Tag Archives: chris garneau

You Kept The Runt, You Don’t Think He’s Scum

Reading time: 5 – 8 minutes

I had a bad dream about my mom last night. Some of you know that history, but for those of you who don’t, let’s just say it wasn’t the nicest of childhoods, and that the easily-spouted “Mothers always love their children” is just really far from true. I know people like to uphold that mythology, and that’s one of the reasons I endured as much as I did as a child; no one wanted to believe a mother could treat a child like that.

Now, in the 21st Century, we know better, but we cling to that iconic imagery, which is nice. We don’t have to let that go. But we don’t have to ignore the suffering of children just to protect that imagery, thank goodness.

Anyway, this dream was a reunion with my mom after all of these years of deafening silence, save for the peripheral whispers I hear from some family members that she’s asked about me. Even as I was lying in my death bed a couple of years ago, she couldn’t gather the courage and love to reach out. So this dream was pretty profound to have out of nowhere.

THE DREAM:

Apparently, in the process of setting up this reunion in the dream, she had been asking about my work with the channeling and the Michael Teachings and wanted to know if I’d share all of that with her. So… my god, you can imagine. I was elated! To not only have this possibility of reunion, but also to have any kind of interest in my life… whoa.

I gathered up an armful of books and some paperwork to share with her, and I made my way to this reunion.

The address was some house; a Bed and Breakfast type situation. I entered and went to the room where we were to meet, which was open, and I sat on the edge of a bed.

I waited. And waited. I thumbed through my books nervously, and my cautious excitement about a reunion began to fade into anxious worry. After an hour of waiting, I got up and left the room to see if I could find out if she had called someone, left a message,… something.

I went downstairs to find the host of the house intending to ask if she had heard anything, and was greeted with a huge grin, soft eyes as she walked toward me with anticipation, “Well,… so how is it going? Is everything okay?” I replied with some confusion, “Actually, she hasn’t shown up, yet. I was wondering if you’ve heard from her?” The woman retracted her smile and offered concern, instead, saying, “Honey, she was here before you were. She was waiting for you in the room. She even brought lunch!” I explained that I’d been sitting up there for over an hour with no one.

We climbed the stairs back to the room.

As I neared the room, I noticed the door was ajar, which I had closed, and as I opened the door, the breeze from a now-open window was catching bits of paper, swirling them about the room. The bed was littered with the pages of my books, torn up, and my notebooks pulled apart. The closet door was now open, too, and on the floor of the closet were wrappers from an eaten lunch.

She had been sitting in the closet the entire time, waiting for me to leave the room so she could destroy the materials she had asked for me to bring. Apparently, at some point after I left the room to see if she had called, she had poked her head out the door to make sure the coast was clear, destroyed my work, and then climbed out the window onto to the roof, down a trellis to the ground.

I just sat on the edge of the bed, resigned. And I wondered why do I always think “this time, it will be different.” It never is. Not even in waking life.

END OF DREAM

Anyway, for this to come roiling up from my subconscious after so many years is an interesting thing for me to ponder. I think it’s because I am at a cross-roads of my future and past, right now. Either my past is going to destroy my future, or I am going to release the past to its place of rest so that I can move on. The thing is, I always think I have moved on, but if you have ever experienced any kind of life-altering, devastating wounding, you know how insidious and persistent that infection can be. I don’t really know if we ever truly “move on” from that.

This song came up randomly today and the dream came rushing back in. It’s not completely relevant, but a couple of lines hit home, capturing that abandonment of that only source of security and safety in the world you have as a child, which I think has a profound, long-term effect on the life after that, no matter how healed you may become. It’s like losing your legs. You can find so many ways to heal and get around later in life, but the fact remains: you still lost your legs.

I lost my mom. I should never have expected I would “get over” that. I probably never will. And that’s what’s okay. I can still manage to get around, and I do… quite well.

So this song goes out to all of my friends, and the parts of my family who kept The Runt, and doesn’t think he’s scum…

THE RUNT by Chris Garneau

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You don’t see this every day

Lions close their cat eyes too
They sleep the same as lovers do
I don’t know how I got here
But I know where I have to go
But I know where I have to go

Raccoon babes get left behind
Sometimes the runt’s too small
For moms to care a little bit
For moms to care at all
For moms to care at all

But you, you kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
You’re worried in the morning
You’re worried in the afternoon
And you’re worried in the nighttime too

His little dirty feet stink bad
The popcorn smell makes your nose sad
I don’t know how he got here
But I’m scared he’ll wind up dead
But I’m scared he’ll wind up dead

Lions close their cat eyes too
They sleep the same as lovers do
I don’t know how I got here
But I know where I have to go
But I know where I have to go

You kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
He’s wasted in the morning
He’s wasted in the afternoon
And he’s wasted in the nighttime too

You kept the runt
You don’t think he’s scum
He’s wasted in the morning
He’s wasted in the afternoon
And he’s wasted in the nighttime too

You don’t see this every day

THE RUNT

The Runt

MFBTW: Episode 002

Reading time: 5 – 8 minutes

MAYBE OUR LIVES ARE LIKE MOVIES FOR THE SOUL
Here we are at just our second little episode of myTLE Presents: Music From Between The Worlds!  I am loving making these and I am fully aware of how amateur they are, but every creative/crafty project I do is a labor of love and for fun.  I sure hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy sharing them.  I’d love to hear your feedback and comments.  Look for another MFBTW in a couple of weeks! The new schedule is for their release on the Second and Fourth Weekends of each month.  YAY!

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[or launch pop up blubrry player here]

SHOW NOTES:

CAUGHT IN THE GROOVELovespirals
http://www.Lovespirals.com

Only so many ways one
Can play that same ole damn song
Only so many phrasings and so many tunings
Before the whole thing just sounds wrong

Have we reached the end of the record?
Is the needle just caught in the groove?
But I’m too tired to get up
I’m too tired to pick up and move

Tell me, what am I to do?

Only so many ways one
Can say those old words “good bye”
Only so many phrasings and so many gestures
Before you just break down and cry

Have we reached the end of the record?
Is the needle just caught in the groove?
But we’re too tired to get up
We’re too tired to pick up and move

Tell me whatcha gonna do?
Hey hey
Hey now, whatcha gonna do?
Whatcha gonna do?

PAST ALL CONCERNBarzin
http://www.MySpace.com/Barzin

Over your face
Your pretty hair
That’s how you came
That’s how you came

I saw you there
Past all concerns
And I asked for you
I asked for you

I followed you
To your room
You took your
Clothes off

I kissed your arms
I saw your scar
You who never
liked your life

I named you my
Black queen
You who has seen
Past all concerns
I asked for you
But you were past
Past all
All concerns

Your beauty is lost
All to yourself
But something
still crowds
My mind

It must be your
Overcast face
It must be your
Overcast face

I named you my
Black queen
You who has seen
Past all concerns
I asked for you
But you were past
Past all
All concerns
Past all
All concerns

BABY’S ROMANCEChris Garneau
http://www.MySpace.com/ChrisGarneau

The baby’s sleeping in the crib on top
The baby’s sleeping above you
You will lift him to the parking lot
Your car is waiting there for you
Your car is waiting there for you

I would like to see a little more propriety,
Cooperate with me and answer me
Without a plea.

I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.
I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.

The whiskey’s waiting on the firetop,
The baby’s going to drink, too.
The lady’s got no clothes she’s at the shop.
But if she’d knew then she’d kill you.

The bugs are out ’cause they come out at night,
Usually they just bite our hands.
‘Cause normally we have clothes on without a fight,
But now fighting’s a part of baby’s romance.
But now fighting’s a part of baby’s romance.

I would like to see a little more propriety,
Cooperate with me and answer me
Without a plea.

I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.
I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.

Baby sleeps I can scrape your flower pots.
And baby’s sleeping against you.
I think he’d pray for an old motel cot.
Or any bed made without you.
Or any bed made without you.

I would like to see a little more propriety,
Cooperate with me and answer me
Without a plea.

I would like to see a little more propriety,
Cooperate with me and answer me
Without a plea.

I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.
I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.
I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.
I know now, I know now, I know now,
I’m never gonna tell on you.

GREY WEATHERGregory and The Hawk
http://www.MySpace.com/GregoryAndTheHawk

Grey weather, just fool me, just tell me I’m right
despite the careless words you say, I’m always keeping faith
chart the numbers, see a trend…we are moving in place
despite your lack of blowing over, I’m always keeping faith

And you’d say, this is not the time for goodbye
it’s too late
you’d say, this is not the time for goodbye
it’s too late
it’s too late

In the bright light of morning, map the last leg of the trip
I call on you to catch me as I’m coming over that bridge
through the mind-fog of the beach and the cracking concrete
the broken wings of reverie leave me always having faith

And you’d say, this is not the time for goodbye
it’s too late
you’d say, this is not the time for goodbye
it’s too late
it’s too late

BREAKERLow
http://chairkickers.com

Our bodies break
And the blood just spills and spills
But here we sit debating math

It’s just a shame
My hand just kills and kills
There’s gotta be an end to that

There’s gotta be an end to that

DANCING BEHIND MY EYELIDSMum
http://www.myspace.com/mumtheband

See the fog on the horizon
It’s dancing
And it smell like a teenager

See the bones behind my eyelids
They’re dancing
And it sounds like tap-dancing shoes

See the bones behind my eyelids
They’re dancing
And it sounds like tap-dancing shoes

Worms on the bones under beds
Of insomniac-eaten teenagers
They whisper
And it sounds like a crooked flute