Tag Archive: beastie boys


Today is a melancholy day.  Kids back in school, mixed feelings.  Pictures taken.  Started great, watched my sophomore walk off to the bus stop with her best friend, curls bobbing as she got smaller.  Drove the other to Middle School with Beastie Boys on the stere-O, Kisses goodbye.  Now I have the house to myself again, and hours of silence and peace and quiet, except for the occasional chicken cackle from out back or the new budgie chirping from up front.  Or phone call.  And all these emails to answer.

Still moving forward on that little idea, that little flag that was raised, which is snowballing into its own wonderful entity…

THE PROJECT we call it.  For now.

So with phone calls made for the day, emails sent, I finally get to sit down and write on the blog again.  And having come through all different kinds of emotions today I’m settling on words that I guess are a poem, constructed from a few of todays experiences.  If you like this, great.  If not, I’m not going to apologize.  It’s where I am, right now.

Where are you?

Walking back through the doors of the haunted house, I get a glimpse of who I am.  In my space which I have created, alone again.  Not bad alone, not good alone, indifferent, sloshing from light to dark and back again.  Swirling on the tilt a whirl.

Darkness on my right shoulder is mirrored by the angel on my left.  The constant tornado of light that pounds into my head from above, directly behind my left eye, is now joined by the new spike hammered in through my left temple.  A steel hammer on a steel spike, tink, tink, tink.  Not nearly as unpleasant as it sounds.

I’m done with talking, voice worn out.  Just watching and waiting, for the next piece.  I’ve extended the only hand I can.  So I’m Ophelia now.  Sinking slowly, gently smiling.  Not in water, but in blood.  As the sun warms my face, I wait.

 I’ve got my number now.

by Katie Rose Pipkin

artwork by Katie Rose Pipkin

 

 

It’s been forever since I’ve written anything here, thoughts have been coming in and out for sure, just not making it to the page.  A lot has gone on in the last month.  I’ll go into that later at some point…but specifically in the past 15 hours I’ve had a proverbial Psychic “shot in the arm”.  So if this writing is a little rusty, I’m trying to just get back into it, so forgive me if this is a bumpy ride…

Long Island Medium started again last night which I sat down and watched some of with my daughter after an exhausting Mother’s Day (hope all you Moms out there had a great day!)  It gave me a couple of different boosts…While watching the show I’m picking up my own cues from the person being read.  I enjoy watching LIM for that reason, it’s kind of like an opportunity to read, without any kind of pressure (that I place on myself) during a reading to “say the right thing”.  Not that I ever know what that is anyway.  Usually “the right thing” is the kookiest thing that could possibly come out of my mouth!

Case in point.

Last night I had a very vivid dream – that included a sink and my favorite Beastie Boy.  And (in the dream) that Beastie Boy’s cousin.  Upon waking, someone’s face/name popped into my head.  In my world, this only means one thing.  I’ve got a phone call to make.  A very weird phone call.

(And no, my psychic phone is not a red rotary phone,

but I like this picture much more than a boring old Iphone sitting on the counter.  It makes me laugh)

So before saying anything else, I’ve got to say this.  Yes, it’s weird.  It’s uncomfortable. It’s not something I want to do, call someone and say…”Uh, Hey, UM…What’s up, yea, I had this dream that I’m supposed to tell you about…” – Luckily this is someone who knows me “psychically”  – which it sounds like it would, but it doesn’t really make it any easier.  Even as a psychic, I second guess myself.  I say, “Yea, that’s crazy – I’m not going to say that!”   but like I tell EVERYBODY ELSE, you can’t judge it.  Judging it pushes it away.  Second guessing it, nope, can’t do it.  Maybe it’s not for you to get.  In my case, it’s never for me to get.  It’s for the receiver.  I’m just the messenger.  I will say it’s easier for me to give a message to someone who has actually COME TO ME for information, more than someone I  just out of the blue have to call on a Monday.

But here’s the kicker.  The information made sense to the person it was meant for.  And it addressed a question.  The sink was almost thrown in there for me, as a validation.   And THAT’S Pretty Freakin’ Awesome.  So what does this mean for you?  This cryptic story about dreams and not second guessing yourself?  It means if you have a feeling that you need to share something, share it.  If you see an opportunity, take it.  Even if it feels absolutely crazy.

OK, so I know I’m always talking about how when someone dies they are done with what they are supposed to do here, and they are just taking the next step on the path, I just had that EXACT conversation yesterday.  And I do really believe that, and I know it’s true.  But right now I don’t care about that. This sucks.

I grew up listening to the Beastie Boys.  Their music is like a soundtrack to my life, as so many other people have said today. I remember being a sheltered Catholic School girl in Middle School and hearing Licensed to Ill and just thinking – what the hell is this, who are these guys?? –  in High School driving around blasting Paul’s Boutique on CASSETTE with all my windows down, head bobbin’. When my kids were tots and other moms were driving around listening to freakin’ BARNEY and Wiggles and whatever such shit, my little ones were cold chillin’ to Brass Monkey and Hey Ladies, singing along to Funky Boss.  Any road trip included at least one full play of Paul’s Boutique.  Still does.  DAMN IT!! I’m sad and lonely feeling and stupid emotional – not because I care one bit about celebrities – I’m not into that, but because I feel like a childhood friend died.  It’s crazy.  Not only am I sad for that piece of the past it feels like is lost, but for all the bad ass music I won’t be hearing in the future that Adam Yauch would have had a hand in putting out there.

 

I’m bummed.  I’m bummed my kids won’t see them live.  I was stoked when I heard they were touring this last time around, looking forward to buying ticket and going as a family, so the kids could see this freakin’ phenominal band I had (as well as they had) grown up with.  But that’s not to be.  I’m about as equally bummed out about it as I am that I never got to see Johnny Cash play live.  Actually more.  But I am glad that I got to see them a few times, getting a bloody nose at one show.  Hung out with them after another, shared a meal after even another.  What a great bunch of guys.  To me at least, just nice.  Jeez, this blows.

 

Today I was driving with my husband and we made it to Pass the Mic before I got teary.  I was sad and mad at the same time.  When I was a kid and Elvis died, my mom cried.  Now I fully understand why.  Now my mom was crazy about Elvis, but it was more than that.  Now I get it.  The music is just kind of a part of who you are.  What a beautiful and crazy thing.

I know that cancer is just a vehicle, doing what it’s supposed to do to relieve the body of it’s soul, but I’m pissed at cancer right now.  It’s done it’s job – and taken my favorite Beastie Boy – the one with the best voice, and that quirky little smile.  I know you’re doing your thing somewhere else, somewhere, soaring.  That’s great for everyone there, but for now, it really sucks for us.

No matter how old I am when Paul Revere comes on, I crank it, the windows go down, my head bobs and I’m 20 again.

Thanks MCA for the good times.  Namaste.

 

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