JP doesn’t know it can tell he’s not sleeping

He also doesn’t know that i have been explaining my theories of cognitive behavioral therapy for the past 20 minutes, nor does he know i can tell he is faking it. He finds my theories as captivating as anything else. for certain.

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Mini Music Biography

Wendy Clark is the band leader of The Wendy Clark Band and was the founder and leader of Denver-based original rock band Tequila Mockingbird. Active on the Front Range music circuit and indie scene since 1996, Wendy is a writer, composer, guitarist, bandleader, recording artist, manager, and promoter. Her music is classified as Americana rock, and plays to non-specific genre consistently, the execution of each song – although the melody and playful lyrics combined with Clark’s serving of infectious melody and sarcastic and thoughtful philosophical meanderings and with a twinge of nostalgia, that are catchy, powerful, and kept fresh by delving into multiple styles.

Wendy has released three critically-acclaimed full-length CDs under the moniker Tequila Mockingbird, has performed over 1,000 festivals and gigs regionally including A Taste of Colorado, Adams County Fair, The CHUN Peoples Fair (1998-present), toured in the Rockies into Wyoming and through New Mexico, appeared on live TV and radio (interviews and live in-studio performances on Denver’s Channel 2 Evening News, KRFC FM Ft. Collins 88.9 FM, KYGT FM, 1190 AM, KRUU FM Fairfield, Mile High Underground, Raven on the Rocks, and KCMJ FM Colorado Springs), and Band Talk on indie104.com, released dozens of videos (The Honeymoon and Catching On receiving tens of thousands of views on her YouTube), and opened at sold out shows for bands such as Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers, The Samples, Bob Schneider, and Chris Daniels and The Kings. She has opened up for Tim McGraw at Fiddler’s Green, sat in with The Refreshments, Hazel Miller, and backed up Brian Blush (The Refreshments) and Jamon Scott (The Toluenes) as well as collaborated and recorded with bassist Rob Squires of Big Head Todd and the Monsters on UFO (1998). Wendy has also worked with award-winning sound engineers/producers Eric Shiveley (Alien-American 2004) and Bill Thomas (UFO 1998, Luck and Trouble 2010) and multi-GRAMMY recipient, David Glasser. Wendy won Vocalist of the Year in 2009 and UFO was the fifth-most popular from Night Howler Radio Awards. Her song Blue has been award song of the year by IAIRA in 2010. She has been listed in the best bands in Colorado and was in the top 50 most played singles and albums in 2010. Wendy has been working and promoting, as well as supporting the Colorado network since she played her first show.
With a new EP from WCB expected to drop in the summer of 2018 and features bandmates, Chris Coward, David Derby, Bill Crick, as well as Brian Blush of the Refreshments, Jamnon Scott, and Kate Leroux, the record is half an act in a virtual playground of what defines why we all like to write something that means whatever the audience wants it to mean.

wendyclark.net

CDBaby- http://www.cdbaby.com/Artist/TequilaMockingbird
iTunes- http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/luck-and-trouble/id350734564
And on YouTube http://www.youtube.com/wendyclark

PRIME iii.i

PRIME (Wendy Clark 2011)

 

How did you ever let yourself get so far?
When was the last time you bothered to notice at all?
It only takes one mistake to turn the inside right back out
Slowly the new daylight dissolves what you believed you were all about.
I’m in the prime of my life

Yeah, I’m in the prime of my life

CHORUS
Will you recall these were the best days of your life?
Will it have ever seemed so nice?

Will you recall these were the best days that you had?
Will it always ever feel so bad?

How did just forget the words to the song?
When was the last time the audience had to sing along
You only take 445 mistakes to let the outside right back in
Gradually you find yourself looking past the place you begin

How did I ever let myself get so far
When was the last time

Regret

I walked out of the place and haven’t even stopped thinking about your face but I wanted your actual presence so I walked out of that space and that place and I knew more than I wanted to reflect upon. Time is always in a hurry anyway.  Those times we drove home any place and how many years I didn’t waste then or some place.

Now we are years ahead
You have changed and put your hands on a different part and angle of your hips now
I still want to run away from you sometimes
The way these reminders are the best way to not forget the way I haven’t changed
The truth syrup astounds me as much as the last words we exchanged
You were always available to let me down
So thanks for that and I am getting back up
I will take my time and let go of the record collaboration
And the interpretation of love versus hate
Plus the regret that I regret every dayIMG_2030 (2).jpg

I’m looking past the place I filled the tank with using my last known income and you were on the phone and I knew then that the moment I was trampled – and so simply cut –  the empty pain of my every cell deflating and gasping, the air poisoning my lungs, the way someone who falls off a skyscraper may feel – the terror of this being new to me and assuring this was a space I found – not for the last time in life either.

Photo Jul 30, 1 39 55 PM.jpg

I walked over to that space but can’t stop thinking about you.

Glass Zebra

But I would like to begin again.

I wonder why I left work during the middle of lunch still.

When I realized he saw me beside the broken pieces of our clumpy jagged edges of the glass zebra, he may have been stung like a match head to the temple, that I was the one he saw there, realizing that the pieces of broken jagged clumpy were pieces of my irreparable goddamn heart.

“Shut the hell up,” Jemeriah reminded me. He wasn’t happy that my boyfriend wouldn’t drive to get my wisdom teeth out.

The dentist hadn’t taken into account that I was thin from my recent long bout with adult chicken pox, and the prescribed medication was unlike any other I had ever.
EVER. He wasn’t there when I got home nor were the pieces of the zebra.

So I nodded to acknowledge where I was now, and felt faint and slightly sick with no ease to my love, then made my way out the door. I shut the massiveleadish steele thing and tried to skip unsuccessfully down the stairway to the lot. I sitting there on the bus bench for three hours before I hailed a cab back home.

I remember the way he saw me, and I saw him suspended there in time and space and he still loved me. I drank him all the time he was around me, which was a lot, and I smelled and let him saturate my own suggestion of being near him – I enjoyed enjoying, being enjoyed, enjoying being enjoyed. he had my heart, he mythically stole it, like a slick Incubus, thief as he stole my love and man; I wonder why he didn’t skip class and just fuckin pick me up from serious wisdom tooth surgery.

Oh so earlier …. The dentist, meanwhile was apparently talking to my friends and I occasionally nodded and was probably really druggy, I told the staff I loved them and would see them soon. Then Jeremiah gave my keys to my freshly ex boyfriend and I dozed while he ordered me scripts at the store.

Chasing him down Tennessee in my old Camaro, crying “GODDDD-SSSPEEEEDDD!!!” to symbolize a moment of great length and filled with cheese, I sure as all hell was not getting the message.

I said yes to him that evening as twilight as his eyes were – I was in love, and hell, he knew it would work. He was so intelligent. I didn’t foresee his lack of thought for those years.

I saw him see me later, while I was fake knitting and fake chewing gum. he asked me which was more fun. I said it’s more fun seeing what makes you crack up more.
“What makes YOU crack up?”
“The fake gum because of the Fake TMJ?”
“Fake you!” We both laughed.
I melted. I felt cocky then said, “Fake knitting is stupid.”
“Stupid is faking- stupid faking fakers!”

I want to be more than what I faked and fucked with.

I am gonna take this opportunity to plead sanity and love for myself and psychological esteem and less panic and happiness and unconditional love and have more time to enjoy and learn from it, cheesy perhaps, believe me, I am not selling a story here.

I am just writing one for us.

Your semi-daily bog

Consider the characteristics or conditions of all the substance in your intrinsic perception, such as the entities which one can identify as a solid state or a liquid state, (or even a gaseous state), and you believe you know by the very nature of the “subject,” to be just what it is, because that truth is fundamental. Now, suppose these primary dimensions of your reality are permuted, a metamorphosis which transforms every element, transcending everything so that it is the not only opposite of what it may have once been perceived as but the same in it’s lack of form and no law of the universe has any law or harmony, (the gaseous factors would really be astounding) and everything is nothing, and all that is or is not, is a contradiction of the same problem.

The concrete is now the abstract.

The trivium is equal to the empty paradox.

The continuum is now part of absolute zero.

The phone buzzed and I saw two new messages. One was a tangible items requiring some thought and input from certain people involved.

The second message was clearly meant to test me although a immediate result was void of reason and consequence and was disguised emptiness. Support of an broken statement that was neither  subjective or objective. 

Alright, you lost me – I am off the trail of interest; you may kindly fuck off. I can shake off the pixelated perception you painted me. A blank canvass of nothing.

This cognitive action led to my next transitory side-effect which was after quickly reviewing the causal theory of epiphenomenalism (physical events have mental effects, but mental events have no effects of any kind) how very useless it was to philosophize at this time, how tired my mind was, then snip-snapping right on back to my strenuously draining brooding of the undetermined unknown and how that unknown was always about to increase in conscious life.

There are the places at which you are not, or perhaps where you would rather be, not be, won’t be, the list within the list within the list is infinite, but my point is that the location of where you are (or where you ain’t) is probably the most important place you could ever be. Where you’re not is: any, some, or everywhere you could be, certainly, of course when you have but a critical amount of “time” remaining to reconsider every place where you ever were which led me to this last circumstance in which I was currently entangled, where I was not was anywhere but where I was, at a condition labeled as the end of one’s lifetime; this is the place where you last were, and your mind works itself backwards, instinctively and recklessly, and flashes these excruciating images, words, colors, lines and limits, gaps and speculation, theories, people, pets, regrets, media, motions, accidents, mistakes, recoveries, tastes, dreams, nightmares, mischief, games, fame, humiliation, embarrassment, acceptance, awards, rewards, faith, apathy, remorse, anxiety, true faith, true love, true sex, true blueness of the purest skies, waters, and eyes; good fortune, good graces, all those artistic creations….

The worst part was always there: The realization of having to contemplate how anything could be even worse than the worst realization you can contemplate. To me it was feeling that I was departing without saying goodbye; abruptly leaving the party early, sneaking out irresponsibly and silently, the one who didn’t even say, “later on,” and never came back.
During these mangled, mingled conjunctions of deliberation, I disappeared.

Writing Exercise #117. Mas o Menos?

I had made an important decision that drizzly December lunch hour, a choice that might have been a major turning point, or one that made me realize I couldn’t trust myself, control molecular mutations that were implanted in my DNA, but were fertilized by the irony of life and made me older, smarter, and a riddle unto my own psyche.
I left the office promptly at 11:45 am and it took the usual 3 minutes to get from my desk to the elevator to the front door and down the dozen stairs to the front green and I swiftly broke right up Maroon Hill two blocks west, slushing hurriedly up to the garden gates, and then made haste past the goat petting zoo.

Temporary images whirled past me as I lost more seconds of my hour and tore down to the Landing, the hillside slanted toward sea level and my spine started to burn as my speed increased, the spring humidity filling my lungs with heavy water and my terror elevated to a state of shocking horror for that which broke so many on the same journey to the ends of the earth, the beginnings of the ends of the furiously confused souls who came before me, live amongst me, and will be as unclean with sense of extreme compound awe, as we run past the calm, self-controlled, the composed egos whose filthy poised smirks made our thoughts race faster than our throbbing hearts as we stole away from the sun and found ourselves caught between the past and the future, between the land and the sky, the true and the false, not by choice, but by the means in which we ran though life with desperation and glory. We were born running, we choked on our conscious intensity, and eventually we realize would all die running.

I just wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to keep on, or let the world stop and close me in its carriage, the cradles of the casual, the place you stop to take a breath is the last exit on the last highway.

Gravity pulled me down the street and I lunged forward as hard as I could, fearing and seemingly unfearful of the fact that my little heart felt determined to blow up in its madness to pump blood into my pulsating limbs, but also my clear head, falling into the ground, falling before I could get anywhere, falling before I reached the new race, the next step to the next step, the next path that always awoke and stirred my soul.

I stumbled on the gravel and drove forth to the liquid at the end of the Landing, the people and children and dogs and boats were the same day after day with faces of security and familiar sanctuary.

I dove into the shallow water and cried the familiar war cry of the storyteller who finally realized to give up on ever ending a tale. Nothing ever ends anyway.


Posted by Wendy Clark at 7:55 PM