Song Lyric Sunday — February Babies

For this week’s Song Lyric Sunday theme, Jim Adam has asked us to find a song written or performed by someone who was born in the month of February.

Happy birthday a day early to Graham Nash. He was born on February 2, 1942, so he will be 84 years old tomorrow. Nash is a British‑born, later American, singer‑songwriter best known as a founding member of both the Hollies and Crosby, Stills & Nash (later Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young). He is known for his light tenor voice and harmony work, central to the sounds of both the Hollies and CSN/CSNY.

In the early 1960s, he co‑founded the Hollies with school friend Allan Clarke, helping create one of the UK’s most successful pop groups. With the Hollies he was involved in hits such as “Bus Stop,” “Carrie Anne,” and “He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother,” noted for tight vocal harmonies and pop craftsmanship.

In the late 1960s, Nash left the Hollies and joined David Crosby and Stephen Stills to form Crosby, Stills & Nash; Neil Young soon joined, creating CSNY. He wrote or co‑wrote several of their signature songs, including “Marrakesh Express,” “Teach Your Children,” “Our House,” “Just a Song Before I Go,” and “Wasted on the Way.” CSN/CSNY became emblematic of the Laurel Canyon/West Coast scene, mixing intricate harmonies with socially conscious and introspective lyrics.

Nash’s solo debut, 1971’s Songs for Beginners, featured politically and socially engaged songs such as “Chicago/We Can Change the World” and “Military Madness.” His second solo album, 1974’s Wild Tales, included tracks like “Prison Song” and “Oh! Camil,” continuing his interest in personal and political themes. His songs and public statements have long reflected support for peace, environmental causes, and social justice.

Nash is a two‑time inductee into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (with Crosby, Stills & Nash in 1997 and with the Hollies in 2010). He has also been inducted twice into the Songwriters Hall of Fame, both as a member of CSN and as a solo writer.

Beyond music, he is an accomplished photographer and an early pioneer in fine‑art digital printing; his company, Nash Editions, and one of its printers, are represented in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History.

The Graham Nash song I am featuring is “Chicago/We Can Change the World,” his 1971 solo single, from his debut album Songs for Beginners. It was written as a protest song about the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago and the subsequent Chicago Eight/Chicago Seven trial. The song reached No. 35 on the Billboard Hot 100.

The lyrics refer directly to the anti–Vietnam War demonstrations at the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago, where clashes between police and protesters were widely televised.

The opening line about someone “bound and gagged” and “chained…to a chair” points to Black Panther leader Bobby Seale, who was gagged and shackled in the courtroom during the Chicago Eight trial after repeated protests of the judge’s rulings. The Chicago Eight (later Seven) were charged with conspiracy and inciting a riot; the case became a symbol of establishment repression of anti‑war and countercultural movements.

Nash wrote the song partly as a plea to Stephen Stills and Neil Young to come “to Chicago just to sing,” asking them to join a benefit concert raising money for the defendants’ legal defense. The recurring chorus, “We can change the world / Rearrange the world,” expresses his belief in collective action and music as a force for political and social change.

The song functions on two levels: condemning the injustice of the trial and calling fellow artists and listeners to show up, lend their voices, and support the cause.

Before you read the lyrics, think about how relevant this song about what was going on in 1968 would be today, 58 years later, if the lyrics were, “Won’t you come to Minneapolis.”

Here are the lyrics to “Chicago/We Can Change the World.”

So your brother's bound and gagged
And they've chained him to a chair
Won't you please come to Chicago just to sing?
In a land that's known as freedom
How can such a thing be fair?
Won't you please come to Chicago for the help that we can bring?

We can change the world
Rearrange the world
It's dying
To get better

Politicians, sit yourselves down
There's nothing for you here
Won't you please come to Chicago for a ride?
Don't ask Jack to help you
'Cause he'll turn the other ear
Won't you please come to Chicago or else join the other side?

(We can change) Yes, we can change the world
(Rearrange) Rearrange the world (It's dying)
If you believe in justice (It's dying)
And if you believe in freedom (It's dying)
Let a man live his own life (It's dying)
Rules and regulations, who needs them?
Open up the door

Somehow people must be free
I hope the day comes soon
Won't you please come to Chicago? Show your face
From the bottom of the ocean
To the mountains of the moon
Won't you please come to Chicago? No one else can take your place

(We can change) Yes, we can change the world
(Rearrange) Rearrange the world (It's dying)
If you believe in justice (It's dying)
And if you believe in freedom (It's dying)
Let a man live his own life, yeah (It's dying)
Rules and regulations, who needs them?
Open up the door

FOWC With Fandango — Engulf

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Welcome to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (U.S.).

Today’s word is “engulf.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Please check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. Show them some love.

SoCS — Scatch That Itch

For this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday Prompt, Linda G. Hill asked us to respond with “scratch an itch.”

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Image conjured using Copilot

When it comes to regrets in life, many people regret the things they didn’t do, didn’t say, or the paths they didn’t follow more than what they did do, did say, or the paths they took.

There comes a moment in almost everyone’s life when the comfortable path stops feeling like enough. You’ve been following the map others drew for you, and suddenly you notice your own hand reaching for the pen.

That itch doesn’t announce itself with trumpets. It whispers during your commute, nags you awake at 3 am, surfaces while you’re brushing your teeth.

You can ignore it, and many people do, layering distraction upon distraction until the voice grows faint. But it never fully disappears, does it? That pull toward the thing you’ve been putting off, the conversation you need to have, the leap you’re terrified to take.

Some people scratch their itch at twenty-five, others not until they’re in their seventies . There’s no prize for speed. What matters is that you eventually stop pretending you don’t feel it. Because the itch isn’t a flaw in your contentment. It’s evidence that you’re still alive enough to want something more, or perhaps something different.

The world will give you a thousand reasons to stay still, to be practical, to wait for a better time. But the itch knows there is no better time, only this one, with all its imperfections and uncertainties. Scratching it might mean failure, embarrassment, or discovering that what you wanted isn’t quite what you needed.

Yet somehow, the people who scratch the itch seem to sleep better than those who don’t. They carry fewer regrets, even when they stumble.

So when that feeling arrives — and it will arrive, maybe it already has — pay attention. Your life is asking you a question. The itch is waiting for your answer. And only you know what it is.


Disclaimer: At almost 80, I have scratched all of my itches. Nothing left for me to scratch, except mosquito bites.

Weekend Writing Prompt — Mourning in America

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I mourn for America,

the country it once was,

a place of shared facts and fragile trust,

where neighbors argued loudly yet listened,

and tomorrow held promise,

before fear learned our names

when silence became patriotism

as our streets ran red with blood.


Written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt, where the challenge is “mourn” in exactly 43 words. Image: freepik.com

FOWC With Fandango — Overall

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Welcome to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (U.S.).

Today’s word is “overall.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Please check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. Show them some love.

MLMM Friday Faithfuls — The Weight of Nothing

For this week’s Mindlovemisery’s Menagery’s Friday Faithfuls challenge, Jim Adam’s has asked us to respond by writing anything about mass, energy, or gravity, or discuss galaxy rotation, or explain how light bends around distant objects, or write about how dark matter is responsible for the detailed patterns, or temperature fluctuations that are seen in cosmic microwave background radiation, or if you think that dark matter comes from the Star Wars Dark Side of the Force, or anything else that you feel fits.

I read Jim’s post and watched the videos and still don’t really understand dark matter. So, I thought I would take another shot at writing a science fiction story, since science fiction is, I tend to believe, more about imagination than about scientific knowledge. I don’t know if my story makes any sense, but it’s fiction about science and space and whatever the hell dark matter is. So here goes.

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Image conjured by Jim Adams using multiple AI apps

Dr. Edgar Vossi had spent fifteen years studying what wasn’t there. Dark matter — the invisible scaffolding holding galaxies together, comprising 85% of the universe’s mass yet never directly observed. Until tonight, that is.

The detector array at his Antarctic station registered an impossible reading. Not the expected wisp of a weakly interacting particle, but a cascade. A torrent. Dark matter was flooding through Earth like water through a net, except now something had changed. It was beginning to interact.

Dr. Vossi’s hands trembled as he checked the instruments. The dark matter wasn’t just passing through anymore — it was accumulating. Pooling in the planet’s core like sediment in a river bend.

He called Geneva, Tokyo, Houston. Within hours, the reports confirmed it. Gravitational anomalies were occurring worldwide. Tides lurching. Satellites drifting from orbit. The Earth was getting heavier, and the weight was coming from nowhere visible.

Day three brought the first casualty — the International Space Station, pulled into a decaying orbit by Earth’s increasing mass. Day seven, the Moon’s orbit began to shift. News networks showed Eclipse-style tidal waves and earthquakes. Humanity scrambled for answers.

Voss worked without sleep, mapping the accumulation. There — a pattern. The dark matter was concentrating along Earth’s magnetic field lines, drawn by some unknown interaction with regular matter that had suddenly switched on across the cosmos.

On day twelve, he found the frequency. A specific electromagnetic pulse that disrupted the interaction, letting dark matter slip through again like it always had. Broadcasting it globally was humanity’s Hail Mary.

The pulse fired at midnight GMT.

Slowly, impossibly, the weight began to lift.

As normality returned, Dr. Voss stared at his screens. They’d been given a warning: the invisible universe could reach out and touch them. They’d been lucky to find the off switch.

Next time, they might not be so lucky.

Friday Fictioneers — Feeling Groovy

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Margaret thought she’d ordered a “sophisticated floral arrangement” for her corporate retirement party. When she opened the bakery box, she screamed.

“I said subtle earth tones!” she shrieked into her phone.

The baker checked the order. “Oh dear. I am so sorry, but we must mixed you up with the Grateful Dead fan club reunion next door.”

At the party, her buttoned-up colleagues stood frozen, staring at the psychedelic monstrosity. Then accounting manager Dave whispered, “Far out,” removed his tie, and cut himself an enormous slice.

By midnight, the entire finance department was feeling groovy and doing the Electric Slide.

(100 words)


Written for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ Friday Fictioneers prompt. Photo credit: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Thursday Inspiration — Still Crazy

For this week’s Thursday Inspiration prompt, Jim Adams has given us the word “drive,” and by going with a song that embraces personal recklessness, madness, and chaotic behavior, essentially admitting to being crazy. This short tale came to mind.

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Walter kept the vinyl in its sleeve on the mantle, right between his late wife’s photo and their wedding album. Every Sunday evening, he’d ease it from the cover with careful hands, take it to the old turntable on a side table, lower the needle, and let Paul Simon’s voice fill the empty house.

Walter would close his eyes and remember himself at twenty-five, reckless and restless, bouncing between jobs and cities. And how he would invite pretty girls to drive with him in road rallies in his British roadster up and down the coast.

At forty, the woman of his dreams, Melanie, left him, breaking his heart. And he recalled their awkward hellos and unspoken regrets after they ran into each other at that Christmas party a few years later. Now seventy-three, he’d catch his reflection in the hallway mirror and hardly recognize the man looking back.

The song understood what others didn’t. People don’t really change, not deep down, anyway. He was still the same dreamer who’d dropped out of college, still felt that same electric nervousness around women, still woke at three in the morning with thoughts spiraling. Just older now, with creaking knees and reading glasses.

When the last notes faded, Walter would lift the needle and sit in the silence, thinking about old lovers and old friends who’d drifted away. He’d smile slightly — a bit sad, a bit grateful — knowing that Paul Simon had somehow written the story of his life.

And that he was still alive. And still crazy after all these years.


Image conjured using ideogram.ai.

Fandango’s Flashback Friday — January 30th

This was originally posted on January 30, 2014 on my old blog.

Random Questions

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What do you say when someone says you’re in denial, but you’re not?

When I clean my ears with Q-tips, why is there always so much more earwax on the Q-tip I used in my right ear than on the one I used in my left ear?

Am I the only person whose finger sometime pushes through the sheet of toilet paper when wiping my butt after taking a dump?

Is the above question a good example of TMI?

If you can be overwhelmed and you can be underwhelmed, can you be just whelmed?

Why do women ask stupid questions like, “Do these jeans make my butt look fat?”

How many men, when asked by a woman, “Do these jeans make my butt look fat?” answer that question honestly?

Have you ever heard a man ask if his butt looks fat in his jeans?

Do Christians who deny evolution as “just a theory” also deny gravity as “just a theory”?

Am I the only one who can’t eat a pasta dish without getting at least a couple of stains from the sauce on my shirt?

Speaking about food, why do all of the foods that are not healthy for you taste so damn good while those that are good for you taste so damn awful?

If corn oil is made from corn and olive oil is made from olives, what is baby oil made from?

Is mauve really a color or is that just some sort of nonsense word that women use to make men feel stupid?

Why does my hair now grow (and thrive) on parts of my body where it never grew before (and shouldn’t grow at all) and not grow at all where it used to and should, but doesn’t?

Why is it always so easy to say the things that you shouldn’t have said and so hard to say the things that you should have said?

Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?

Do all men pee while taking a shower, or is it just me?

Do women pee while taking a shower, or is that too uncouth and not lady-like?

If a woman wears a pair of pants, a pair of gloves, a pair of shoes, and a pair of earrings, why doesn’t she wear a pair of bras?

Has anyone ever been fooled by a comb-over?

Why do you get on a train and on a bus, but you get into a car?

I replace my old toothbrush with a new one every time I start a new tube of toothpaste. How often do you replace your toothbrush with a new one?

FOWC With Fandango — Huge

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Welcome to Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (aka, FOWC). I will be posting each day’s word just after midnight Pacific Time (U.S.).

Today’s word is “huge.”

Write a post using that word. It can be prose, poetry, fiction, non-fiction. It can be any length. It can be just a picture or a drawing if you want. No holds barred, so to speak.

Once you are done, tag your post with #FOWC and create a pingback to this post if you are on WordPress. Please check to confirm that your pingback is there. If not, please manually add your link in the comments.

And be sure to read the posts of other bloggers who respond to this prompt. Show them some love.