red night

My band was practicing the other day. Towards the end we sort of lost focus and trailed off into random jamming, as most bands probably do. Anyways, as the boys were mashing away at the drums, keys, and bass, I sat by the table with my notebook and pen and began to scribble some words down. After they had all left, I edited them and came up with this:

White-haired monarch in too deep
Greyhounds run, don't fall asleep
Razor sharp, it's all a dream
Up until the red night beams

Oh dead look in your eyes
Oh not even sunrise

Moving parts, drawing blood
Bulls stampede and dance in mud
Razor sharp, don't you dare look
Up until the line is hooked

Oh dead look in your eyes
Oh not even sunrise

Light goes on for miles on end
It does not curve; it does not bend

Light goes on for miles on end
It does not curve; it does not bend

Ideally, the last couplet would be repeated forever. When I first started writing, I wasn't sure what it was about - essentially I was writing down random words that strung together as phrases and stanzas. Part way through writing the first stanza I figured out what I wanted this to be about and was able to go from there. I wonder if the theme is obvious.

so here we are

I suppose the fact that I'm taking the time to type right now shows just how... far I've come. I never thought that I would be one of "them." You know. Bloggers.

But here I am, typing at my computer a message that perhaps no one will read. Or maybe, everyone will read. There's a sort of comforting anonymity that remains on the Internet to a degree, so it's fun to play with.

If anyone out there has unfortunately found themselves here, welcome. I'm not sure if I'll be a particularly interesting blogger, but it's worth a short.

My main purpose, as of now, is to post some of my written work. This ranges from poems, short stories, songs, etc. You'll see as time goes by.

To end off my first blog, here's a sort of stream-of-consciousness written little... thing I did a few days back. It's odd; I don't fully understand it myself. It has no title yet.

And I'm standing here
Hearing the cries of the children on a distant planet
Whose dying chorus sounds suspiciously like Bon Jovi
And there you are, there you are
Sitting in your automobile
Bobbing along to the whines of a white kid from suburbia
The bass rattles your red vehicle

Whoa, we're halfway there

Slipping in and out of consciousness
Falling asleep every moment she sees you
I lie on a bed of white rabbits
The moon is a happy one
A scream cuts through the blank sky
And is heard by the deaf twice-removed half-cousin of a guy
Who you used to work for
Or did he work for you
I never remember these things

We're living on a prayer

It doesn't exist.
Didn't.
It never existed.
It still doesn't exist.
A day of sugar-filled snacks thrown down the bellies of ex-junkies
It's gone

Take my hand

One two three four five six
The other numbers don't matter
It's all you hear
Over the scratches of that dusty record
Squeaky and squawking over nothing
The air conditioner broke down last summer
No one's been bothered to get it fixed
When was the last time you turned off the TV

We'll make it

I swear, there used to be five of them sitting there
Staring at you every time you woke up
From a dream that described a world
You never cared to see
Crying out to whatever divinity you wanted at night
Only to feel your voice resonate throughout the valley
Or maybe mountains

I never wanted to climb a mountain
Meanwhile, they dance from the tops
Shedding powder down the slope
They're losing oxygen and gaining freedom
You never cared for the mountainside either

And so it is
The children cry, the radio blasts, we carrying on sleeping, we forget how to count, we shout to whoever will listen, the records squeak, the people crack, the song goes on
To whoever will listen
So here we are

Living on a prayer