thank you Singapore? for rediscovering this Sunday 14 August 2016
Can I touch you there
Can I touch you there? ©
By Michael Casey
I asked the kids today which kind of story do they enjoy the most, the funny ones or the more thoughtful ones. When I finish writing a new story I tend to read it aloud so the girls can judge it. Then I post and backup my words, my new words. I am fast approaching my 800th story, not forgetting the 600page comic novel and the plays and essays. So as I write I hope I can touch you all, make me sound like Casanova, or a petty thief stealing from your purses.
I do want to touch you and make you laugh most of the time but I hope I can touch your hearts too, my own heart has been touched literally as I had a quadruple heart bypass, so you could say my surgeon and the crew have touched me more than I can ever touch you.
Though if you live somewhere with thin walls, you may hear the words, can I touch you there, and it’s not Michael Bolton singing, it’s a couple making love for the first time, or it could be a doctor examining a 90 year old woman. Context makes all the difference and sounds various kinds of sounds let you know if it’s the 90 year old being examined with a cold stethoscope, or is it the young couple enjoying each other’s bodies.
Now at this point Max Miller a kind of Lenny Bruce in Britain in the 1930s, would ask do you want the White Book or the Blue book, the Blue book containing the blue or naughty material. As my writing is not interactive I cannot stop as I talk to you and ask what kind of story do you prefer. I would say shades of Grey is what you may get, which is a Monkees’ song if I remember correctly, though blue, the colour blue is my favourite colour, and I am talking about colours now, see you are making up your own jokes.
I was touched this morning by the Eagles, no that’s not a metaphor either, I stumbled over Spotify and their Long Road Out of Eden album. There’s a track on it that really gets me, it’s called Waiting in the Weeds, and no that’s not about substance abuse either, well as far as I know anyway. With all the heart medicine I take I have more than enough substances in me, as ordered by my doctors. Joking aside how has this track entered into my head and had an effect on me? A sound a selection of noise can touch the emotions, and make us turn the volume up. A sound can get us in the mood, for love or even for war, it touches us in a certain place or space in our heart and all armour is cast away. So you end up on the shag pile carpet playing wargames, make of that what you will.
When sad news arrives we place a hand on the shoulder, or offer a hug, even in England, yes years before people were afraid to touch each other, to offer sympathy, now we are more Continental if you like. I think England was slow catching up with their emotions, though some may say footballers are a bit over the top, how they celebrate a goal is a bit much, how would it be if in daily life we were a touchy as footballers.
The butcher gives you an extra bit of meat when you are in the butchers, so do you jump into the air and punch the sky. Do you kiss him on the cheek because he gave you some pork scratchings. What would happen if you won the Xmas turkey raffle would you and the butcher go into the freezer for half an hour, steam coming out through the door as you rewarded him, and touched him here, there and everywhere to show your gratitude.
How would you thank the Undertaker if he did a good job of your nan’s funeral, would you send him a bouquet saying Thanks for the Slab work, and an ever so quiet three cheers for the undertaker. Or would you just give him a quart of Johnnie Walker, from experience I’d say the whisky is best.
We all like touching and being touched but it has to be in the right place and time. You don’t pinch your girl’s bum at your nan’s funeral, not unless your nan has left you her house in her Will. So I’d say, take those boxing gloves off, which may or may not be a metaphor, and reach out and touch as the song goes. Because a simple touch may be all that’s there between life and death, between hope and despair and we all know because we’ve been there. I wanna hold your hand was a Beatles song and it applies to all of us, don’t be afraid to reach out and touch because after a hard day’s night working eight days a week soon you’ll be 64, and then you’ll be dead and no more. So touch and be touched and touched again, by life, by love. And listen to Michael Bolton’s song too.
Untouchable maybe?
