• Experiments in stereo

    michael raven

    Picture of an audio soundboard
    Photo by Anthony Roberts on Unsplash

    I am curious; there’s an idea that might be interesting to pursue. I’m not sure it is a good idea to pursue, but it is definitely interesting.

    Are any of my readers interested in scratching that Sisters of Mercy (or similar musical act) fantasy and write some lyrics for a song in that flavor that I have already written save for the lyrics? The flavor is more “First and Last and Always” than “Driven Like the Snow“, for those of you familiar with the band, although it might have a touch of “Lucretia, My Reflection” to the sound as well. Bass and drums are a bit more on the Mission UK side of the equation than Doktor Avalanche. [If all of this means nothing to you, that’s okay! Think gloomy rock.]

    No need to sing them (unless you want to).

    Tentative working title: “Living With the Ghost of You” (open to modification, but a repetition of this line over the “chorus” section currently works in my head).

    I can modify the song structure somewhat to fit the lyrics if the right ones come my way. Or the other way around. I think (at the moment, anyway) that it might be more fun if participants didn’t hear the music they were writing lyrics for…

    If you want to see if I think what you write will work, drop it in the comments below. The basic (current) structure is:

    • verse
    • verse
    • chorus
    • verse
    • chorus
    • bridge
    • verse
    • chorus to fade

    All verses would probably fit with a 4-lines/verse structure. Or 2-lines/verse if the lines are longer. Bridge may be left instrumental, but let me know if you have injections that work (no “babybabybaby” stuff, though, puhleez).

    Any takers?

    I can’t promise it will work, but it would still be fun to see what y’all come up with. And who knows? I may ask for your permission to use it!

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  • Nightwalking

    michael raven

    Photo by Harald Pliessnig on Unsplash

    At long drag, the fens and fog draw down, sucking the moon behind a veil of shadows to obfuscate and obscure. Edgewater, nightwalking slow, shoulders burdened of regret and battleworn, he shambles all shagged, matted and weary to the dampness of home.

    These invasions falling into his moors and swamps, they ache with each needle piercing at the festering wound of birth. Could they not find another fallow place for their disruption? He scoffs at the idea, certain that the answer will remain that his time has grown overdue and, like these wild places, he must also be forced to submit or wither.

    And submission is not his nature; and so he shuffles from damp stone to damp stone, wary of the moss growing slick over each, lumbering on his way home to rest. For tomorrow there will be fresh battles to weary him to the bone. A wry smile, only tugging at one corner of his mouth, at the thought. When that day comes, he will lay down his fatigue and return to dirt. Rest comes for all, eventually — but in this, he must struggle bitter to the end.

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  • restless

    michael raven

    Image of a writing journal and a pencil.
    Photo by Dariusz Sankowski on Unsplash
    awake again
    the night sharp
    against bare arms
    and needles in
    the brain

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  • drain empty

    michael raven

    Photo by Abishek on Unsplash
    all drains empty waiting for
    someone like you to fill me

    fox screams at the moon
    while owl waits in silence
    ghost chill on my shoulder
    as you drift through
    feet never touching stone

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  • passage

    michael raven

    conceptual portrait of hands with red thread
    Photo by Amirhossein Kianbakht on Pexels.com
    to rest my cheek against thigh
    fingers hair entwined
    waiting for the glow of stars
    to shine and fill me of you

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  • Ikkyū quotes

    michael raven

    Photo by Andrea Sun on Unsplash
    nobody knows I'm a storm
    I'm dawn on the mountain
    twilight on the town
    alone with
    the icy moon
    no passion
    these trees
    this mountain
    nothing else
    all koans just lead you on
    but not the delicious pussy
    of the young girls I go down on
    no more Zen
    write one great line
    like a needle piercing
    a sore spot on your arm

    — Ikkyū

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  • Half-penny thoughts — 02jun25

    michael raven

    Photo by enkuu smile_ on Unsplash

    I recently realized that sometimes I take what was said or done in the past and apply it to the present, which is flawed thinking when I consider how it might the reality of a given situation.

    Yes, that’s how our minds tend to work — we use our experiences to inform our futures and presents. That’s how we try to maximize our situations to our advantage.

    And, often, it works as intended.

    But there are times where the past does not necessarily inform the present. Or, even when the past informs the present, it does so with such imperfection as to be essentially useless. Instead of advantage, assumptions about the past offer us greater opportunities to stumble and fall face-first into a cow pie. And that’s if we are lucky. Unlucky, we tend to crash and burn in a dung heap.

    I’m often on the unlucky balance of the equation. [Aside: If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all, as the saying goes.]

    I need to remind myself that, absent other assurances from the past, there is still only the eternal present. Putting too much faith in the (often illusionary) past to explain the present is a fool’s errand. Forget about the future.

    Excuse me while I go remind myself of the nature of things by sitting in the dojo of my mind…

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  • Past Penpals

    michael raven

    Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

    I received a lovely surprise thanks to social media yesterday morning: an old email “penpal” reached out to my Facebook account to ask if I was the Michael xxxxx they used to exchange emails with. Of course, I recognized her name right away as Kate (“K8”) from around the 00s, back when the internet was both a much more friendly place, as well as being quite a bit more “wild west” in feel.

    It was the era of making connections, the creeps and trolls hadn’t found a foothold in cyberspace yet, and MySpace was still the hotbed of the music scene. If I come off more as a “blogger” in the flavor of that time period, it’s because that’s where I cut my teeth on blogging, before everyone had to monetize every little thing they did, and influencers were still a daydream. We were largely an online journaling community still, the precursor to the oversharing of social media, which is why some of us learned our lessons very early on and are somewhat circumspect about what details we share online (all the while going to great lengths to sound like we aren’t being circumspect).

    (more…)

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  • drifting

    michael raven

    Photo by Janke Laskowski on Unsplash
    needing not to need or
    to be the object needed
    a settle into sitting as
    do stone, moss and tree
    just a drift of fine snow
    blowing feathers across
    the long and open road
    whispers polish asphalt
    under a sun hung low

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  • dicing

    michael raven

    Photo by Kevin Hessey on Unsplash
    under twilight longing
    restless and wrench ache
    ever just dreams slipping
    lacuna & moon dipping
    blood for the ash given for
    palms crossed with silver

    time to toss the dice,
    wondering at if
    they come up
    twin death's head moth or
    showers pouring over
    with a sighed name
    on the northern wind

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