Told You So Lyrics

Originally posted on Raquel & The Professor:

 

My mama said I’d be what I wanted to be 

But I told her all I wanted to be was me 

She turned to me to ask, what did I mean

I had to tell her straight, I was gonna live my dream

She told me I was going to university 

I said I didn’t really wanna get a degree

Showed her my guitar, the songs I wrote 

She said stop right there this has go to be a joke

She said

Why ay ay ay ay

Why ay ay ay ay 

I didn’t raise you up so you could play the guitar 

Don’t be a dreamer, you won’t get far

I said

Why ay ay ay ay 

Why ay ay ay ay

I said I’m dreaming my dream and I just want you to know 

I wait for the day to say I told you so

It wasn’t…

View original 277 more words

Burst That Bubble (Smile) Lyrics

Hey lady you’re living in a bubble

Going on like that you’re asking for trouble

Sitting on your throne like the Queen of Sheba

Like butter wouldn’t melt nor would ice cubes either

Hey lady with your perfect hair

Why you got your nose up in the air?

Can see straight through your transparent suit

You’re nothing but high-class prostitute

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Hey old man you’re living in a bubble

Already drank too much and now you want another double

Take my advice keep your opinions to yourself

You’re old fashioned views should be left upon the shelf

Hey old man what do you care?

There’s enough to go round

This world is to share

Where did you pick up your selfish ways?

It wasn’t like that in the good old days

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Burst that bubble and show me your pearly whites

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Ever hear the saying about throwing stones

When the house is made of glass as well as your own

Did you ever hear the one, the pot, kettle and black

Well repeat it to yourself while you’re picking up glass

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

Burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Hey my friend we’re living in a bubble

We’d better wake up now or we will get in double trouble

Celebrity status and material things

Flashy fast cars and trashy diamond rings

We don’t need half of what we got

Does it really make a difference what you call your god?

There are people in this world that need our help

But you’re too busy passing judgment on everyone else

 

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Burst that bubble and show me your pearly whites

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Ever hear the saying about throwing stones

When the house is made of glass as well as your own

Did you ever hear the one, the pot, kettle and black

Well repeat it to yourself while you’re picking up glass

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

Burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

 

Burst that bubble I said

Burst that bubble won’t you

Burst that bubble and show me a smile

 

You gotta burst that bubble

Burst that bubble and smile

Yeah you gotta

Burst that bubble

You gotta burst that bubble and smile

 

Burst that bubble I said

Burst that bubble won’t you

Burst that bubble and show me a smile

 

 

Teach your children…… wisely…..

I have just watched a video that showed a little Israeli girl being told by her parents to hit a slightly older (but not by much) Palestinian boy with a baton, whilst the family encouraged and filmed the atrocity.

 This comes, in the same month that I, myself, was the subject of racial abuse by a 7 year old in a passing car who after obviously being encouraged by his ignorant father who tooted his horn, then hung a gollywog out of the window whilst screwing his face into a sword of malice in my direction. Needless to say, I was, and still am speechless.

 Teach your children - less cruel

 

Events such as these seriously make me question the ‘right’ to have children and I am extremely glad that I have chosen not to bring any into this world. Surely, you should have to take an exam on being a parent before being allowed to breed an infectious and poisonous mentality. Mental bacteria wiping out the empathy that humanity is privileged to have. Call it what you wish, xenophobia, you-me-mentality, racism, nationalism, the proof that I have had this month of what is being taught to the children of today by some downright cold-hearted people obviously lacking in empathy, has shocked me to no end.

At any time whilst brainwashing this innocent child into hateful indulgence, whether that be by humiliation or physical abuse, do these so-called adults not turn the situation around in their twisted brains? By teaching that child to do this to people, you are teaching them their life. They will continue to do these things, even when they don’t want to until their lives have been destroyed and hopefully, if they are lucky, they will start to work on themselves, a long and gruelling task to change their mindset – the one created by those that were supposed to be teaching how to have a good life. They will be the oppressor and they will become the oppressed. Such is the circle of life.

 Teach your child - wise  

 These children should be found, and taken away from venomous parents, for the sake of peace on earth. How can peace exist whilst at the very core, at the root, hate is being taught?

   From a spiritual perspective, your child has come to you for a reason and that reason is not for you to teach it to hate. That child is a gift, to remind you of the innocence and beauty of life and of love and yet so many people are so quick to tarnish the beauty. Pour oil on the painting. They want that beauty to become like their own egotistical selves. An aged bacteria of hurt and scars infesting the clean aura of the child.

   How can someone that has brought children into this world ever hurt another human being, let alone a child?? To understand the gift of life and the beauty of love first hand and yet you are willing to take somebody else’s away, because of the amount of pigmentation they have in their skin, the country they happened to be born in or the religion that they have been brainwashed by other ignorant parents to believe?

 

teach children respect

 

   The Palestinian child victim video is horrendous as are most of the happenings in Gaza right now. The child with the gollywog is very sad. It reminded me of Britain in the 1980’s, when it was filled with National Front skinheads and race wars. I think that’s the last time I ever saw a gollywog. We, as a ‘nation’ have come along way since then and, I, as a child accustomed to racial taunts, am sickened by the backwards stance that certain people have attained in the 21st century.

  The rise of right-wing political groups along with the stirring pot of the media has a lot to do with this outspoken hatred that has formed in the UK. If this is what will be taught in homes from their supporters then it, and they, need to be stopped. And NOW.

   We ALL know that we are all the same. Every single one of us, in the western world, has had interactions with people who originated from other countries. We ALL have positive interactions with those from other places. We all visit other places on holiday. There is no excuse for this hate and narrow-mindedness to take place and I am ashamed that it is taking place in the place that I am proud to be from.

As for Gaza – I’m praying for every single one of them and I suggest you do too.

 save gaza

 Peace and One Love

 

 

RRx

 

 

Life Begins with……. Living The Dream

A lot can happen in a year. If you had asked me, this time last year, as I was waiting for my life to begin, exactly what was going to happen, you would have received a mumble, something along the lines of “well, I’m not exactly sure…… but something has GOT to happen!”

You see that’s the world we live in. Sometimes we have uneventful years, those years in which nothing seems to have changed. We go through the same routines day in, day out, feeling the same emotions around the same people, chasing the same tail, round and round in circles. These dull years can continue for what seems like a lifetime, but the beautiful thing about life is, as the circle turns, so do your pages, and eventually you end up on a new chapter, sometimes a new book.

I’ve had around 3 years of these dull monotonous, draining years and the 6 before that, although never dull, were pretty bad, hence my optimism of a change coming soon…..and what a change it has been. My 35th year really has become a starting point for my new chapter.  A decision to write a book culminated in a move to a different country, which led me to what I can only begin to see, as one of my callings in life. For the first time in years, I feel that I am working towards something that means something, both to me and to others. A veil of self-doubt has been tenderly lifted by the acceptance and appreciation of the new friends that I have met, encouraging me to do away with some of the barriers that have been created through the traumatic years just passed.

I knew I was a writer, and that is what I came to do. Now I have found my voice. Again. After so many years of hiding it away, afraid of humiliation, rejection and unconstructive criticism, those things that can be so damaging to a child-performer, especially those who do not receive the praise and adulation at home as most other children do. But finally, I am not afraid to perform. I am not afraid to show who I really am…… well……let’s keep this real shall we?…….maybe just a little……. but I’m facing it.

Those, who knew me whilst at school, know very well that I used to sing. I was always the person to sing during assemblies and mass congregations. I was in numerous musical theatre shows and dreamed of being on Broadway. I had dreams. Those dreams were gradually worn away by people telling me to stop dreaming and the introduction of the UK clubbing scene was a welcome outlet for a dreamer who loved to be on stage but would never be.

Needless to say, the years passed and so did the dreams…….there were quite a few years that I completely lost faith and hope in everything. Those years were dark. When my younger brother died, I realised, I had been struggling to cope with London life and more to the point, London expense for five years, I needed to find a light at the end of the tunnel. Life was too short. It was time. It had to be.. As the laws of synchronicity guided me, I moved to Barcelona and found new friends on day one who instantaneously showed me support and love.

My five months here to date have been the making of my life’s dream come true. Even if I didn’t realise it. The poetry that I have written over the years, the songs that I have attempted whilst painstakingly trying to play the guitar, the experiences that I have had to write about (ha ha believe me I have so many), everything has contributed towards this moment of my life.  I now have a band ‘Raquel & The Professor’ check us out http://www.raquelandtheprofessor.com and our first single, ‘Waiting’ was released 28th May 2014 available on iTunes, Spotify, Google Play! Check us out and leave us a review! Let us know what you think!

The main thing that this experience has made me realise is sometimes in life, you don’t know what you are working towards until it arrives and when that moment comes, you got to run with it and see where it leads. Well I’m a’running baby – so Catch Me If You Can!!

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Wax on, Wax Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!

A bikini wax. Never the most dignifying of treatments to have to go through. It is probably one of the most personal treatments to have done. I mean the only other people who get that close to your nether regions except for your husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/lover is the doctor and nurse when a) you have a smear test or b) you’re giving birth. The bikini wax can actually be likened to both of these. In some instances, it is more like a smear, mostly covered, a little uncomfortable and a bit of pain that is over in seconds. Then there are the others, where it is very much like giving birth, legs akimbo and screaming in agony as you are either burned by wax that is too hot or being tortured as the beautician seems to be having a gym work out to the hardened wax that is stuck to your groin.

wax

Each salon is different and for those that are settled, the bikini wax can be an enjoyable experience with the same regular person, such a personal treatment on a regular basis creating a bond on a par with a friendship. I had a salon like this in Birmingham, for those of you that are based there, Nicky’s salon is above Christos hairdressers on Erdington High Street, my favourite place to this day. But since I have flown the nest, travelling around, the search for an affordable salon that will tend to my lady garden with love has been an agonising experience. Literally.

I have had my fair share of horror stories as I trial salons wherever I lay my hat.  Most have been great as they’ve cost £50/£60 but when you’re on a budget, things can get a little sticky. Pun very much intended. My bottom three rated salons to date are all in London. There was the Bangladeshi salon in Clapham, where the woman grunted at you to make your way into a tiny room, she spoke hardly any English and every time she came close, she pulled a funny face as if she was repulsed. It made me a little paranoid but I soon realised it was her problem, not mine.  Then there was the Turkish woman on Holloway Road, who kept answering her mobile phone throughout the treatment and I’m sure she took the frustration that she was feeling towards whoever she was arguing with on the phone, out on me, leaving clumps of wax for me to wrestle with in the shower later. But the worst, ever, to date, was a salon in West Kensington, when the blond, heavily tanned stereotypical ‘Essex Girl’ OWNER literally ripped me to shreds. I have never ever had agony like that before. I swear I had chicken skin for three days!

A spell of feminism was self-imposed due to the fact  that a) I could not afford it  as my London apartment was eating all the money I had, b) I found it to be  a great method of contraception (unless a pair of garden shears was magically at hand at the crucial moment, this fairy patch was a no-go area), and c) I was shit scared! There is something truly liberating in not having to put yourself through the indignity and agony of a bikini wax on a monthly basis,  30 minutes of torture whilst constantly worrying whether they are gonna make you get on all fours or spread your butt cheeks. Why should we have to go through pain and humiliation all of the time?  Just for the pleasure of men? I was making a stand for woman-kind! But…. as we all know…. this can’t last forever.

home-waxing

Once, a few years back, sick and tired of having to cringe at the thought of finding yet another new salon, I decided to get myself on-line to check out the DIY kits. Photographs of immensely tanned and smooth muscle men and women stared at me from the computer screen. ‘Pain Free Hot Wax’ ‘Removes every hair in one’, the advertisements visually screamed. When it finally arrived three days later, I couldn’t wait to see whether I had found the solution to my bushy botheration. I won’t go into too much embarrassing detail but lets just say I realised I was in trouble when I had to tug at every individual hair that was encased in the solidified green grunge on my pelvis around 10 times before the wax would let loose. An excruciating 20 minutes later, I had removed the two-inch of wax, leaving every hair still firmly in place. Needless to say, that went straight in the bin.

The only other option, after taking away waxing and doing the feminist thing, is shaving which taking into account, the rash, ingrown hairs and stubble, isn’t really an option at all. Thankfully, I have found a decent salon in Barcelona. The Pink Peony in Gracia. They were professional, quick and relatively pain-free. My only grumble would be the fact that I wasn’t covered at all but to date, that many human hedge trimmers  have seen my furry foo foo fun box,  she will be signing autographs soon…. maybe she’ll be a celebrity blogger after this?

‘No pain, no gain’ as the old cliché goes and I can now rest for a short while in the knowledge that I have found somewhere for my wax and it was only 15 minutes of slight pain, I’ll be smooth as a Barbie doll all month and ready to hit the beach when the weather allows it! My only conundrum now is which design to go for next…….. ;-)

bikini-waxing-menu1

HATE WORD OF THE DAY…………

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Normal.

People that use this word as way of self-praise, trying to glorify their boring, dull, flat lifestyles get on my tits.

Slaves to society, prisoners of the system, in the same monotonous job within the same grey colourless four walls, in loveless marriages with children that they didn’t actually want but had anyway, because….”that’s what we do…. it’s normal”. Conventional codswollop. Pah! Just the sound of the word sounds drab…. Normal…  Nor…mal….. what a boring word and what a boring way to describe yourself, let alone being proud about it.

You can guarantee that it is those that describe themselves and their actions as ‘normal’ that are the first to pass judgement on others. “Can you believe what he’s done? That’s not normal!” Just typing these words I can hear the chorus of thousands of ghosts from the past, their voices amplifying their disapproval over whatever it is that should dare to be different to them.

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What we tend to forget is that what is normal to one is totally unnatural to another. A City Trader starting the working day at 7am, rising at 5.30am, running in to work, training for the next Iron Man or triathlon, ready to tackle the heated day on the trading floor, the fluctuation of adrenalin pumping through his veins throughout the day and finishing the day off in the bar. To him, this is normal but to a long-distance lorry driver, who spends days at a time in his truck, alone and sedentary, this lifestyle is nowhere near ‘normal’ for him. To a High Court Judge, it is perfectly ‘normal’ to sit behind the bench and sentence people to years of imprisonment but it could also be perfectly ‘normal’ for him to spend his evenings locked in Miss Whiplash’s dungeon, his penance for his every day life. To Miss Whiplash, it is normal to humiliate powerful men into submission and get paid a hefty sum for her time.

My point is, there is no such thing as ‘normal’ and the sooner we all eradicate this awful word from our self-description, the better. Then maybe we can begin to progress with our understanding of each other. You usually find that those that are the most open-minded are those that have chosen to deviate from the ‘normal’ path at some point in their life. Even if they return to ‘conventional,’ they will always be less judgemental of others through their own experience. Once we stop seeing our own way as ‘normal’ we can start being a little more conscientious of others.

I think those of us that are a little eccentric should start waging a war against Normal Supremacism, being tarnished with this mentality, the world will just be a colourless, drab place. That’s the way we’re heading. So I say stand up! Be proud! Be as abnormal as you can be and be what and who you are!

Peace and Love to all the weirdo’s out there – you make the world a better place!

RRx

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Poetry Corner – Love is………

Image  Love is……

…..the birdsong on a spring morn

…..the cry of  a baby newly born

…..the invigorating smell of fresh-cut grass

…..the forgive and forget of grievances past

…..the sun rising high on a summer’s day

…..the sound of the ocean as you drift away

…..the warmth of the sunshine nourishing your skin

…..the taste of salt as you breathe the air in

…. the glow from the moon on an autumns eve

…..the crisp crackling crunch of the fallen leaves

……the choir of voices singing in praise

……the preparation for colder days

….. the snow that settles on a winter’s night

….. the fire that protects from Jack frost’s bite

……the magnetic energy bringing people together

…..the realisation that whatever the weather

      Love is……..

RRx

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