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A Spin Off of Keep a Word/Drop a Word and Music, Pics, and Whatnot

Jimi

Jimi

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
Ok I'm tired, I'm goin to bed:(
Good night everyone
Thank you for playin today
Sleep well

May be an image of text that says 'Good .welhesa Night 11 1 1 10 2 9 3- 8 7 4. 6 765 6 5.'
 
Bliss Doubt

Bliss Doubt

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
The Crosses
-Juliette Greco (1927-2020)

Born in 1927, peace was never to come in Juliette's childhood. This is what war does:

My God, there are so many crosses on this earth
Iron crosses, wooden crosses, humble familiar crosses
Small silver crosses hanging on chests
Old crosses from convents lost among the ruins

And I, poor me, have my cross in my head
An immense leaden cross as vast as love
I hang the wind on it, I hold back the storm
I prolong the evening on it and hide the day

And I, poor me, have my cross in my head
A word is engraved on it that looks like “suffer”
But this familiar word that my lips repeat
Is so heavy to bear that I think I will die

My God, there are so many on the deep roads
Silent crosses watching over the world
Tall crosses of forgiveness raised toward the gallows
Crosses of madness or deliverance

 
Bliss Doubt

Bliss Doubt

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
Jimi said:
Hate to admit it but I have too, when I was young hung with a group that all camped in the winter and the rule was No tents but you learn what to do pretty quickly or you go home. Honestly it was a blast, we usedta build a campfire and cook over it, it was fun, but I'm weird:giggle:
Click to expand...

Was that a survival training group, boy scouts, or just friends wanting to toughen up?
 
2WhiteWolves

2WhiteWolves

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
VU Patreon
Jimi said:
Hate to admit it but I have too, when I was young hung with a group that all camped in the winter and the rule was No tents but you learn what to do pretty quickly or you go home. Honestly it was a blast, we usedta build a campfire and cook over it, it was fun, but I'm weird:giggle:
Click to expand...
It isn't weird, you're not weird, it was a good adventure a good story to tell. If you hadn't done it, no story to tell us.

Like this....and yes, this one is embarrassing.

Was with friends at a deep river with barely any water in it, really rocky. A rope was hanging from a tree, so when it had water in it could swing on it and splash into the river.
I decided to give a try, it was autumn with a chill in the air. I grabbed the rope, swung, and didn't make it the other side. My hands were slipping, and yes, slipped off the rope. This is were my guardian angel step in once again, and laid me down between all the rocks. I really should have hit my head on one big rock and cracked my skull open. But, nope, was gently laid down with no bruises, no scratches, and no cracked skull. Just my pride damaged.
 
Jimi

Jimi

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
Good afternoon Family :wave:
It's warmed up nicely today, already 53:stars2:
Wish it would stay that way
How's everyone doin today?


May be an image of text that says 'Happy Friday! May today bring cozy moments, warm smiles, and little joys that make your heart feel full.'
 
Jimi

Jimi

Diamond Contributor
Member For 5 Years
May be an image of deer and text that says 'PEACE& PEACE&LOVE LOVE そ'



May be an image of piano and text that says 'The folk singer who refused to cut one second from his six- minute song about a shipwreck. His label said radio wouldn't play it. He said those 29 dead men deserved the full story. He wouldn't budge.'



The executives leaned back in their leather chairs, certain they'd won the argument.
"Six minutes? Gordon, radio stations won't play it. Songs need to be three minutes. Maybe three and a half if you're The Beatles."
It was 1976, and Gordon Lightfoot had just played them his new track. A haunting ballad about the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, the freighter that disappeared into Lake Superior's black waters one November night in 1975. Twenty-nine men swallowed by the lake in minutes.
The song was six minutes and thirty-one seconds. His label had concerns. The length was risky.
Lightfoot held firm: "No."
Not maybe. Not let me think about it. Just no.
"Those men deserve the whole story," he said quietly. "Every verse stays."
By 1976, Lightfoot had enough clout to push back. But a six-minute single was still commercial suicide.
He wouldn't budge.
The label released it untouched, probably expecting it to sink without a trace. Instead, something strange happened. Radio stations played the entire six-minute track. Listeners sat in parking lots with their engines running, waiting for the final note.
The song climbed to number two on Billboard. It became more than a hit. It became how an entire generation remembered those twenty-nine men.
But this wasn't Lightfoot's first act of quiet rebellion. He'd been doing things his own way since the 1960s, writing spare, honest songs about weather and loneliness while everyone else chased psychedelic trends. He never moved to Nashville or LA. Stayed in Canada, writing about truck drivers and fishermen.
Then in 2002, his heart literally exploded. An aortic aneurysm put him in a coma for six weeks. Doctors prepared his family for the worst.
He woke up. Recovered. Started touring again at age sixty-six, voice raspier but still carrying every ounce of truth.
Lightfoot kept performing until he was eighty-four. Died in May 2023, having proven that integrity outlasts trends, and that some stories are worth every single minute.
 
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