Tag Archives: music

Cathexis

It’s really nice, to simply throw myself into a pastime I enjoy and completely forget what it’s like to be worryingly unproductive and incompetent, and be someone else somewhere else, even for just a few hours. To do stuff a little more flawlessly without even realising how much I’ve already learned from past experiences, and how much I still have yet to learn. To finally apply everything I’ve been constantly struggling with for a good several weeks and months and years altogether and somehow have it all make sense in the end. Or some semblance of sense, at the very least. Anything counts for something.

That last part especially, it greatly baffles me—how much of it makes fucking sense. When it finally does. Even when it doesn’t. When I’m engrossingly locked and loaded on the various compositions, as I’m fully losing myself in head-spinning analysation and connecting odder theorems together, when I put bits and pieces of the faintest memories and deeper information into something more coherently vivid, and pick apart a familiar, creative medium that I have dearly cherished for years to its very rivets for my own personal means and interpretation, it just feels like everything makes sense to me—and that applies not only to the thing I’m meticulously looking into, mind you.

Fuck the meaning of life. Fuck irrational anxieties and peer pressures and growing up. Fuck the grander scheme of the universe and all that cosmic existential bullshit. That doesn’t matter to me. This does. This matters. I might not, but this thing in front of me and my mind right now, does. And it’s all that ever will, until I inevitably exhaust it. When I do, I’ll save it away for another rainy day and find something else of its kin to indulge in; optimistic afterthoughts fluttering a little higher than piqued daydreams, determined pastel eyes set focused as clever words and neon motions burn incandescently behind it, dizzying exhilaration steadily pulsing through my veins and making my buzzed skin quietly shiver at the very thought of finally being able to explore different labyrinthine alleyways and discover strange new worlds behind closed doors with the skeleton key in my hand—and doing everything all over again and again without ever getting sick of the whole process. On to find better sights, a better place, a better time, perhaps.

This certain ardent feeling, rather specifically inexplicable and a million times more potent than falling in love and vicious depression and shallow, fleeting aftertastes of superficial happiness, I sure do hope to high hell that I never run out of it for as long as I’m breathing (if you may pardon the utter mawkishness of such a statement). Being myself. Being content. Being actually excited to live. Is that what passion is like?

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Filed under Prose

Misadventures in Sheet Music

Pardon this little ramble. But I have been attempting to figure out the part highlighted in red via sight reading alone (and with the help of my ever-resilient theory notes ofc, because I’m that incredibly thick and need some sort of handicap, otherwise I’ll just straight-out die) for the last eight or so minutes; and I’ve just figured out the key and barely gotten through the first three notes (or first chord, whatever the hell it even is) in the treble staff section, and already a monstrous headache is flaring up beneath my temples oh god my stupid brain cells are starting to break out with hives dear gracious spirit of brett and eddy save me from this consonant perdition pls ;-;

I don’t really know why I’m doing this when I don’t even have a piano to play it on anyway, ahahah. Matter of fact, acquiring said instrument might just actually help in easing my mind’s incessant troubles as I embark in such a futile quest. But I’m too poor for that shit and this is what happens when the internet’s being a dysfunctional fuckass (much like the person typing this, get roasted bitch) and I have nothing else better to waste my time on. But I just—I desperately need this skill. Somehow. For reasons. Not really for any useful nor productive reasons, but for reasons nonetheless. Alright. I can do this. I can do this. I have five and a half more pages of this. Christ wearing tights, someone stab me in the jugular with a violin bow to the beat of Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. I can do this.

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Filed under Other stuff

sour patches

your words drag

filed nails across

a chalkboard, so

astride the music

.

that ebbs and flows

beneath your voice

a cascade of lullaby

when you dare sing

.

but you’ll never need

to be one or the other

terrible temper along

soft childish laughter

.

i so adore you and

your whim, for you are

never more darling

than you have ever been.

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Filed under Poetry

happy hour

IMG_20191102_205745848.jpg

cigarette smoke

hangs heavy in the air

dizzy dizzy daydreams

i know i won’t care

a drowsy companion

and blue drip on my lips

the world is way too loud

four minutes away from sick

the way the music throbs

like a toothache in my ears

blaring guitar against my grin

another round of shots and beer

maybe six more for the road

and another, just to melt away

like the ice between our shoulders

and the night that’s left to stay.

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Filed under Poetry

Impossible Year: Caramel

(Okay, so I was originally supposed to post a really intense and serious shitty creepypasta-esque story that I wrote about a year back, but since it’s in my computer and it’s being a complete arse that won’t let up, here, have one of the parts from a Panic! At The Disco fic that I’ve been working on for a while now instead. Since all of the past halloweek stuff I posted have been nothing but morbidly dark and really gruesome, we’ll have something stupidly wholesome to end the spooky month instead. Boom, plot twist, happy Halloween fuckers!!! 🎃)

OCTOBER 31ST, HALLOWEEN.

Every house in the block and beyond displayed scary decorations on their front lawn; of plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, carved pumpkins and other usual novelty spooky items. Squealing kids rounded the streets with their friends and parents, donning various colourful and monstrous costumes as they knocked on doors and yelled a cheerful “trick or treat!”, and teenagers held their own parties and dared each other to do crazy horror-related things that either sent them running away screaming, or laughing, or in most cases, both.

It was a festive night as usual, perhaps even more festive and rowdy than he’d ever witnessed in his entire life, but Jon Walker simply felt like he was getting too old for this shit.

He had just dropped a couple of fun-sized Snickers on the bag of a kid dressed up as a vampire slayer (“points to him for being a notch above cliche,” Jon wanly mused) and was heading back to his living room, a cup of store-bought coffee in one hand and the TV remote in another.

Nursing a headache, Jon tightened his shabby red bathrobe and sipped on his drink, grimacing slightly at the strange taste of…what was it that kids these days called it? Pumpkin spice? Yeah. Whatever the hell that meant.

He groaned as he unceremoniously plopped back down on the couch to continue watching a random B-list horror movie he found on Netflix. As soon as he pressed the play button, the TV immediately died and all the lights in the house flickered off.

“Great, just my luck.” Jon dryly thought, scratching absently at his unkempt beard. “This is so textbook cliche. Next thing you know, I’m going to fetch my flashlight in the kitchen and there’s going to be an axe murderer waiting behind the fridge to hack me into pieces.

Fortunately for him, there wasn’t anything of the sort.

Although, there was a translucent little girl calmly sitting on his kitchen counter, which definitely was not there before.

Jon recoiled back in shock, nearly spilling his lukewarm drink all over himself in the process. He blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes furiously, and determinedly pinched himself on the arm, all before cautiously glancing back at the apparition.

But instead of being gone, the ghostly child was still there, and this time, she was staring straight back at him.

“Oh.” She piped up as she waved softly, making Jon deliriously laugh. “Hullo.”

“Oh yeah no cool, how’s it going? Oh nothing much, just TALKING TO A GODDAMN GHOST.” He rambled on senselessly in reply. The small phantom, however, seemed mostly unfazed by his reaction, probably already used to seeing that sort of thing. She’d seen worse.

“Are you okay, mister?” She asked innocently, stubby legs swinging back and forth and occasionally passing through the closed cabinets. Jon paused for a moment to think about what he was going to do next, and sighed out as he finally decided to give in to the sheer insanity of it all.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted. Let’s start afresh.” He said, clearing his throat extravagantly. “So. What’s your name, kid?”

“…Nic.” The ghost replied hesitantly.

“Nic, sure, yeah, that’s a nice name.” Jon pleasantly appeased. “So. Nic. Why are you haunting my house?”

She blinked a few times before limply shrugging. “…Dunno. I’m bored. And I think I’m supposed to, I guess.”

“That makes sense.” Jon nodded sagely. “Do you like scaring people?”

All he got was the same blink-blink-shrug routine in reply. “Dunno. I guess. I know I’m not very good at it yet.” Nic pouted sourly. “The older ghosts keep telling me to practice some more and if I don’t, some dumb priest or whatever’s gonna send me back to hell or afterlife or something, like they even know if that’s a real thing, they’ve never been. But I just wanna go outside and play with the other scary-looking kids, honestly. I only ever get to do that once a year, and I’m not even allowed to.”

Her eyes began welling up with tears and she turned away stubbornly, trying to hide them from Jon’s view.

Jon had never seen a ghost cry before, least of all a child ghost. For sure, he could definitely check that off his bucket list. Or just throw away the damn thing because for sure at this point, he’d seen it all.

He set down his coffee cup on the counter and carefully approached the quietly-trembling Nic.

“Well, Nic, if you don’t mind, let me tell you a secret.” He began. Nic still had her face buried in her hands and didn’t move even as he spoke to her, but Jon could sense that she was listening intently, so he carried on.

“Here’s the thing I’ve learned. Sometimes, you don’t have to listen to mean old adults. We’re just really cranky and tired from doing a lot of boring stuff. But you’re still a child after all, and you’ve got a lot to learn, and heck, maybe one day you’ll grow to be the best damn scarer in this cul-de-sac and scare those ancient naysayers back to their miserable graves. But hey, if you just wanna mess around, go wild. You won’t get a lot of chances to do that soon, and honestly—what have you got to lose?”

Nic finally rose from her hunched position and was seriously gazing at him now, a wistfully curious look etched on her pallid face.

“They can take you out of the fight, kid, but they can’t take the fight out of you.” Jon concluded with an assuring nod, finding even himself impressed with his whole speech. “Now go out there and trick or treat with all the other youngsters and show those creaky geezers that you’re made of more than goopy ectoplasm and boring boo noises.”

He shone his phone screen down as he fumbled with his ratty robe’s pocket, and managed to fish a piece of hard mint out of it. Secretly picking some lint off the old candy, Jon handed it to Nic.

“Here’s something for a start.” He said with a casual shrug, “I know it’s not much, but…”

But to the ghostly child, it didn’t seem to matter at all; as the bright grin that grew on her face could have lit up the entire house by itself. She excitedly swiped the candy out his hands (“Note to self,” Jon wondered absently, “ghosts can actually eat candy?”) with a shrill laugh and went in straight for an unexpected hug.

Jon shivered madly at Nic’s hold. The sensation was like getting dunked right into a vat of liquid nitrogen. But he tried his best not to show his utter discomfort as he awkwardly patted her on the back, careful not to let his hand completely pass through her.

“That’s, uh, that’s the spirit.” He stammered out with chattering teeth, chuckling at his own pun.

“Thank you, mister!” She gratefully squeaked.

“You’re welcome. Now git outta here kid, yer bothering me.” Jon replied with a playful wink.

Nic simply nodded fervently, visibly filled with a new excited energy. She waved back once again and smiled the biggest smile a ghost could possibly ever have, before finally running on ahead of Jon.

He silently watched the otherworldly child as her glowing ethereal outline passed through the kitchen walls, and faded away into nothing. At that very moment, the lights flickered back on, but Jon didn’t even notice, still deeply lost in his own thoughts.

“Trick or treat!”

A giggling chorus of childish voices outside finally startled Jon out of his trance. Picking up his cold pumpkin spice drink (which didn’t taste so strange anymore) and the half-filled candy bowl, he walked to the doorway, sighed once, smiled the biggest smile a person could possibly ever have, and opened the door.

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Filed under Prose

hinged

unskilled hands

work brush

work strings

work pen

to bad results

.

uncreative mind

plain person

simply no good

art plus work but

it never works

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Filed under Poetry

Call me an ionian g-clef ’cause yo, I’m in major treble (oh wow sorry i’ll show myself out now)

slightly unrelated, but hey here’s a dumb music band art thing i did a while back—mostly just throwing this in so that this entire cursed post wouldn’t be a total eyesore 👀

Alright, it’s three in the morning and I’m mostly delirious, you all know what that means…it’s time for another stupid rant thing that literally no one cares about!!! I have absolutely no idea as to what demographic this entire post will make sense to, but I have been staring at nothing but notes and more notes and surprise! even more fuckin notes!!! for actual hours now and I just needed a break to set my head back on straight. So here’s a bit of a weird lengthy personal music-related talk about, well, music and all that jazz. No pun intended. For this instance, anyway. Okay, no more bad music puns, I promise.

So far, my current progress has been going immensely slow but okay overall, I suppose. Apart from your usual classic starter pack of making-basic-covers-of-simple-four-chord-songs-from-UG, I’ve also been trying to experiment with creating chord progressions and composing tiny snippets of punk and djent-esque riffs which might sound nice overlayed with some power chords (my scale/mode game isn’t quite sweep-picking dmitry demyanenko-level god-mode yet but I can make do for now) and just a little bit of a filthier guitar tone and a hell-lot of distortion. But yeah, it’s kinda difficult to envision how this shit will actually sound when I’m playing on an acoustic instrument (stg once i get one of those gorgeous seven-string music man monarchy majesty bois and an axe-fx it’s over for all you fuckers jk). Improvising solos are fun as well but I think I’m abusing the dissonance slash bending power just a little bit too much??? Idk it just sounds cool to me. Probably sounds worse live though hahaha jk

On the other hand, I’ve been a bit stuck on studying intervals and tritones for goddamn hours at an end now and it’s so confusing snsjsj it’s highkey driving me insane. Notations and rhythms and metres and key signatures and scales were fun and games and bloody candyland, but god call me Patrick ’cause I am stumped here. There’s just so much to take in, augmented and diminished and perfect and double accidentals and both and none and inversions and everything is just a complete ancient hieroglyphic mess to my eyes right now (and no, not the cool phrygian dominant kind either, if you catch my drift). It’s still a highly mindblowing concept though, and the more I read about it, the easier it gets for me so,, win-win!!! I should also probably do a lot more ear-training and sight-reading because I still can’t identify notes proficiently enough to even save my life. Just trying to distinguish between each major and minor scale alone is making my head hurt so much, I’m probably gonna have severe haunting auditory hallucinations for weeks after this. I’ve honestly never been more jealous towards human beings with perfect pitch as I have this very moment ahahah ;-;

And sort of digressing here, but tabbing and polyrhythms and fingerpicking and tapping and harmonics, oh my! Gotta learn that stuff as well. Need to make me some of those smooth groovy crunchy funky math rock riffs, my guy. I obviously won’t be pulling off an Ichika Nito or anything even remotely close to that kind of heavenly genius anytime soon but hey, might as well have some fun and run with it. One thing at a time though. I should really set a legitimate practice routine that doesn’t involve 95% of said session with me liberally pouring sugary caffeine down my throat as I idly waste my precious time mucking about online in the dead of the night (but knowing me, i’ll probably just go “fuck it”, as i do, and wing everything to hell until something in my system inevitably breaks). Lastly, I’m trying to find a good song that should be relatively easy enough for me to learn and transcribe by ear, but I’ve been admittedly procrastinating on that task because ngl, it’s pretty intimidating as all fuck. Seriously, I’m virtually having nightmares even just thinking about it. But I know I’m gonna have to face it at some point or another, so might as well be sooner than never. I reckon I’ll just use a song that I won’t mind listening to over and over again and excruciatingly poring over until I start to hate it forever. : /

Anyway. At this point, I’m practically eating hefty mouthfuls of music theory for breakfast lunch dinner and the occasional midnight snack, and yet my mind is sometimes just a bit too thick to fully comprehend these things as quickly as I’m feeding them to it. And this is barely even scratching the surface, I have so much more to uncover and unpack and it’s scary enough to almost make me wanna poke out my eardrums with an ice pick out of sheer despair. But nah, let’s not do that yet, ’cause I might be getting there though. Soon enough, hopefully. At the very end of it, I think it’s just so crazy how much learning these things drastically changes the way I listen to music. It really helps me pay attention with my ears some more and it opens up a whole new avenue, nay, universe of subtler nuances and finer details and technical know-how that I never would’ve noticed in songs otherwise, had I not known all this information beforehand. I mean, some people may see it as overthinking and overanalysing everything which may ruin the whole listening experience for them quite considerably, but personally I don’t mind it. On the contrary, I see it as a fun little brain exercise which could be an essential tool for improvement, and it doesn’t necessarily have to take away the sentimental and emotional value and the overall enjoyment I attach to the music in itself. And of course, I ultimately get to actually create my own music which for me is just???? excitingly insane??!!?!? Like how do I even??!? I’m sorry I’m going off on a tangent here and dorking out too much about music when this is not really the place for it and I should be getting back to the grind, but I’ve just never been more passionate for anything else in my dull existence than this. It’s been tough so far, but I just need to focus a little more. Okay, a lot more. Tbh I spent way too long writing this post when I should’ve been learning about seventh chords and triad inversions, damn it!!

Alright that’s it for now (or y’know, probably ever),, I’ve had too much coffee and I want more and it’s already four and I still gotta spend more hours torturing my brain cells so brb watching more hilarious metal meme videos oops uhhh I mean five-hour online courses on YouTube bye

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Filed under Other stuff

…and skyward, to come home.

save my

sensibility

the wrongness

of being right,

ludicrous—

mothballs taper

off to fixtures

on the wall;

your portraits

five. nine. nine.

not knowing

the date and place

but persisting to

hitch a hearse

for the winners

and you sleep

and you slept…

cheek to the gutters

like rainwater and

dry ice melting

but the puddles are

still far too cold

to be touched

with bare hands

.

your malevolence

my destiny

a love, chased

down with laudanum

and bitter spirits

starving for fire

not mine, no—

but angels won’t

exist just to see us

fall away and die,

and if i do so

let it be beside you

and these memories

of springtime

and soft sadness

discoloured fingernails

pointing to the sun

sending wishes

holding on tightly

never there?

never where—

not the awful thought

of losing you out

to another bore

.

when i’ve got

good stories to tell

and a bad heart

to prove innocent

hear me out, please

your music speaks

in earthquakes

and perfect fifths

though abstract

the ends may seem

myopic gaze

did you lose sight?

so save my sorry

humanity and

your flesh betwixt

mine again

for countdowns

don’t matter if

time doesn’t

make amends, when

you’ll be just fine

i know—but then

what am i?

what am i now?

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Filed under Poetry

Ornate Messes

Don’t react when I tell you
That bright lights mean
Nothing to you
Because no one would know
The sound of a ghost
And I might be something to you
Beyond beautiful…

~*~

aching fingers

and lavender sunsets

a collection of

scrambled letters

disguised as your name

.

dusty lines scribbled

on the back of a

twice-used post-it note

in this long stretch of

afternoon torpor—

.

creaky guitar strings

played out of tune

exhausted calluses

a step in the right key

still proudly smiling,

.

two hours of strange

dreams, and excitement

before awakening;

a walk into stunning

darkness, mere glimpses

.

of moonlit epistles,

coffee after midnight

existential wishes

shooting stars dragging

out hope and lost love,

.

rekindled aspirations

blooming into memory

a song finally taken

to heart, after years of

waiting for the right time.

~*~

My darling, never rest
Until the darker gets
The best of all we had
Can the cold carry on?

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Filed under Poetry

stitches and cosmonauts

9:09 PM.

this picnic blanket

is meant for

two

stars tailored

together

into constellations

spelling out

l o v e

and music made to be

sang out loud

to the countless

infinites

and ringing laughter

and embraces

still left for

the both of us…

but you’re just another

phantom dream

coalescing

without a second

thought, and

i’m just a

lonely figure

covered in shadows

and comet trails

and this fickle

cold weather

as i write

cliché poetry in

the dim nothingness,

still hoping and

waiting

for warmth,

for a lost chance,

for a picnic blanket

meant for

you.

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Filed under Poetry