Tag Archive | Whitney Houston

White Picket Dreams or TAMC Part 2a

I’m sitting here looking at this old canvas
And the picture looks so different from you
Yes it does, yes it does
Maybe it’s time to go back to the drawing board
Cause it’s likely that the man I drew is fictional

Here’s the thing . . . I haven’t listened to this album in a while.  I can’t tell you why, I just haven’t.  But thanks to my Spotify Discover Weekly, this song popped up, and Solange changed my life again.  Cuz I’ve been painting over the same canvas for years.  That image of the perfect family, the perfect life, the perfect relationship.  I continue to try to make people (men and women) I meet fit on one of the canvases I created in college, that was supposed to represent what my life should be.  Even while knowing the canvas is bullshit.  Because it is.

For five long years
I thought you were my man
But I found out
I’m just a link in your chain

It took me 10 years to get over my first love (TBTLINY). Through mostly no fault of his own, I was just holding on to the hope that we could make it work.  Because the connection was so deep, and the love was so strong. It just HAD to work. But in real life, he was just meant to be my friend (I think). {I might still be holding out hope that he will come to his senses, so sue me.  You don’t know my life.} But he’s been the prototype, for everyone that has come afterward.  They have to make me feel like I did when I first heard his voice, I have to want to be with them like I wanted to be with TBTLINY. The connection had to be that strong. Repainting on the same canvas.

If I could… could forget him, I would… please believe me
And I know that I should throw the towel in
But baby it’s not… not that easy
You treat me so much better than him, And if I was sane there’d be no competition

But… but I’m in love with someone else (ooh)
And I’m so sorry hey hey
I’m in love with another man
And I know it ain’t right

Instead of trying to heal, you tried to move on.  Even though you weren’t ready.  You might have even found a good guy/girl.  But you were still staring at that old canvas.  Longing for the life you had created in your head and your heart.  It’s so hard to let go of the image, once it’s been solidified in your mind.  That painting is stuck to the walls, and it’s not coming down until it wants to.

I used to cry myself to sleep at night
But that was all before he came
I thought love had to hurt to turn out right
But now he’s here
It’s not the same, it’s not the same

So then you meet this new person, and they can do all the things.  They make you smile all day, and you feel all the feelings, and they fit the mold.  Finally, you can take that portrait off the wall, and start making a new one.  But instead of starting over, you use the outline of the last painting to create this one.At first, it works perfectly.  Slowly but surely, it’s the little things that don’t quite fit.  The painting starts to go outside the lines. They don’t quite seem so perfect, you start to see the flaws, the colors start changing, lines get blurred.  Once again, the picture in your head was wrong.

Some of you know what it feels like
Caught up just in his life
Don’t wanna try again, thinking what’s the difference?
Why am I not interested?
Cause when you’ve been broken, you feel like no one can fix it

I’ve decided to stop painting.  I just . . . Quit. And I’m okay with that. Clearly, me trying to control every bit of this isn’t working. So I’m done now.  I just needed to say that.  Cuz yeah.  That’s the conclusion I reached yesterday. Just stop trying, cuz Adulting is hard enough without trying to be a master painter.

My need to control every little part of my life is driving me crazy.  I can say that now, probably because when this blog is published, not that many people will read it.  I wrote this a few months ago, but then I didn’t publish it.  At the time, it was because I couldn’t get the Spotify links to work right . . . But you know, everything in time.  So I’ll post it now, and let this be another part of Confession #2.

 

 

 

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The Moment My Musical Childhood Died . . .

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Michael Jackson was the voice of my youth.  I distinctly remember how each of his songs made me feel the first time I heard them.  I remember going to see him in concert. { More on that experience in My MJ is Gone Blog} When he died . . . I was completely inconsolable for DAYS. Like, I sat on the couch, and just stared at the TV and the Computer screen.

Whitney Houston was the voice of my adolescence.   I sang The  Bodyguard in the car listening to my DiscMan.  The Preacher’s Wife Soundtrack is STILL my favorite Gospel Album. I stood outside my house, and cried while talking to my best friend.   When Whitney died, so did the last vestigaes of my childhood.

Prince was the Voice of my Womanhood.  When I was 23, I saw him in concert, when he did the Musicology Tour.  I remember being at awe of him, on stage, with just 4 guitars, a piano, and his amazing band.  I knew I was seeing a genius at work. 

The first time I heard Purple Rain as an adult, was the day my soulmate broke my heart.  The words struck me in a way they never had before.  I’d seen the movie all my life, loved it and the soundtrack.  But something about him singing about the failure of that relationship, when all he had was the best of intentions . . . It tore my soul. I curled up in a ball, in my walk-in closet of my first apartment in Tucson, and cried for HOURS. I listened to Purple Rain, the song, not the album, until my phone died . . . About 5 hours. 

Music has always defined how I felt about life.  It’s always been the background to major  life events and crisis’. April 21, 2016 . . . The day all my music was finally dead.  I feel like I’ve lost a part of me, that still hadn’t healed from losing MJ and Whitney. I might never be able to listen to Purple Rain again without crying . Just like I can’t listen to Man in the Mirror anymore, or The Greatest Love of All.

Today, when I’ve heard people talk or read about this loss, those three people are held in the same stature.  “This is worse than when MJ Died,” or “This is just like when I found out about Whitney.” Or “He’s the last on the list of my childhood musical heros.” I feel like we are a generation lost at this point. I was 2 years old when Purple Rain come out, yet its in my top Five movies that define the 80’s for me.

My musical heart is broken.  And there is nothing, and no one who can fix it. Ever.