The book Sing Your Life is based on the 2003 Sing Your Life open mic, live at the (now closed bar) Ustabee’s. The members of the acoustic alternative band The Second Axing.
    At the regular open mic, a lot of covers were performed, and a listing of what covers were done could be found at the performance art page for the Sing Your Life open mic. In this 2006 book, original material is covered, plus bonus tracks of additional songs and materials from The Second Axing. A book can only deliver so much (not video of the live performance, or audio of the readings), so you can learn more about this live show at http://www.janetkuypers.com, where there is a direct link to information and data on this performance.

accounts for the need of gun control

January, 1995

One day a man decided to kill people.
A shooting spree. So he went into a
gun shop, picked up a pair of assault

rifles, a number of rounds, each of
one hundred bullets. And he bought
these things, he didn’t need a

permit or a license. Just walked in
and out. And he went to an office
building to take out his revenge

on the world. My wife was there,
took five bullets in the back. I wonder
if she suffered before she died. We went

on a ski trip together last Christmas.
She looked so beautiful with the
snow in her hair. This man didn’t need

a license, and yet I needed a permit to
retrieve my wife’s ashes from the
crematorium. He didn’t just do this to

her, you know. Or to the other victims.
He’s tortured me, and our baby girl. Our
girl is darling. She’s blond, like her

mommy. We have to live with
this trauma forever. This should not
be how we have to live.

As my girl’s second birthday approached
this year, I asked her what she
wanted. She said she wanted

to see mommy. Guess what
she is going to want for her
third

Andrew Hettinger

I never really liked you. I met you through
a friend and he explained to me that multiple
sclerosis left you with a slight limp and a
faint lisp. Faint, under the surface, but there,
traces of something no one would ever
know of you well enough to fully understand.

I never really liked you. You never revealed
yourself to me and I never wanted you to;
you scared me too much. You, plagued with
physical ailments. You, with a limp in your walk.
You, with a patch over your eye. You, who
stared at me for always just a bit too long.

They told me the patch was from eye surgery
with complications and now you had to cover
your shame, cover someone else’s mistakes,
cover a wrong you didn’t commit, cover a
problem not of your own doing. The problems
were never of your own doing, were they.

I heard these stories and I thought it was sad.
I heard these stories and thought you had to be
a pillar of strength. And then I saw you drink,
straight from the bottle, fifteen-year-old
chianti. And I saw you smash your hand into
your living room wall. This is how you lived.

The house you lived in was littered with
trash. Why bother to clean it up anyway. It
detracted you from the holes in the wall, the
broken furniture from drunken fits. This was
how you reacted to life, to the world. You didn’t
know any better. This is how you coped.

I never really liked you. You would come home
from work, tell us about a woman who was
beautiful and smart that liked you, but she
wasn’t quite smart enough. And I thought: We
believe anything if we tell ourselves enough.
We weave these fantasies to get through the days.

I never really liked you. Every time you talked
to me you always leaned a little too close. So
I stayed away from the house, noted that those
whom you called friends did the same. I asked
my friend why he bothered to stay in touch.
And he said to me, “But he has no friends.”

This is how I thought of you. A man who was
dealt a bad hand. A man who couldn’t fight
the demons that were handed to him. And
with that I put you out of my mind, relegated
you to the ranks of the inconsequential. We parted
ways. You were reduced to a sliver of my youth.

I received a letter recently, a letter from
someone who knew you, someone who wanted
me to tell my friend that they read in the
newspaper that you hanged yourself. Your
brother died in an electrical accident, and
after the funeral you went to the train station,

and instead of leaving this town you went to a
small room off to the side and you left us forever.
Strangers had to find you. The police had to
search through records to identify your body.
The newspaper described you as having “health
problems.” But you knew it was more than that.

And I was asked to be the messenger to my
friend. The funeral had already passed. You were
already in the ground. There was no way he
could say goodbye. I shouldn’t have been the one
to tell him this. No one deserved to tell him.
He was the only one who tried to care.

I never really liked you. No one did. But when
I had to tell my friend, I knew his pain.
I knew he wanted to be better. I knew he
thought you were too young to die. I knew he
felt guilty for not calling you. He knew it
shouldn’t have been this way. We all knew it.

I never really liked you. But now I can’t get
you out of my mind; you haunt me for all the
people we’ve forgotten in our lives. I don’t like
what you’ve done. I don’t like you quitting.
I don’t like you dying, not giving us the chance
to love you, or hate you, or even ignore you more.

My friend still doesn’t know where your grave is.
I’d like to find it for him, and take him to you.
Let you know you did have a friend out there.
Bring you a drink, maybe, a fitting nightcap
to mark your departure, to commemorate a life
filled with liquor, violence, pain and death.

I never really liked you, but maybe we could get
together in some old cemetery, sit on your grave
stone, share a drink with the dead, laugh at the
injustices of life when we’re surrounded by death.
Maybe then we’d understand your pain for one brief
moment, and remember the moments we’ll always regret.

a socially accepted target

rape is connected
to the frustration produced
by living in this society

rape is anger
misdirected towards
a socially accepted target:
women
- Men and Politics Group, East Bay Men’s Center, Statement on Rape

i didn’t get the promotion i deserved
i work in a cubicle
the boss doesn’t know my name
i put in too much overtime
this tie makes it hard to breathe

this traffic is always in my way
there’s all these bills i have to pay

i’m angry all the time

and the damn kids are banging
their toys when i come home
and dinner is never on time
and your looks have just gone to hell
and i hate you

i just want a fucking beer, you bitch

it’s all your fault

athena

ladies and gentlemen
high above the dancing elephants
and the clowns driving around
in their little cars
honking their horns

high above the lion tamers
with their whips and chairs

is our main attraction
tonight:
all eyes turn to
Athena, the tightrope walker

see her gracefully step
out onto the paper-thin wire
balance high above everyone else
while all eyes are on her
all without a net

would you like to see her
do a flip? a spin? touch the rope
with her tiny, fragile fingers?

Athena will put on the
grandest of shows for you

imagine, if you will, the fear
she must feel:
with one wrong move
she falls to her death
into the mouths of the lions
in between the running clowns

come, see her perform:
watch her walk
watch her move
watch her shake

this is
the greatest show
on earth

headache

so whenever i say i have a headache
eugene takes my hand
and uses acupressure:

he pushes his thumb
right in the middle of my palm.
the pain disappears almost

immediately. but eventually
i have to tell him to stop
pressing my hand, that my

hand now hurts. he lets go,
and the headache, almost
immediately, comes back.

i want

i want a big house with filtered central air
and i want a big lawn so i can recreate nature

and i want a big fence so i’ll know what’s mine

and i want the evergreens trimmed into neat little
balls, because it has to look neat. plant everything
in a row.

and i want to spray chemicals on my lawn
to keep the dandelions away

***

and i want a plastic lobster bib
over my fancy dress at the fancy restaurant

and don’t forget the hundred dollar champagne

and i want a big fat car, and i want
someone else to drive it

and i want the two kids, one boy, one girl
and i want a nanny to take care of them for me

i want to be famous
i want everyone to love me

i want it
i want it all

Me or Him

we’ve all thought of doing it
before

what stops us

what makes one man
decide life is so worthless
decides that he is so angry

that the consequences
don’t matter anymore

what makes him different from us
all he does
is do
what we’ve never thought we could

who is more crazy
the one who acts on their violence
or the one who holds it in

I’ve thought of shooting people
before

of course. I keep that
locked away
inside of me

I don’t act on my
impulses
pf course not

who is more crazy
the one who acts on their violence
or the one who holds it in

who is more crazy
me or him

my love for you will stay the same

(a song)

everybody’s looking for some shelter from the storm
and everybody’s looking for someone to keep them warm
but I don’t wanna play if you’re a temporary game
my love for you will stay the same
my love for you will stay the same
(my love for you)

now the tide is turning
the fire embers burning

everybody wants to find a way to shed the shame
everybody wants to find a way to share the blame
but you can put me through the heartache, I can take the pain
my love for you will stay the same
my love for you will stay the same
(my love for you)

the rhythm in your fingers
the memory still lingers

listen to your flowers now, the petals scream out loud
and all these seasons come and go without a single sound
i can hear the flower petals calling out your name
my love for you will stay the same
my love for you will stay the same
(my love for you)

new to chicago

I’m still new to this city
I know, I know, I’ve been here for years
but I haven’t gone to the Sears Tower Observatory
since my Junior Prom

but when I walk by the First Chicago building
the beams along the north side
sloping up, parabolic pillars curving up to the sky

when I walk by the First Chicago building
I walk up along the side
and lean up against one of the sloping pillars
press my body against the cold concrete
feel the cold against my chin, my breasts, by thighs

and look up along the curve, stretching up towards the sky

you know, these pillares look like race tracks
and I could see something come rushing down that curve
a matchbox car, a race car
a marble, a bowling ball
a two-ton weight

I see the seed, the power, and it
almost makes me afraid to look up

and every time I walk by the First Chicago building
I do the same thing, I do this little ritual
and it feels like the first time

Once Wanted You as my Friend

I should laugh about this. I know
that people will probably hear your stories
and think I was a bad and evil girl.
I don’t care. I didn’t want to be
a part of your life any more.
I wanted you as my friend
after I was falling apart
and I thought I had no one
and I wanted my life back
and because I believed you.
You told people I was your best friend
and you are a liar, plainly put.
I didn’t know you’d fuck
your best friend’s date. Hell,
fuck the guy for a month until
your neurotic ego can’t take it.
I don’t give a shit
about a year and a half
recovery from that
evil spell of yours
but I should never have forgiven you.
Maybe you need attention
from every penis you can get it from,
maybe you’re more of an attention whore
than I could ever be,
than anyone I know could ever be,
by my neurotic tendencies
didn’t keep me in my parent’s house
while I studied for another job
because I didn’t know what the Hell I wanted
and maybe my tendencies didn’t make me
lose my friends
or go through men like hand rags
or give me sexually transmitted diseases

and didn’t leave me fucking someone else
while I was engaged
“I’ve never orgasned
while having sex with him,” you’d say
well, I don’t know what to tell you.
All I can think
is that you’ve made this bad
out of straw and fabric scraps
and I don’t care if it rained yesterday
and your precious bed smells like shit
and you’ve got nothing clean to grab on to
well, you’ve made that bed
and now you have to lie in it.
so
so have a good night’s sleep
while you try to make sense
of what you think is insane
God, the only insane thing
is that your man still puts up with you
or how much of your story
haven’t you told him?

So yes, I should be laughing
because you’re the one filled
with so many questions. Please,
for your own benefit,
for OUR own benefit,
get them figured out.

I wanted to cut off ties from you sooner
but I would have had to lose one of my
closest friends in the process
and we couldn’t have that (of course not).
But I’m glad your warped mentality
misconstrued what I said
and that is exactly what you did
nothing more, nothing less
but you at least got the idea
because no, I don’t want to be a part
of your life any longer
and I don’t want to openly condone
what you’ve done to your man
and what you’re doing to your man
and I want to walk away from this unscathed

so I think I will.

packing

there are too many times
when i’ve said this before

never thought i’d really leave you
and now i sit here

in this apartment
popcorn bowl on the cocktail table

eleven thirty at night
the television playing static

it looks too clean in here,
not lived in

so i decide to take a trip
get out of this place

into the bedroom, time to start
packing: two dresses, two

pairs of shorts, shirts, loneliness,
anger, make-up, extra socks

it’s amazing how much of your life
you can fit in a single suitcase

realistic dreams

other people’s dreams aren’t realistic, but
mine always are. They stay with you longer

that way, they make you think they really
happened. Recently I had a dream that someone

wanted to hurt me; they wanted to hurt me
and they followed me and appeared in the

same town as me and one day I was standing
at a street corner and they were just standing

there, talking to someone else, on the other
side of the street. So I panicked, and I turned

around and started running, ran down the block,
dropped what was in my hands off at my house,

and kept running. I don’t know how far I ran,
or where I was running to, all I can remember

is what I was running from.

resurrecting the dead

i know it will be the same
as it always is

something will go wrong
and you’ll come crawling back

do you expect me to pick up the pieces
again?

am i supposed to watch it all
fall apart

then make everything
right again?

you never give me
the benefit of the doubt

you think someone else is better
well, maybe i’m cocky
but i know better

and soon
your world will crumble again

and i’ll come back,
because i have to

resurrecting the dead

Scars 1997

I have a scar over my left knee.
It’s left over from a bout with poison ivy
I had after climbing a mountainside.
The four-inch long slice curves around my leg,
almost perfectly defining the muscles in my thigh.

I have a scar on my right shin.
I slipped on a patch of rocks and cut up the lower
half of my leg and filled it with gravel and dirt.
Joe poured hydrogen peroxide on my leg
and wrapped my wounds with paper towels
because the cuts were so wide spread.
An hour later I was on a plane home,
so I could tend to my wounds in greater detail.
Tend to my wounds in depth.
Now all that is left is a two-inch line down
the side of my leg. Although it wasn’t a very
deep cut, it looks like it went straight to the bone.

I have a circular scar on my left calf,
from getting off a motorcycle and sliding
my leg over the scalding hot exhaust pipe.
It has been seven years since I gained that scar,
and with each year I see it fade away just a little.
I can still see it, but the memory is slowly slipping away.

My cat scratched me on my wrist once
when we had to give her medication.
Cats don’t like taking pills, or having ointment
dabbed on and liquid poured over their wounds.
When giving her pills, we’d grab all her paws,
pull her head back by the nape of her neck,
pry her jaws wide open so the pill will fall back
and she is forced to swallow it.
But sometimes she’d move too much
and a paw would slip out of our grasp.
And now, over the bone on my left wrist,
a long thin scar stares at me defiantly.

I tell people that if they wake up
with bruises and cuts they don’t remember,
then they must have had fun the night before.
But each marking, each scar is a story,
is a memory. It is a way to remember how you lived.
And it is with these marks that I gauge my living.
It is with these marks that I feel decorated.

the measuring scale

Here’s an addition for your
degrading terminology
of women list. In the
construction field they
(men) have devised another
form of measurement.
When something is being
lowered or fitted into place
they will often refer
to an inch or so as:
up or down about a cunt hair.
They have gone so far
as to determine that blonde
pubic hair is the smallest
increment and at the other
end of the measuring scale
is black pubic hair.

Pam, via the internet

if we’re talking about
measuring scales, what about
the scale that defines the way
you treat us:
on one end is the minor stuff,
calling us "baby" and "sugar,"
whistling as we walk by, but
then move along the scale, get to
the blonde jokes, yes, they’re so
funny, then how about a pinch
in the rear at the office,
well, that’s harmless enough
and while you’re at it, porn
movies and magazines, what harm
do they do, and hey, women
have always worked at home,
so you should have all the jobs
and get the better pay anyway
and since we’re just your pro-
perty, fuck us whenever you
want, i mean, hey, you’re doing
it already in every other aspect
of our repressed, oppressed lives
so rape us, smack us around
knock us down a flight of stairs
that’s what we’re here for

god, i don’t even know how to
measure these things any more

the state of the nation

and then he put in a dramatic pause
and said,
but when we said people had
a right to bear arms
we meant to protect themselves
from a government gone wrong
and not so you could kill
and innocent person
for twenty dollars cash
and when we said freedom of
religion we included the separation
of church and state because freedom
of religion could also mean freedom
from religion
and when we said freedom of speech
we had no idea you’d be
burning a flag
or painting pictures of Christ
doused in urine
or photographing people with
whips up their respective anatomies
but hell, I guess we’ve got to
grin and bear it
because if we ban that
the next thing they’ll ban is books
and we can’t have that
and I said, “But there are schools
that have books banned, George.”
And he said Oh.

what we need in life

(a song)

I don’t know where this highway’s taking me anymore and
I don’t know the right lines to say
I don’t feel the things that you’re feeling
down deep inside of you but
I know this ain’t the way

nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same

but you go your way
I go mine
maybe one day
we will find

what we need in life

what we need in life

I watch the ashes from your cigarette
fall to the ground and
I think this fire will die down
I think I now see what is happening here
between us and
I have to say good bye

nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same

so you go your way
I go mine
maybe one day
we will find

what we need in life

what we need in life

I can’t stay bitter and lonely and restless anymore and
I can’t be here with you
I see the red in your eyes and it scares me half to death and
I’ll take this road alone

nothing ventured
nothing gained
nothing changes
nothing stays the same

you go your way
and I go mine
maybe one day
we will find

what we need in life

what we need in life

taking out the brain

i’m a med student
and for the past few weeks
we’ve been working on a cadaver

at first
i didn’t want to know anything
about him
i covered the head of the guy
wanted to pay him some respect
i didn’t want to think
tat this person lived
before i dissected him

i had a hard time
taking out the brain
cause you know, that’s where
the memories are
that’s what makes him
him

it’s not so hard now
they get the bodies from the morgue
they’re homeless people, mostly
no family
it’s not so hard now

they never ask me

“why are you getting dressed”
they ask, and i tell them
that i have to get going

they never ask me to stay

more than we should have

when i think of him i usually think about the drinking

actually, i never think of him as drinking
come to think of it
i just think of him as drunk
i can’t even remember seeing the drinks in his hand
but his perception of the world is always altered

but someone reminded me tonight
of when he would work outside in the the cold Chicago winters
and he would come back with his moustache frozen
and there would be little icicles hanging
down toward his mouth

and then i thought of
when i waited with him once at the airport
because we were picking up someone
and we sat in the shrimp cocktail lounge
and he drank, and ate, and i waited

and as we left
we tried to pay the expressway toll with pennies
but some of the coins fell onto the street
and we had to throw more change at the machine

we paid more than we should have
i’m sure we did

In Love I Abide

and as time went by my love grew stronger than before
but I never dreamt I’d get what I was wishing for

so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go

in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found

well you parted all the people when you walked in the room
when i saw your ice blue eyes i knew you would be mine soon
but i couldn’t understand how i fell for you so fast
and i only hoped our feelings for each other would last

well do you believe that fate could make us feel this way
because i know that a love like this is gonna stay

so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go

in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found

(instrumental)

and as time went by my love grew stronger than before
but I never dreamt I’d get what I was wishing for

so don’t be afraid
to let your feelings show
because our love has stayed
and I won’t let you go

in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found

in love I abide
for to love I am bound
and I’ll stay by your side
with this love that I’ve found

Why

I have been trapped by the things that you do
I cannot see why I’ve fallen for you
I cannot live so I will give in
I cannot fight so I’ll let you... win

say... we can be together
say... that you will be mine
stay... and make my dreams come true tonight
stay... until the end of time

I have been trapped by the things that you do
I cannot see why I’ve fallen for you
I cannot live so I will give in
I cannot fight so I’ll let you... win

interlude thingy

hey... now I feel so lonely
hey... it’s something I can’t bear
yeah... I think I can take you on
yeah... I’ll take you anywhere

I have been trapped by the things that you do
I cannot see why I’ve fallen for you
I cannot live so I will give in
I cannot fight so I’ll let you... win

There is a Fire in My Heart

that I think about you all night long
it’s your image that keeps me strong
and though we’re separated by miles
I still think about you all the while

just holding hands down by the lake
I never planned the love we’d make
our love will stand the test of time
everything’s grand I know you’re mine

and I think about you all night long
it’s your image that keeps me strong
and though we’re separated by miles
I still think about you all the while

Victim

every day I struggle with the lingering past
I had struggled, I had worked to take it fast
every day I find it difficult, impossible
to look at what we have and make it last

time to time I shed a tear
when you are near
I stop myself
I’m filled with fear

I try to carry on but it doesn’t seem fair
when I feel your presence but you are not there
time to time I find it difficult, impossible
to look at how I feel and say you care

I close my eyes, I see it too
when I sleep I dream of you
when I talk your words come out
when I live I just feel blue

I can see the scene, it flashes through my mind
I can’t fathom feelings of another kind
when I try I find it difficult, impossible
to search for pieces that I cannot find

I had struggled with the maze
worked a hundred days
tried to make it stop
I could not see through the haze

I hurt so many ways

tight rope affair

you can’t say a word
you can’t move an inch
cause you can’t break the rules

i know what to say
i know what to do

and it sets you on fire

i have to play
on what you like
to see what you can take

and i walk out on to that tight rope
to watch you move and shake

and now we’re both stuck there
but here is where you quake

but you can’t fall from this wire

we walk a thin line
in our tight rope affair
there’s no net when you’re high
so you better beware

do you know your way down
when you’re in making your moves
and balanced in
your tight rope affair

when you’re up on the wire
you feel the fire
and you feel the fear

but you’re filled with desire
you want to go higher
whenever we’re near

what will transpire
now that we’re here

what can we do to make us right

when we gracefully step
on the paper-thin wire
we’re balancing high

we look to the ground
see a circus of clowns
as we’re touching the sky

now we both tightrope walk
and I wonder why

why we can’t bring it all into the light

we’re walking a fine line
in our tight rope affair
yeah, you try to act sly
when I know a part of you’s scared

but you know you’ll will try
only if you can bear
what might happen
in our tight rope affair

you balance on this twine
in our tight rope affair
cause I know you’ll be mine
yeah, be with me if you’d dare

this love is divine
but it cannot compare
to this rush
from this tight rope affair

you know how it feels
in our tight rope affair
our time is surreal
and our bond is rare

we sense this appeal
and it makes us aware
of the risks
in our tight rope affair

About the Author

    Janet Kuypers has a Communications degree in News/Editorial Journalism (starting in computer science engineering studies) from the UIUC. She had the equivalent of a minor in photography and specialized in creative writing. A portrait photographer for years in the early 1990s, she was also an acquaintance rape workshop facilitator, and she started her publishing career as an editor of two literary magazines. Later she was an art director, webmaster and photographer for a few magazines for a publishing company in Chicago.
    She sang with acoustic bands “Mom’s Favorite Vase”, “Weeds and Flowers” and “the Second Axing”, and does music sampling. Kuypers is published in books, magazines and on the internet around 9,300 times for writing, and over 17,800 times for art work in her professional career, and has been profiled in such magazines as Nation and Discover U, won the award for a Poetry Ambassador and was nominated as Poet of the Year for 2006 by the International Society of Poets. She has also been highlighted on radio stations, including WEFT (90.1FM), WZRD (88.3FM), WLS (8900AM), the internet radio stationsArtistFirst dot com, chicagopoetry.com’s Poetry World Radio and Scars Internet Radio (SIR), and was even shortly on Q101 FM radio. She has also appeared on television for poetry in Nashville and Chicago, and was interviewed on her art work on Urbana’s WCIA channel 3 10 o’clock news.
    She turned her writing into performance art on her own and with musical groups like Pointless Orchestra,” “5D/5D” and “Order From Chaos,” and starting in 2005 Kuypers ran a monthly iPodCast of her work, as well as an Internet radio station (JK Radio). She has performed spoken word and music across the country - in the spring of 1998 she embarked on her first national poetry tour, with featured performances, among other venues, at the Albuquerque Spoken Word Festival during the National Poetry Slam; her bands have had concerts in Chicago and in Alaska; in 2003 she hosted and performed at a weekly poetry and music open mike (called Sing Your Life), and from 2002 through 2005 was a featured performance artist, doing quarterly performance art shows with readings, music and images.
    In addition to being published with Bernadette Miller in the short story collection book Domestic Blisters, as well as in a book of poetry turned to prose with Eric Bonholtzer in the book Duality, Kuypers has had many books of her own published: Hope Chest in the Attic, The Window, Close Cover Before Striking, (woman.) (spiral bound), Autumn Reason (novel in letter form), the Average Guy’s Guide (to Feminism), Contents Under Pressure, etc., and eventually The Key To Believing (2002 650 page novel), Changing Gears (travel journals around the United States), The Other Side (European travel book), The Boss Lady’s Editorials, The Boss Lady’s Editorials — 2005 Expanded Edition, Seeing Things Differently, Change/Rearrange, Death Comes in Threes, Moving Performances, Six Eleven, Live at Cafe Aloha, Dreams, Rough Mixes, The Entropy Project, The Other Side (2006 edition), and Stop.Oeuvre (poetry), Exaro Versus (prose) and L’arte (art).