselves at the outskirts of something ephemeral and quicksilvery, not unlike an herb glaze over a pot roast, and that is, no surprise: another of my blog posts! There are so many lovely things to begin to address but I don't know where to begin.

Let's begin here, with a sentence that will befoul and besmirch your sense of what's possible in this land: I am now friends with She-Yeti on facebook. That is mother-effing correct. I don't know how on earth she found me but she did. Now I will confess here to a slight internal adjument to my inner feelings, call them my micro-sensors, because the She-Yeti in reality (ie Facebook) is a different beast than in my fantasy (ie, dreams/fantasy).

Don't misinterpret me here, she is no less beautiful because she is most definitely still not like anything that I've seen. Ever. But her tone is very playful and aggressive, almost angry-agressive not quite the tender and gentle person (do I say person for a yeti?) that I mated with in my dreams. For a spell I considered that it might not even be her but one of her sisters, cousins, or friends (do all female yeti go by the handle She-Yeti? It can't be answered) but then I came to finally understand this: her public persona had to be coarser so that she could hide the very nature of what occured between us. When two people come together and don't want to announce it to the world they use trickery to pretend like they aren't madly in love. That is what she's doing.

Oh bliss!!! Can I tell you that I am soaring again? I am like the ostrich, flapping wings madly through puffy clouds, squawking and chirping at the fullest capacity of my wing-span, and if you held a translator chip up to my beak you would hear this: I am so mother-effing in love America! So in love am I!!!!

Announcement: Happy New Year!!!

My peeps!! Aloha and Greetings to you all. May I tell you that you are beautiful in several different ways? There is a certain shimmering glory in the item I'm about to say to you so you'll need to prepare yourself: ready? Then here it is: This is the end of a remarkable year, filled with creative leaps and bounds for me - much like the gazelle in the forest, nibbling leaves and detritus one moment, darting through so much brush the next - but also, you have to admit the lows. Yes, there were some lows for me. But the deal is I am saying so long to the lows and erasing and putting highs in their places, if you follow that.

As you're well aware I battle forms of depression, mostly in the form of being depressed because my songs and art are not yet celebrated on the globular level. This is something every artist - from Picasso to Dan Fogelberg and every guitar strumming mothereffer inbetween - must contend with. It will come in time I know this. Let the coming year bring me world-wide celebration and introduce my songs to hundreds of people who previously did not know of it!!

The second depressing thing that happened this year was me putting my trust in "Dr." Albert Tubman. Because of this I lost all my posessions and now have a County rap sheet. Thanks jerkwad! (note: sarcastic). Let the coming year erase the memory of this snake-oil merchant in the guise of an aspiring orthodontist!! Begone!!

The third and final dark and morose depressing thing is that I am still alone in this crazy mixed up world. I know there are girls and women - either really - out there that will find me a charming little fancypants and be eager to warm themselves in the glow of my presence and art but, and this is a big but, I have yet to meet them. Let the coming year have women throwing themselves at me!! All forms and varieties of love will be attracted to me!!!

happy new year to one and all, but especially to me!!!

Thursday: Put on your Punching Goggles!

Prepare to be punched ladies and gentlemens! A punch of the sort that hits your throat and windpipes so you can't do much but stagger backward into a store display of canned peas and corn, knocking it backward, cans a-twirlin' because you can't freaking believe it. Yes, that's the kind of punch that Thursday is delivering to me with a ruthless power. For some reason I have been travelling down well-traveled corridors of ancient memories and lost loves and women I slept with but who don't sleep with me (or near me) any longer. Why!? This is a question that I can't answer. I did my best to provide a sturdy structure of love to hang my jacket on so that bliss could erupt and flower, like so many erupting flowers in the dew. But, sigh, no, it was not to be. Can somebody explain to me - please - why certain people choose to love you and how certain people get as far away as they can from you? I am beginning to take it personally.

Oh, what a bother. I should probably just let this all go. I mean frankly it's been many a moon since anyone chose to lay their head near me (and no, my 3 nights in County jail are not in this equation) and I find myself wondering 'how come' and also 'why'?. I have many things to give and provide to the table. Where love is concerned I am a waiter with a silver platter and a towlette draped over my arm, bringing juice glasses flowing with palate cleansers and light sparkling wines to a bounty of women but they are all ignoring me, choosing instead to tear into their pork loins and potatoes with a carnivorous and animal-like oblivion. Hey Ladies! Don't forget who is here to serve you! Like you've never gotten served before!!!

Angel Breath, pt 2 (wherein the artist explains)

Okay so I will go ahead and admit that there is the teeniest sliver of unscrutability in my previous post. I get that. The hummingbird burrito probably threw you. (note to self: possible song title: hummingbird burrito) and you most likely require the artist to lay out all the specific strands that go into weaving this ornate sweater he is now wearing. I get that too. You're thinking I can't even see the sweater but let me promise something to you: there is a sweater.This is part of the artist being here and alive and right here in this moment.

You probably remember my post some weeks back, right? It was a post about my sometimes loud neighbor Ron Mealman (or "Fat Ron" as he prefers). We ran into one another inside a laundromat. It was a juncture wherein I for the first time loudly and unapologetically shrieked the triumphantness of my adopted nomenclature: Sunburst.
It is a very good post and you should reread it because it will provide you with so much understanding about the person I am trying so hard to be. Here is a link to that post. Now are you getting this thing people??

Angels Breathe on My Shoulders

Oh my friends! My delirious and fantabulous honey-soaked collection of bipedal organisms, what can I tell you? Where can I begin? What sort of endeavors will I endeavor to begin sharing with you? Which gift of mine will I employ to discuss the way things have been going? How many questions in a row will I ask?

Firstly, first things first: yes, I have been remiss in my upkeep in this blog that you love to read so much. Or let me amend: I have been remiss in terms of written updates. My sonic (meaning musical) upkeep has been at a respectable clip from hour one.

Secondly, I am humming and vibrating right now as I type this with the wondrement of hummingbird calls. Do you understand?? I wrapped a hummingbird inside a wheat tortilla and swallowed it down (metaphorical!)

Thirdly, angels keep breatheing on my shoulders. More to come.

Monday: Love Arrives Again Like a Whinnying Horse

Ah, my heart, how it doth ache and thump and pittery-pat-pat inside my skull! It is partially due the glorious sunburstin' weather which is what I really respond to in a huge way but also the receptionist, let's call her 'Nessa, who I have fallen for in a gargantuan and mammoth sort of way. She is my rainbow, my wet hug in the water. I've spent all weekend, head reeling, because of what happened on Friday, which was this: I entered the breakroom and she was standing at the microwave oven, heating up what I later learned was a Jimmy Dean Breakfast Bowl (note: freaking delicious!). I was just sitting there staring at her back and she wasn't yet acknowledging me. So I coughed and murmured, "How's the weekend looking? Cause mine's wide open". She turned and looked me up and down and said with a glowing smile "you're too light in your loafers for me". Can you believe it! She thinks that her darkness would bring me down!!? Unreal. At that moment I was smitten, like a flea-bit gutter cat who comes across a tin of tuna in the dumpster. Alive, my blog reading friends, alive!!

I let her eat a couple bites and then I left the room. I could not stop thinking about her this weekend! Oh sweet 'Nessa!!!!

Wednesday: A-Gurglin' & A-Whisperin'

Oh my sweet lovely blog-reading friends (however many hundreds of you there are): How today my heart does soar! It fills with fluid and then expands and then releases and then fills with fluid all over again! How lovely is the heart, especially when it is nudged along into growth, in this case because of a very pretty intern now sitting at the front desk. My god I am sweating and my hands are pounding as I type these lines. I'm looking right at her, well actually, I'm pretending to look behind her at the wall (at the framed "Teamwork!" poster showing three people scaling a mountain in subzero temperatures), like I'm deep in thought so if lets say she does look over at me she her eyes will fall upon someone deep in thought, a man with many gifts who happens to be pensive and contemplative. This is a very handsome person she will think! Oh man, she has a pretty sort of appearance and she is laughing on the phone. Cute little laugh. Oh, Sweet mother of pearl! Steve Coggins (Accounts) just walked by and made little eyebrows at me because he can propably tell that I am wickedly consumed by her already. He better not attempt to make a run at her too, particularly because he's married and has 4 kids, but you see my point. I am all a-twitter and a gushing! What do I do?? Do I just walk up to her? Maybe I'll borrow her stapler!!! Maybe after lunch I'll get up the gonads! Stay tuned!!

Hey guess what Wednesday?:I have depression!

Man o' Man. It comes a-whistlin' off the plain, curling and blowing and moving and flowing like so much thick cloud. A grey paste that you cannot use to stick papers together with or that you'd cook with. No, this is a paste you inadvertantly apply to your hole body, as if it were lotion or unguent. Once it hardens well then you just sit there and think, now what? If you haven't figured it out my blog-reading friends, I'm talking about love. Hard love. Rock Hard Love Sensations. They are rippling like the first step of that dinosaur in the water glass.

Last night I came home from the terrible horrible unfortunate putrescent day job. I had hoped to talk to my friend but, big surprise, she didn't respond to my phone calls, emails, texts, or sexts (again!) which send your's truly into a tailspin of tallboys, microwave burritos, and some kind of chef show marathon. I don't know what it was. I was lost, alone, afraid. I did a lot of wondering and muttering, in that order. How do artists manage these terrible things like love and confusion? It is a question with no answer but I won't stop asking it. Ever.

Baby, whut do u want????

baby, whut do u want?? from Taffy McKittrick on Vimeo.

Well, I found the gal. She called me on Saturday night and said not to freak out but that she was sick and maybe it wasn't swine flu after all but that I might want to take a step or two back from her. I got the sense she didn't mean because she was ill but rather because she believed that I was crowding her, in an emotional sense. Fine, I thought, just fine. At this point I asked her to tell me how she thought our date went down last Tuesday and she said something about how she wanted me to "be less of a lady and more of a caveman" which I have no idea what that means. Probably something about being rude and misoginous instead of polite and tender and delicate. In any case, I didn't know what the heck she was going on about. Baby, I said, what do you want????

A Tale of Two Fridays

Glum bum sadness bubbling up and around me like so much thick gooey lava. Last friday, as I'm certain you recall gentle blog reader, was a banner day. A time of fervor and all-out excitement. This was codified in my tune "It's Friday, Motherf*cker!" which was like me roaring from the rooftops all about how grand it was to arrive at a Friday. Today. Well not so much. Sigh.

As you know from my song "Swine Flu Blues" I had a date the other evening. A first date. A glorious first date. Or so I thought. Or rather it was on my end. So to speak. I've called. I've emailed. I've left texts and sexts and there is no apparent response from the beauty lady who I dined with Tuesday night. All that is left, I presume, is my sadness and the memory of what happened over that hot artichoke spread. Magic was created there. A powerful and virulent magic that has never been matched. Where are you and why won't you call me back??????

I know you feel it too. Please call me back baby. :(

Welcome to Wednesday: the Love Greet

Wow and big buttery wham-bam wow! What a day I had yesterday. It is still moving and cursing through my veins, reminding me that I am right here breathing in the ether and how good does that feel! First things first: I stayed home sick from work yesterday and watched The Legend of Benjamin Burton (the brad pitt movie) which I am still bamboozled and reeling from in awe-faced stupefaction. So amazing that I am going to start crying if I think about it. A sweet natured black lady takes care of brad pitt when he is old and then he falls in love with Cate Hudson when he gets younger. There's more to it than that but that is the general thrusts. It's all about living and dying and breathing and how it means that you become an artist through the magic of life. You never know what's around a corner. Sometimes it's a nice black lady and sometimes it is you dying. Man, I'm not doing it justice because it's deeper than that though. Whatever, just go see it!!

The other big thing was that I had a blind date last night!! I met her online through the internet. We hit it off a lot in ways that I won't go into because I respect her privacy but she just came back from Tijuana and had a little bit of a cold. I know, I know, I probably shouldn't kiss ladies who visit mexico when swine flu is bubbling around this planet but I wanted to kiss her bad. This could be the start of something liquid and lovely. And yes, there is a song coming about her. Keep your ears pealed!!!

Monday: New Tickles of Beginings

Hello and good afternoon. I am preparing to have your mind blown: I have joined Facebook!! I know, I know. Before you get on my case for having "a blog" and joining Twitter you should understand that bringing myself out of my dark hole and up and into the light is not the easiest of tasks. I want to share so many things with you. Beautiful things. Sometimes disturbing things. In some cases things you would probably prefer to not know about me, or anyone for that matter. But that said, this is all a way and means to an end if you follow that.

I had a shiny, and glorious weekend of beers, microwave burritos, songwriting etc. I am still marvelously ensconced in my tortilla of bachelorhood (if you will!) but I am beginning to sense that spring will create and provide a young woman to enter said tortilla and join me. All things for a reason, right? Think about it.

status check: alive and living

I recognize the inherent oddity in announcing this to you and myself but here goes: Taffy has been MIA for a few days. I entered a type of mind-swirl, bogged down by despair and good weather, which caused me to stray from the computer. Some things in life cannot be enjoyed with a computer and that's a fact. Things convene in one place and then present you with nuggets of contradiction. Think about that for a second.

Alright, I'm stalling. Out with it Taffy: I went for a walk down by the river the other day. It was glorious and happy with sunshine and goodwill but the path was strewn with diet sprite cans and beef jerky wrappers. Who could be in this world, this fine and sunburst world, and litter? It's unanswerable I know but it's a question that I refuse to stop provoking. Ah, I'm stalling again. Here it is: I am alone. I walked on this path and I am alone. I have so much love to give the ladies of this town but none of them, apparently, are interested. This is like an icepick to the face, or say being trampled by feral barn-rats. Which is to say, it hurts. A man with so much love and creativity to give with no receptacle is an aching gentleman. All I want is for a lovely creature to sit with me under a sprawling oak or a knotty pine on the sunniest of days, listening as I strum the guitar for her, as she feeds me fresh strawberries from the basket we've just picked. I want to be stroked and held and told that I am fantastic, like no other person or thing out there. That's it. Is that so much to ask?

This is all by way of saying that I have been marinating in these juices for the last several days. That is where I have been. Part of me knows this is crazy, all artists ache for a noble companion to shepherd. And another part of me just aches.
Sigh.