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Sunday, January 18, 2009

A small and strange trial

The first thing on my mind right now is this strange little melody that I have in my head that I think (for the time-being, at least) is cool and I can hardly wait to fit to some sort of words. However, my life is sort of ordinary at the moment and I can't seem to pull any lucid ideas for a song out of my thoughts. What I'd like you to think is that I am full of strange and creative sentences just swirling around in my brain at all times, but in actuality, I probably have very little in my brain but a rusty crowbar and some dull crayons.
I did, at one time, try to write down phrases and combinations of words and ideas that I liked in a little notebook to try to "lubricate the faucet" when the time came, and that helped, but it got lost or thrown away or something and now I have nothing. I can't start another one just yet, it'd be like remarrying before enough time has passed to actually wring out all the last drops of mourning.
(Who writes songs like this? Probably no one. I'm probably very strange. Probably.)
I've been flipping through my quote books looking for word combos that would stick out to me, but I feel like a curtain fluttering in an open window--kind of pathetic and that close to getting ripped away. Haven't you always felt sorry for curtains that are put through that? They almost look like they're drowning and hoping someone seems them all panicked out. Who knows though, maybe the curtains were just trying to feel free, like the guy in "The Room".
Now, THAT was a good song.
I did enough to frustrate myself yesterday when I sad down and tried to beat some words out of myself and realized that I was in a somewhat sad and melancholy mood and wouldn't get much other than a sad and melancholy song. Which is definitely not the way to go. So I killed it (gasp! I throttled the creative expression! Newsflash for the carnal, creative expression is sometimes garbage) and I repocketted the melody in my head.
I have been singing this melody at various times, mostly on the toilet, and sometimes while doing dishes. Obviously, since it has no words, the words that I sing make very little sense. Sometimes I surprise myself with some lines that actually rhyme and sound clever, but I never actually come up with anything useful when I am singing it on the spot, and I think I just confuse my home members as to why I am singing a similar melody throughout the day with fluctuating and curiously nebulous lyrics. Something quite alarming, also, is that often the words that come out of my head make little sense and are typical System-song-y cliches that smell like incense that a puny little emo teen girl would burn before she goes and plays her guitar while sitting on neat bohemian pillows. Seriously, I feel like my head is full enough of the Word that I should feel like singing "Jesus I love you" more often when I'm "freestyling," but it doesn't often go down that way. There are some sentences that I find myself repeating quite often, that have been stuck in my head for situations like this for years. God, the things that we hold in our heads to embarass ourselves.
But I've had this happen before where, in sort of the opposite manner, where I had words stuck in my head for a long time, that finally came out one day in a massive wave of shiny Jesuspiration. And I consider that to be a pretty good reason to keep holding on to this melody that one day will make its way into actual songhood.
...
I feel dorky talking about this.

2 comments:

Anonymous Jules said...

I googled song generator and could only come up with a love poem generator. I do this because I care. Hope it helps

Your skin glows like the apple, blossoms weeping as the tulip in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your tuba voice and leaps like a lamb at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great dove wing.
I am comforted by your fingerless gloves that I carry into the twilight of udon soupbeams and hold next to my feet.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of scotch.
As my nape of my neck falls from my briefs, it reminds me of your France.
In the quiet, I listen for the last whisper of the day.
My heated collarbone leaps to my Crocs. I wait in the moonlight for your secret Superman so that we may wish as one, collarbone to collarbone, in search of the magnificient silver and mystical Death metal of love.

1/18/2009 12:55 PM  
Anonymous Steve said...

Neat Bohemian pillows, Haha.

1/22/2009 10:35 AM  

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