Musings Central

It's time to start the weekend.  I decided why not kick it off right?

I wanted to share some songs that to me feel dirty.

I hope you feel a little dirty too after listening.

Happy Weekend!

As I sit here and try to think of something witty to say

I find that words keep tumbling around and getting in the way. 

You see, my brain it's always over thinking, over analyzing over extending.

Using up all resources, waiting for a blinking cursor that's never ending.

Waiting for a hard reset 

~raven

Tonight as I lay here in bed chasing a sleep that seems to be unattainable I think of hot nights so long ago. Nights where the humidity and heat seem to cling long after the sun has gone down. No escaping as It fills your lungs.  Every fiber of your being is intertwined with an oppressing weight from the heaviness of it. Instead of feeling light you feel cemented into place. Your body craving even the tiniest bit of air moving across it.  A stir. A cool whisper. A caress.  

Tonight, I need more than a caress so I can sleep. Tonight I need it rough. I need to feel a chill in,the air that gives me shivers to chase off the swagger of the heat so I can dream. 

~raven

The last few days I've been committed to organizing and getting things accomplished off of my to do list and pushing myself to deal with some things I need to process.  As this has been very tedious and exhausting but also rewarding I needed a mental break for a bit and grabbed one of my William Shakespeare collections and flipped open to Sonnet 57.  

Sonnet 57: Being your slave, what should I do but tend 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Being your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,

Nor services to do, till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you.

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu;

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought,

Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will

Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.