colour. sometimes the smallest things can colour your work. i write a lot by instinct... 'craft' is something i'm working on, but mostly, i just keep pushing forward and the words seem to appear as they want. that's odd, occasionally. i get the feeling that the story isn't being written so much as writing itself. take, for instance, this little piece. i wrote this specifically as a way to come down off of the contact high from performing live a few months ago, and it ended up birthing a character that wormed his way into the manuscript i'm writing now. seems he wanted more of the limelight. hah.
peace.
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he bestrode the stage like it was the world, and he owned it all. the sweat droplets gave his skin an odd sheen, like cubic zirconias or glitter or fairy dust. microphone pressed tightly to his lips, the words intoned solemnly;
"this is a call to arms; a clamouring clarion to all those who are drawing their first or final breaths, and everyone in between. this is a fist raised high, a heart soaring with passion and fury..."
fuck, but he could work a crowd. there was always that about him, that way of making a group of a hundred or a thousand strangers get down and want to blow him, then and there.
"this is a song for lovers, for fighters, for those who love to fight and fight to love."
we stood there, flies in amber, enraptured. this was the moment, this was the time, and later on we would all look back on this as the single instant where everything else began, and began to fall apart. but then, it was just the moment.
"here, i want you to feel in your heart the beat of a thousand other hearts all beating together to the rhythm of this song - your song, our song, a song for those unafraid to live and not yet ready to die."
i looked over into her eyes, but they were locked on his silhouetted frame in the spotlights. our golden god.
"... and i want to hear those voices and feel those hearts and see those hands in the sky, and together we will raise this call from inside this place and set it ringing out, across everywhere, and the people will fall in love to it and they will burn with it, and they will talk in the days to come, about,"
and his voice became hush and coy for a moment, and we all leant forward, straining to hear over our own breathing,
"'oh, what i would've given to have been there, at the start...', and it will be YOU,"
and his voice ratcheted up another notch,
"and it will be US,"
and became more forceful and more powerful and more intoxicating and i felt myself start to fall in love with the bastard,
"who will turn and say YES! WE WERE THERE! THIS IS OUR SONG!"
and i can't remember then whether the pyros went off or the spotlight went out, or they just started playing, but something exploded inside of my brain, and i left later that night with those words stuck in my head, thisisoursongthisisoursong, and they stuck with me out to the pickup and onto the interstate and long after the city lights had faded to a bitter glow in my rearview.
---
peace.
---
he bestrode the stage like it was the world, and he owned it all. the sweat droplets gave his skin an odd sheen, like cubic zirconias or glitter or fairy dust. microphone pressed tightly to his lips, the words intoned solemnly;
"this is a call to arms; a clamouring clarion to all those who are drawing their first or final breaths, and everyone in between. this is a fist raised high, a heart soaring with passion and fury..."
fuck, but he could work a crowd. there was always that about him, that way of making a group of a hundred or a thousand strangers get down and want to blow him, then and there.
"this is a song for lovers, for fighters, for those who love to fight and fight to love."
we stood there, flies in amber, enraptured. this was the moment, this was the time, and later on we would all look back on this as the single instant where everything else began, and began to fall apart. but then, it was just the moment.
"here, i want you to feel in your heart the beat of a thousand other hearts all beating together to the rhythm of this song - your song, our song, a song for those unafraid to live and not yet ready to die."
i looked over into her eyes, but they were locked on his silhouetted frame in the spotlights. our golden god.
"... and i want to hear those voices and feel those hearts and see those hands in the sky, and together we will raise this call from inside this place and set it ringing out, across everywhere, and the people will fall in love to it and they will burn with it, and they will talk in the days to come, about,"
and his voice became hush and coy for a moment, and we all leant forward, straining to hear over our own breathing,
"'oh, what i would've given to have been there, at the start...', and it will be YOU,"
and his voice ratcheted up another notch,
"and it will be US,"
and became more forceful and more powerful and more intoxicating and i felt myself start to fall in love with the bastard,
"who will turn and say YES! WE WERE THERE! THIS IS OUR SONG!"
and i can't remember then whether the pyros went off or the spotlight went out, or they just started playing, but something exploded inside of my brain, and i left later that night with those words stuck in my head, thisisoursongthisisoursong, and they stuck with me out to the pickup and onto the interstate and long after the city lights had faded to a bitter glow in my rearview.
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