Mad World (American Pie, Part One)


Got on my dead man’s suit and my smilin’ skull ring
My lucky graveyard boots and a song to sing
I got a song to sing, it keeps me out of the cold
And I’ll meet you further on up the road.

~ “Further On (Up the Road)” performed by Johnny Cash


Mad World (American Pie, Part One)

by Christy Anna Beguins

Blood-stained sidewalks lead in one direction when the world is at war with itself. The way is dark and the night is cold, all towns bleed together. My dog Marley and I keep movin’ on, further down the road. We’ve got songs to sing; they keep us out of the cold and help keep us grounded. We’ve been making pretty good time. It helps that we stay to ourselves. Marley is as cautious as I am about steering clear of others—dead and alive. We’re good at staying in the shadows.

Marley and I have had a few close calls, but thankfully, we’ve not been in any grave danger. Yet. The zombies haven’t noticed us; they all seem self-absorbed. Or lost. Some of them even seem sad.

A few nights ago, Marley and I slept in the back office of an old Kohl’s department store. The office still had working security cameras—they must have been tied to an internal back-up power system, though we never could find it. In one security screen, a female zombie stood outside of the dressing rooms. She was wearing a short black skirt and a long black jacket. She must have been beautiful in her past life. Now her blonde hair was stringy and caked with dark blood; much of it had fallen out. We watched her watching herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She spun in circles and watched her reflection pass each of the multiple mirrors, like some dead Narcissus gazing into the water’s glassy surface. Some of the dead are less dead than others.

She kept smoothing her long hair, and when a clump would fall out, she’d look stricken, distraught, and continue spinning and smoothing, spinning and smoothing, spinning and smoothing. Perhaps that’s what hell is, being trapped in a speechless decaying shell with all of our emotions and insecurities still intact.

Metamorphosis of Narcissus 1937 Salvador Dal? 1904-1989 Purchased 1979

Metamorphosis of Narcissus, 1937. Salvador Dalí.



Most of our days, like the haunted towns and the bloody sidewalks, run together. We use our imagination to keep on keepin’ on, trying to make the best of our bad situation. Thoughts of Dave keep me going. I wonder what he’s doing, imagine where he is.

Lately it seems like everyone is changing, like there’s no one left that’s real. I feel darkness beckon and pull on my ankles. I’ve struggled with depression, disassociation, for most of my life. But Dave changed all that, he took it all away. He was, he is, my lighthouse, my shelter from the storm. I could always tether myself to him; I was never worried about becoming unhinged because I knew he would be the last face I saw at night and always the first face I saw in the morning.

I remember waiting for Dave to meet me for lunch at my favorite Mexican café in Roswell. We had just started dating, and this was his first time coming to the café. Dave was running late, but I wasn’t worried; Atlanta traffic is notorious. The owner, Rosa, a second mother to me, was hovering around, trying to act busy. Her forehead glistened with sweat from nervous excitement about meeting Dave for the first time. “You sure he’s coming, mija? It’s been more than an hour. You want to call him? How about some queso while you wait? You need to eat, flaca, you’re skin and bones. I’ll go fix you something.”

“No, no, no, gracias, tía, he’ll be here, I’m not worried. How about a Diet Coke, por favor?”

“Diet Coke?” Rosa scoffed. “That stuff will kill you.”

I laughed and returned to my book, Hamlet by Shakespeare. I was so engrossed in the story, I didn’t see Dave walk in or sneak up behind me, but I would know his voice anywhere. In my ear he whispered:

“Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.

“Sorry I’m late, Sam. Food delivery truck broke down so we had to wait for the back-up driver. Did you think I wasn’t coming?”

“I never doubted you for a second, my noble Prince of Georgia,” I smiled and turned my head to kiss him, “but I’m not so sure about her.”

Dave looked up to a stern, disapproving Rosa, looming over our table, “Lo siento, lo siento. I’m so sorry I’m late,” Dave said, trying to placate Rosa.

“You should be sorry. Leaving such a pretty young lady by herself. Men these days…” Rosa muttered, along with a few other choice words.

It didn’t take long for Dave to get in Rosa’s good graces though. Nobody stays mad at him for long, especially not women. By the time we’d finished lunch, Rosa had shared her secret tamales recipe with Dave and had shown him pictures of all 22 of her kids and grandchildren. She’d even invited him back into her kitchen to cook with her—an act previously unheard of in the thirty plus years she’d been open.

That was the day I fell into a love from which I’ve never recovered. The day I tethered myself to Dave. The day I got my heart set, my feet wet. And he didn’t even know it yet. Oh he knew later, there was a night in the rain…but I’ll let Dave tell you that story someday. Rosa knew though, and it was our little secret.

No matter what I have to do, no matter how far I have to go, I will reach our destination. I will find Dave. Ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low, that can keep me from getting to him. So I feel the dark hands grabbing on to my ankles, but I keep kicking them off and I keep movin’ on.

I go out walkin’ after midnight, out in the moonlight, just like we used to do, I’m always walkin’ after midnight, searchin’ for you…” I sing, not very well, but Marley smiles approvingly. He’s got a thing for Patsy Cline. Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight, Sam Cooke, Patsy, and of course Bob Marley, all get his tail waggin’. He’s not so sure about Willie Nelson though. Marley loves “Yesterday’s Wine,” but he growled when I sang “On the Road Again.” I don’t blame him, it’s not my favorite either; I’d never put it on a playlist. Bob the Dog had diverse taste in music too; I’m really glad some things stay the same.


It’s just another day as Marley and I make our way to Dave and the lighthouse. We turn quickly into an alley when we see a small group of humans approaching. We watch from the shadows as they walk by: there’s a scruffy man wearing a Sheriff’s hat, a striking woman with a sword, and a very delicious looking man with a crossbow. In a different world, maybe I’d be that badass woman with the sword. And maybe Dave would be the hot man with the crossbow. There’s always fantasies, right? I smile and lose myself in thought . . . I picture Dave watching me with hungry eyes while he pulls out his rigid crossbow. I wait on a bed of black satin sheets dressed in a leather bustier ala Xena the Warrior Princess, my own hunger grows … “What? Ow! That hurts, Marley!” I yelp after Marley nipped my hand, and then I see what Marley was warning me about, zombies. “Oh crap.”

At quick count, there are about ten of them, maybe twelve. There are three adults, but I go numb when I realize most of them are just kids. They’re all wearing costumes, one girl—dressed as a princess in an ice blue dress—is even clinging to a plastic pumpkin overflowing with candy. The smallest is a boy. He is dressed all in black and has on a black cape and a black mask. He looks about five. I feel something break inside of me. I want to scream and curse at the gods. This is so unfair, so cruel! Such a very very mad world. I’d cry if I had any tears left. “Where did they come from, Marley?” We must have been in such a hurry to hide from the living that we walked right into Trick or Treat Alley.

Marley and I spot a dumpster a few feet away, so we creep over to it and hide. We look around for an escape route, but it’s a dead-end, there’s no way out. Well, there’s a fence behind the dumpster, but it’s locked and it’s too high to climb over. I wouldn’t leave Marley anyway. I consider wrapping him around my shoulders like a cloak and trying to climb the fence, but it’s too late. The zombies are closing in, shuffling our way in a sweep formation. I don’t think it’s candy they want. And even though the thought makes me want to throw-up, I’m down to just one thing, and I’m starting to scare myself.

“Marley, listen to me. We have to get past them. We have to get to Dave. If we stay here we die.”

How I wish I had that sword, that crossbow. I’d even be happy with a stick to protect myself. I don’t relish the thought of hurting a child, but they’re not children, not anymore. I have to remember that. I’ve been trying my best to live a skillful life of non-harming–“What would Pema do?”–but I don’t see any other way here. I guess I’ll have to repair my Karma in my next life. Maybe Dave, Marley and I can all come back together.

Just survive somehow, Sam, I hear Dave’s voice echo in my ears. It brings me back to reality, and I am reminded of the only thing that matters. Reaching Dave.

“Okay, Marley, let’s both head toward the little one in black. He’s smallest, I mean, it’s smallest. It shouldn’t be that hard to get around or…you know,” I say, choking back a sob. “Let’s go.”

I start to get up, but Marley stands over me and uses his snout to push me back to the ground.

“Stop messing around, Marley, we’re wasting time. I don’t want to do it either, but I don’t want to die. At least this way we have a chance.”

I try again to stand up but Marley won’t budge. Just as stubborn as Bob was. Yep, some things never change.

“Mar…” I start to say, but he lifts the corner of his jowl and quietly growls at me. His amber eyes go pitch black and in that moment I fear he’s been turned. I fully expect him to attack me, and I’m stunned into paralysis. How can I hurt Marley? He’s my dog, my friend. But how can I not protect myself?

I’m about to throw Marley off of me and sprint for my life, when he must smell my fear. He lowers his head to mine and licks me on the cheek. Marley growls lowly again, but this time I realize it’s not a growl, he is saying, “Shhhhhh.” His black eyes gaze deeply into mine. They flicker again with amber light; they implore me to trust him. So I take a deep breath, and I do.

I hide my head in Marley’s furry neck and drink in his cinnamon scent. He leans into me, drapes himself over me like a security blanket. I feel like Marley is holding me in his arms, and I feel safe. Protected. The way I felt with Dave.

I close my eyes and think back to the time Dave and I went to the beach after my mother died. We scattered her ashes at sunset from the top of the lighthouse while the sky was quite a lovely fire. And then we sat on the wet sand of the shore and took turns drinking out of a big bottle of wine, sharing memories and listening to sad songs on Spotify under the glow of a blood red moon (“My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore. . .”). I spent all of that night crying in Dave’s arms. I told him I felt weak for crying, that I hated feeling sad. I just wanted it all to go away, I just wanted my mother, I just wanted … something I could never have. “I don’t want to feel anymore, Dave, I’m so tired of all this sadness.”

Dave wrapped his arms tighter around me and said, “You have to feel it, Sam, the only way out is through. You can’t sleep-walk through your life. Dolor hic tibi proderit olim, someday this pain will be useful to you.” He pulled me closer and sang, “Don’t let your eyes refuse to see; Don’t let your ears refuse to hear; Or you ain’t never going to shake this sense of sadness; I could hold you in my arms, I could hold on forever…”

I lift my head up from Marley’s neck and open my eyes.

The princess zombie is right in front of us. And she is looking directly at me. Her eyes are vacant, there’s no fire, no expression. No expression, she’s just staring coldly.

My body goes rigid against Marley.

Marley stares into my eyes, and it feels like he’s shooting feelings of calm and peace right into my veins. The amber candles in his eyes flicker, mesmerize me. Don’t worry about a thing, every little thing gonna be alright.

I take a deep breath and look again to the young girl. She was someone’s child. In another world, she could have been my daughter. I just want to hold her in my arms, I just want to protect her from the world, I just want … something I can never have. I stare deep into her crystal blue eyes, the way Marley stared into mine. “Look right through me. Look right through me,” I whisper softly to her. And then, as quickly as she appeared, the young zombie princess turns and shuffles away in the other direction, still clutching her bucket of candy. Something tells me she will never let it go.

I can’t believe it. “What the hell just happened here, Marley? Did you know that would happen? HOW did you know that would happen?” I hear myself growing frantic, “Why didn’t she eat us, Marley? Why didn’t the others smell us? Why did they leave us alone? What in the world just happened, Marley? We should be dead! Why are we not dead now? Why?!”

If Marley knew, he wasn’t talking.

“C’mon Marley, please. I need some happy news.”

But he just smiled and turned away.

Frustrated, but relieved, I pull myself up to follow Marley since he seems to know where he’s going better than I do. I have a hard time walking though, my legs feel like Jell-O. My blood sugar must be non-existent. I know I should eat something but there’s no way I can hope to hold anything down.

We round the alley corner, and I start to tell Marley that I need a break, but I notice he’s already standing at the door of a store front. It looks like an abandoned music store. The name on the door reads American Pie.

There’s a small sign in the window. “Closed: The music wouldn’t play.”

We shimmy the door open and cautiously step in. I go quickly through my checklist and find all the exits. I find it kind of funny how the grocery stores, pharmacies and liquor stores have all been looted, but this music store looks untouched for years. I find it kind of sad too, and I shake my head and mourn the day the music died. Some say that was the day Buddy Holly died; I say it was the day Tower Records closed. Or maybe it was the day iTunes launched. Maybe it was when Dick Clark died. Or John Lennon. Or Bob Marley. Or Jimi or Janis or Jim or Jerry or Amy or Michael or Luther or Elvis or Kurt. Or maybe it was Altamont. Maybe it was Paris. Music has died so many times, but thank god it still lives in our hearts and memories. Somehow it always finds a way to come back.

The record store is decked out with concert photos all over the walls. I wander around looking at them, and spot a sign wedged between shots of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. It’s a piece of graffiti art: Jerry Garcia strumming a daisy guitar beside a quote, “Do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your mortal soul?”

I hope so. God I hope so.

Do you believe? Art via Kris Kupskay at

Do You Believe? Via Kris Kupskay at


In the back of the store I find listening booths with stuffed chairs and dusty turntables, but signs on each door say, “Booth closed. Go sample on iTunes.”  I shake my head and call Marley over when I find an office we can nap in.

The back office is small, but there’s a desk and a swivel chair, and a faded green paisley loveseat in the corner. Most importantly, there’s an emergency exit.

On the desk I spot a black and white wedding photo in a silver frame. In it a young couple smiles, obviously in love. He is a young soldier in dress uniform (World War II, I wonder? Korea?), she a beaming bride in white on his arm. He looks just like Buddy Holly with curly dark brown hair and black horn-rimmed glasses; she reminds me of Mary Tyler Moore, her long dark hair falling beautifully to her shoulders in a classic flip. The edges of the photo are just starting to fade.

Instinctively, I reach for my locket and look once again at the photo of me and Dave on the beach. It’s probably just my imagination, but it looks like my photo is starting to fade too. I can barely make out Dave’s face. Everything is blurry. I sigh, close the locket and slip it back under my shirt.

There’s an old portable record player sitting on the desk across from the wedding photo. I don’t see a cord, so it must be battery-powered. There’s already an album on it, so I take a chance and turn it on, setting the needle to a random spot on the mystery vinyl. I am surprised when it starts spinning in circles, and soon Jim Morrison’s ghostly voice fills the room:

The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again 

And then nothing.

The batteries died.

The music wouldn’t play.

So with Marley sitting beside my feet, I recline on the faded loveseat and continue to softly sing the rest of the song:

Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You’d rather cry, I’d rather fly …

Before I can finish, I slip into unconsciousness.


To be continued at the new home for Sam & Dave’s stories. Come visit us there!

The Lovely



All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere

Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head, I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

“Mad World” performed by Gary Jules



Spotify Playlist:



YouTube Playlist:


Again, Sam and Dave’s series can now be found at its new home:

The Lovely




  1. I told you about the Kohl’s girl already, but it bears repeating. The image will always, always be with me when I think on zombies. It is absolutely riveting and it completely immerses the reader into this apocalyptic world. Saying it’s a tremendous passage doesn’t say nearly enough.

    As for Rosa, I get it. Yes! You are so good, mija. That was just the most romantic passage, with Sam and her book, talking to Rosa and waiting on the man of her life. And then when the three of them get together . . Rosa should be a character going forward. I think so, anyway. Inside of a paragraph, she made herself right at home in the world of Sam and Dave. I love the Shakespeare and the motherly concern and calling her flaca, how it brings me back to a time in my own life when my grandmother would have a thing or several to say about the women in my life. That was just beautiful stuff there.

    The last part is what is going to gnaw at me (like a zombie) until you continue . . . you are bad. And I love it.

    God, C. Just that.

    PS- Just a feeling, but the entry I’m gonna post in between this one and your next one? I think it’s gonna be like PB and J.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I had to channel my inner-Ophelia/Shania for that Rosa passage. Sam knew all along that Dave was the one, only was waiting to let Dave know. Dave probably felt the same way. But they had to play it half-way cool. You helped inspire the Hamlet passage, but like I said in email, what weird coincidence about the Spanish phrases. We walk in both worlds apparently. Isn’t Rosa fabulous? She definitely deserves a story; I found myself very curious about her family, about how she knows Sam and Sam’s madre Carol, about where Rosa is now-is she safe and sound? And funny, I was purposefully vague about her physical characteristics, with the hope that the reader would see her as a person from their own lives, or maybe even with the hope someone would pick up her torch and tell her story. I grew up in So Cal, so I’ve been lucky to know many such Rosas in my life.

      Kohl’s girl…sigh. She breaks my heart, because in a way, what is happening to her would have happened had she turned or not. You know that type of girl. She’s beautiful, has the world in her hand, is full of pride and promise, and uses her looks to measure her self-worth and success. But looks change, I’d say they “fade” like photographs, but that’s not quite right. We evolve and become something else–and what we become all ties back to how we lived–physically and mentally and spiritually. It’s kind of like the wicked witch in Snow White…who’s the fairest of us all? Well Kohl’s girl ain’t so fair now, but she never got to age gracefully or come to terms with the passage of time on her body or with the sorrows of her changing face which wasn’t exactly fair to her either.

      Sooo much going on that last scene. The fading wedding photo (who’s in that photo anyway?). The music dying. Jim Morrison’s haunting Crystal Ship…. Where is Sam’s ship bound? I guess we’ll see.

      Can’t wait to see what you have up your sleeves, mi cariño.

      TAG! You’re it!

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I was out all day after commenting this morning. I tried my phone a few times over the course of the day but reception was either really crappy or non-existent. It seems my phone is already in zombie apocalypse mode . . .

        Christy, I emailed you with my ‘progress’ on Dave’s entry. Nothing written . . all in ‘me noggin. Of course, Sam’s entry changes everything. Again. I feel as if I’m playing a game of tennis with the number one player in the world, and I’m just running around like a crazy person trying to keep my feet under me. Truthfully, I have absolutely zero idea as to how I fill the gaps of my skeletal entry. This is where all that bleeding through the subconscious I was talking about? Happens. Because I’ll read your post a few more times and that will hit on something, and then it’ll hit on something else. And then, and then . .

        Your posts are like vintage quilts, where the more you study it, the more you find.

        To music that saves our mortal souls, juicy sunflowers and most of all, to love.


        Liked by 2 people

        1. Many moons ago, you told me my comments could be stand-alone posts. … The feeling is mutual.
          Soul-saving music, delicious sunflowers, and love that is both soul-saving and delicious. And friends that spark all three into the loveliest of lovely fires.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. I remember saying that, yes! And it’s true….

            I wrote up some of Dave’s entry last night. I was feeling very unsettled, and it helped some. The end of the post is done, now to tackle the beginning and middle.

            Liked by 1 person

          2. It’s interesting how sometimes pouring our internal into a tangible external can help us feel better. Sometimes though tapping into that unsettled feeling and stirring it up can leave you feeling even worse. But…sometimes that’s what makes a story authentic. So, I guess my point is that I don’t have any clue what my point is, only that I feel you. LOL.

            Having a destination in mind helps as you write yourself there…other times you end up traveling in a totally different direction. Either way, I know Dave’s story is going to be spine-tingling. Happy writing! And good luck to your little fishies tonight. 🙂

            Liked by 1 person

  2. what a treat in my inbox this morning….

    “Perhaps that’s what hell is, being trapped in a speechless decaying shell with all of our emotions and insecurities still intact……”
    what a line!

    i love this so much….Pema mentions and the idea of being uniquely qualified, yes..
    even in the darkest times.

    i guess this means cayman is next…..anticipation!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. I can’t wait to see what Cayman has planned. He’s hinted at it to me, and if it’s the idea he’s playing with, it should knock your little yoga socks off.

      It’s funny you highlight that one line about hell, and being trapped with all feeling intact. It can fit so many personal scenarios, but for me I thought about my drinking past and how I was trapped in it with all of my emotions not only intact but like super-charged x a zillion.

      Pema Chodron’s books The Wisdom of No Escape and the Path of Loving-Kindness and, especially, The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times started it all for Sam. As they did for me, too. A very very special person gave them to me years ago when I was less “Sam” and more “Kohl’s Zombie Girl.”


      Liked by 2 people

    2. Just wanted to add on for anyone interested in learning more about Pema Chodron…
      I’d check out her book The Places that Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times. From the description on Amazon:

      We always have a choice, Pema Chödrön teaches: We can let the circumstances of our lives harden us and make us increasingly resentful and afraid, or we can let them soften us and make us kinder. Here Pema provides the tools to deal with the problems and difficulties that life throws our way. This wisdom is always available to us, she teaches, but we usually block it with habitual patterns rooted in fear. Beyond that fear lies a state of openheartedness and tenderness. This book teaches us how to awaken our basic goodness and connect with others, to accept ourselves and others complete with faults and imperfections, and to stay in the present moment by seeing through the strategies of ego that cause us to resist life as it is.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. “When Things Fall Apart” introduced me to Pema….handed to me, well, when things fell apart.But Places that scare you is wonderful, they all are., and i love the reminder that we always have a choice.
        PPS on this…Pema is big on and beautifully teaches Tonglen meditation, meditation of compassion. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

        Liked by 2 people

  3. Just wow! You’ve gotten all my feedback already. Hugs, dulce.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks sweetie! Te quiero mucho …. even more than quesadillas and margaritas at Mexicali Grille 😉


  4. Welp, I took your ‘challenge’ as per Twitter. 20? Man, my musical radar is on the fritz because I only grabbed 13.

    Puddle of Mudd
    Diana Ross
    Don McLean (of course)
    Johnny Cash
    Gladys Knight?
    Shania Twain
    Patsy Cline
    Willie Nelson
    Paul McCartney
    Nine Inch Nails
    Ray Lamontagne
    Bob Marley
    Jim Morrison

    And hey, here’s a sultry take on Sway.


    1. Not bad…not bad at all. In fact, you may have caught some that I missed or didn’t intentionally plan. 😉 Let’s see….

      Puddle of Mudd
      Yep, several references to “Blurry”

      Diana Ross
      Not to my knowledge. OH. I bet you’re thinking of Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.” Could have been Diana, but Sam expressly lists some artists that get Marley’s tail wagging.

      Don McLean (of course)
      Of course. And there will be more. Many more.

      Johnny Cash
      Yep. Further on up the road, originally by The Boss, but Cash’s dark and raspy voice was perfect. Also, a little kid in kid black… it’s a stretch, b/c of course, Bat-Man, but had he had a chance to grow up…

      Gladys Knight?
      Yes sir. Atta way to use your imagination.

      Shania Twain
      Yes, but no one needs to know right now.

      Patsy Cline
      Easy pea-sy. There’s also a very loose call to “Faded Love.”

      Willie Nelson
      Miracles appear, In the strangest of places, Fancy meeting you here.
      And one of Sam’s favorite things? Partaking in yesterday’s wine, metaphorically speaking.

      Paul McCartney
      Not intentionally. What’d you catch that I didn’t?

      Nine Inch Nails
      Many many many times. That song, so haunting. Still. 😉

      (“Still” happens to be the album title of the version I used.)

      Ray Lamontagne
      Yes. And have you actually LISTENED to the lyrics, aside from what I used? OMG, they’re perfect for the series.
      When you came to me with your bad dreams and your fears
      It was easy to see that you’d been crying
      Seems like everywhere you turn catastrophe it reigns
      But who really profits from the dying …

      So now we see how it is
      This fist begets the spear
      Weapons of war
      Symptoms of madness
      Don’t let your eyes refuse to see …

      Bob Marley
      did a little birdie help you on that one? or three?

      Jim Morrison
      Yes indeed. The unwritten lyrics… “Before you slip into unconsciousness, I’d like to have another kiss, Another flashing chance at bliss”

      There were a few more, but you got most. Here’s a hint:
      the silver photograph on the desk… who do the people look like in the photo?
      “ooh eee ooh i look just like…
      ooh oh ooh and you’re…”
      Great lyrics and surprisingly fitting for the series too.
      “What did we ever do to these guys
      That made them so violent?”
      Click if you’re curious.

      Good job, Soul Man!


    2. And one for you. Notice the actress dancing?

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Ahaha! Love it! SO Sam….so Sam.

    DId I mention I love Ray Lamontagne?


    It would seem that I am speaking in riddles, but you know what I’m saying at least. Right?

    Please say right. lol

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You’re speaking my language babe. Rambly with lots o lyrics.
      Si te entiendo. Perfectly!

      Liked by 1 person

  6. How awesome to read your post (you got all of my comments on Saturday) and then to come back and read the comments while listening to your play list.
    You are truly a mad genius.
    I’ve been thinking about Rosa all weekend, and the Kohl’s girl still breaks my heart.
    Can’t wait to see what Cayman comes up with next.
    And, when will Jennie come back to play? Seems like Rosa is calling to her.
    Wicked wonderful! xoxoxo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I loved your play-by-play commenting on Saturday. ❤
      Mad, maybe. Genius, ummmmmm.
      Oh, I don't know, you started out thinking about Rebecca all weekend too. 😉 Rosa with her love for family and cooking and protective tendencies …. who does that sound like?
      Jennie should be back sometime in '16. She took on a big business venture that's been eating up all of her free time, but she's living her dream…so while I miss her mucho, I'm thrilled she's getting to follow her dreams.

      Liked by 1 person

  7. C,

    I agree with you. I knew I wasn’t going to extricate myself from the place I was in last night, so rather than NOT fall asleep, I wrote for a bit. It was purely instinctual but it felt necessary, a purging if you will. I didn’t have time to read it this morning and frankly? Imma wait until tomorrow night to read it since I’m feeling better now and I want to give myself a little more time away from that. No doubt it’ll be interesting.

    Fishies? You make them sound like water puppies. My dislike for the Giants is so intense, that I actually rooted for the Patriots in the Super Bowl a couple years back. So needless to say, my water puppies could lose every last game, as long as they win tonight.


    1. Water puppies. Hahahahaha! With their cute wittle water wings. Eli has SEC ties, so there’s that. But otherwise? I’m all for any Giants slayers.

      Sent from my iPhone


      Liked by 1 person

      1. Hey, those throwback Miami duds are sharp. They never should have gone away from them…


        1. Totally agree. Teal is prob my favorite color. Best in Show def goes to the Water Pups.

          I dig most of the throwback uniforms (esp Atlanta). EXCEPT for Pittsburgh. They look like criminal bumble bees.

          Sent from my iPhone


          Liked by 1 person

  8. […] Speaking of Sam and The Lovely Fire, you may remember I reblogged her story “Just Another Day: Signs, Memories, and Bob Marleys” here a few weeks ago. Well, Sam’s back with another installment on Words for the Weekend, “Mad World (American Pie Part One).” […]


  9. […] Mad World (American Pie, Part One) […]


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