I decided that I needed something to shake up things a bit, some incentive so I didn’t keep dithering around when I was creating music. I often catch myself playing around and never actually writing anything while I was horsing, so I said to myself: “Self, you need to have some motivation to do more than press buttons and listen to sounds.”
“Oh no, what are we going to do now, Boss?”
(more…)As I mentioned yesterday, I was needing to get out of my writer head, who wants nothing at all to do with writing (for whatever reason). So I have.
I had previous mentioned my intentions of buying virtual synth and maybe upgrading to the subscription model for my DAW. Then I read the fine print: that subscription price on the DAW was only good for a year, and then the price would double. Great deal at the half-off price, terrible at the standard price.
Well, the last thing I want to do is lock myself out of my own music when I decide to no longer subscribe, so I opted out of that plan and redirected those earmarked funds to the second virtual synth I had my eyes on, thereby saving myself some money in the process.
One of the things I have been considering is futzing about with music again. Like creative writing in my previous post, that also has a well that dries up, especially as I don’t usually have collaborators to bounce ideas off anymore. And my tooling around is more for the purposes of learning new recording, engineering and playing techniques than it is for performance. Much like publishing my writing, I am more interested in the joy of creation than I am in the idea fame or profit.
[Trigger Warning: Musician-speak ahead and I don’t explain the terms I am using. Enter at your own risk.]
(more…)
she gushed candied lies
something saccharine fierce
living labyrinthine sweet but
only fools fall for her
promised treat
empty hands & honey
stolen child & treacle
too sweet too sweet too sweet
The bus was running late, as usual. The only sensible thing to do in such conditions is to smoke a cigarette, as far as Paul was concerned. So he did.
“I’ve run out of fucks to give,” he said, dropping a pinch of tobacco into the cigarette paper. He shifted the distribution of the tan, shredded leaf, pushing it to the edges of the paper. The amount was still unsatisfactory by whatever criteria he had, so another pinch was added shifted about until he was satisfied and his fingers started their practiced rolling to transform the package into a serviceable cigarette.
(more…)[response]
stone raven black
her slow hand turns
on the moon
in lace and silhouette
waiting on dusk
to kiss me
a bridge closer home,
ever to her side
[call]
Laughing into the fire
Is it always like this?
Flesh and blood and the first kiss
The first colors, the first kiss~ Siamese Twins
is this thing on?
[inaudible—
steel wheel and flint—
breathing out—
more inaudible—]
yeah man. two fingers. neat.
[off-mike laughter / on-mike laughter]
oh fuck no, don't you dare.
rocks are for wussies who
don't really like their whiskey,
but like to pretend they do.
[the sound of a glass set down on wood]
aintcha heard of a fucking coaster?
jesus. [more shuffling sounds]
it might be shit wood veneer, but
show some respect, willya?
[machine wheels turn—
new voice enters]
do you mind if we just to the chase?
can i be blunt?
[nervous laughter—
first voice returns— sound
of someone sipping]
sure, sure. let's get on with it. exclusive
access, might as well take
advantage of it. ask away ask away.
why do you eat them?
It began as a fracture, the kind that forms on the thin ice when the breaking point is reached from much too much weight put upon it from above.
Though it was our memory and not ice, there was still the audible crack that could be heard over the firestorm as it raged over us, consuming with words meant to puncture our flesh like arrows full drawn on a great bow. Name calling like thrown stones and razor spite in a cutting rain that fell upon our heads. It was not that long ago that we embraced Mr. Wendell, but the rains came (as they eventually will) and he was given over to the middens for the sake of survival. So much for cohabitation and burning the white sheets…
And so, our memory cracked in spiderweb, the baby screamed, and we saw the cascade of a dream crumble to the dirt in the name of filthy lucre and the pale. You get what you give, they said, and you gave hate.
Perhaps, but we were loving in how we hated.
I wrapped my blind eyes in linen, hung my head, feeling the fracture claw at my own brittle past begin to sunder. I walked away and grew old, unable to hold onto the younger days.
The floor’s gone out.
I just thought you should know.
(more…)exwearsted longday
at twinight tween
fingerpast pointning of
torrestorm electricness
glowning thrumbled
ribbeling over
direly roar