i was doing some free writing, read if you've got time
yeah i'm practicing free writing, in which i just write no matter where it's going. i rather like today's efforts, i hope you do, as well.
On unfinished business, and maybe something about forgiveness.
I’m a lyrical snob when it comes to music. Not entirely, but lyrics play an important role in my decision of liking or disliking music. I’m also highly influenced by the vocals, because I wish I could sing near as well as any of those who get to be fixed in computers. But back to the lyrics.
When a singer/songwriter creates something in the words, that is then expressed as best they can muster within their voice-oh, what a great occasion. It’s tantamount to that moment when separated lovers catch sight of one another and rush through the airport terminal, dropping coats, scarves, luggage, anything hindering them to be as one, once again. It is the ‘at last’ kiss, the melding of a heart through voice and the mind through words, into a symphony.
In my head I carry songs for memories, soundtracks to ideas. Right now, Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel is playing- it’s quite a song to write to. I highly recommend it. But my point is my memories have soundtracks, emphasizing the mood [my heart going boom boom boom] if I could write songs, I think I’d have difficulty ever making an album, because every song would have to be memory-worthy, it’s have to be a part of me, from somewhere with me in the past. And I’d put it out there in hopes that someone else might incorporate it to their own life, and then share it, like an echo that grows as it spreads, instead of fading to where only the grand canyon walls hear it.
I’ve always pictured that most sounds end up in the Grand Canyon, or any similar canyon. They fade from us because they are carried in the currents of the wind away from our ears, and they have to end up somewhere. [he said, ‘son grab your bags, I’ve come to take you home.] Just as streams lead to the sea, the winds flow over the land, down hills, across Iowa, and must pour into some low trench, where the heavy sounds settle like sediment. Or perhaps in a cave- I know you’ve yelled into one at some time or another, and the echo quickly faded from your ears, and got lost somewhere in the cave, and never found its way out. Who knows what sounds (likely a great many eeks and I’m scareds) lie huddled, afraid, in the darkness of caves. Canyons though hold sighs of achievement and struggle. The rustle of leaves in a tree will capture picnicking lovers laughter like a lost kite. I climb a great many trees, and I’ve heard the laughter in the leaves, the bits of conversation built into birdsnests. (intentional misspelling) Go try it, let me know where else you’ve found sound hidden, stockpiled-under bridges and blankets,
Luckily some sounds are trapped within CDs, cassettes, computers and the like. Electricity unlocks the secrets and shares them once again with us, these jewels of trade, that can buy more than Manhattan, that can purchase moods and hearts and entire lives. I have just a few gemstones that I am afraid of losing, they are rare and precious and I wish others could discover them, and I can’t share them because I have only the memory of them, only a picture in the yearbook.
…which leads us to where and why I actually started writing this. [have you forgotten -the red house painters] There exist a few songs which I’ve had the wonderous pleasure of embracing, but are increasingly difficult to lay hold of. Be it the band has broken up, or has no website, or nobody cares enough to house the lyrics, or those CDs that I do have don’t lyst the lyrics (intentional misspelling again) and the words are just a bit to hard to make out. It’s frustrating on two levels, because 1. I’m afraid they may be lost if I cannot find them. In any event they will be lost to me, in some canyon. 2. For those songs which I can’t find or gather all the lyrics for, I’m left with an incomplete union. 4 of one, half a dozen of the other-the audible expression is tainted because the words are in a language I can’t understand. I’m a child hearing someone mourning or declaring their love with a sonnet, and I am unable to gather more than simple sentiments from it. (Not to undermine youth, for a child’s heart may be stronger, fearless and unhindered from emotional bruises.)
-leaves and eats dinner, goes for a run, though not necessarily in that order. A bath, too.-
-upon my return, i find that i'd have to force myself to keep with this topic, instead of letting it flow, so i stopped.
note the title didnt actually apply to the final result. that's because I rule.
On unfinished business, and maybe something about forgiveness.
I’m a lyrical snob when it comes to music. Not entirely, but lyrics play an important role in my decision of liking or disliking music. I’m also highly influenced by the vocals, because I wish I could sing near as well as any of those who get to be fixed in computers. But back to the lyrics.
When a singer/songwriter creates something in the words, that is then expressed as best they can muster within their voice-oh, what a great occasion. It’s tantamount to that moment when separated lovers catch sight of one another and rush through the airport terminal, dropping coats, scarves, luggage, anything hindering them to be as one, once again. It is the ‘at last’ kiss, the melding of a heart through voice and the mind through words, into a symphony.
In my head I carry songs for memories, soundtracks to ideas. Right now, Solsbury Hill by Peter Gabriel is playing- it’s quite a song to write to. I highly recommend it. But my point is my memories have soundtracks, emphasizing the mood [my heart going boom boom boom] if I could write songs, I think I’d have difficulty ever making an album, because every song would have to be memory-worthy, it’s have to be a part of me, from somewhere with me in the past. And I’d put it out there in hopes that someone else might incorporate it to their own life, and then share it, like an echo that grows as it spreads, instead of fading to where only the grand canyon walls hear it.
I’ve always pictured that most sounds end up in the Grand Canyon, or any similar canyon. They fade from us because they are carried in the currents of the wind away from our ears, and they have to end up somewhere. [he said, ‘son grab your bags, I’ve come to take you home.] Just as streams lead to the sea, the winds flow over the land, down hills, across Iowa, and must pour into some low trench, where the heavy sounds settle like sediment. Or perhaps in a cave- I know you’ve yelled into one at some time or another, and the echo quickly faded from your ears, and got lost somewhere in the cave, and never found its way out. Who knows what sounds (likely a great many eeks and I’m scareds) lie huddled, afraid, in the darkness of caves. Canyons though hold sighs of achievement and struggle. The rustle of leaves in a tree will capture picnicking lovers laughter like a lost kite. I climb a great many trees, and I’ve heard the laughter in the leaves, the bits of conversation built into birdsnests. (intentional misspelling) Go try it, let me know where else you’ve found sound hidden, stockpiled-under bridges and blankets,
Luckily some sounds are trapped within CDs, cassettes, computers and the like. Electricity unlocks the secrets and shares them once again with us, these jewels of trade, that can buy more than Manhattan, that can purchase moods and hearts and entire lives. I have just a few gemstones that I am afraid of losing, they are rare and precious and I wish others could discover them, and I can’t share them because I have only the memory of them, only a picture in the yearbook.
…which leads us to where and why I actually started writing this. [have you forgotten -the red house painters] There exist a few songs which I’ve had the wonderous pleasure of embracing, but are increasingly difficult to lay hold of. Be it the band has broken up, or has no website, or nobody cares enough to house the lyrics, or those CDs that I do have don’t lyst the lyrics (intentional misspelling again) and the words are just a bit to hard to make out. It’s frustrating on two levels, because 1. I’m afraid they may be lost if I cannot find them. In any event they will be lost to me, in some canyon. 2. For those songs which I can’t find or gather all the lyrics for, I’m left with an incomplete union. 4 of one, half a dozen of the other-the audible expression is tainted because the words are in a language I can’t understand. I’m a child hearing someone mourning or declaring their love with a sonnet, and I am unable to gather more than simple sentiments from it. (Not to undermine youth, for a child’s heart may be stronger, fearless and unhindered from emotional bruises.)
-leaves and eats dinner, goes for a run, though not necessarily in that order. A bath, too.-
-upon my return, i find that i'd have to force myself to keep with this topic, instead of letting it flow, so i stopped.
note the title didnt actually apply to the final result. that's because I rule.