Tag Archives: stage

liveshow

the thrill, the chase

each funny face

intense exhilaration

i want to embrace

the energy i take

every breath until

i jolt and awake

and i start to feel

excitement like a veil

scream ‘til i’m pale

cut through the shears

but no pain, no tears

every one second

is something to miss

in sweat and high

of this endless bliss

each blending song’s

memorised by heart

learn to chant along

it’s a delicate art

the pushes and shoves

good fun in the pits

moshing boys and girls

with wide smile teeth

the sheer camaraderie

everyone’s a friend

obsessed and possessed

to the very departing end

the joy and the love

when i know i’m alive

actual souls on the stage

giving warmth inside

the feeling irreplaceable

and satisfaction gained

tired and emotional

but it’s all fucking worth it

the constant aching relentless

from watching behind the screen

but with hopes rather dauntless

that someday i’ll be joining the scene.

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Filed under Poetry

Static Sessions

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive…

~*~

It’s rather strange and desensitisingly nerve-wracking, standing up there with shivering knees, under the judgment of glaring spotlights and hanging magenta lamps, and past the scrutinising pupils of a million watching stars. I do not feel like my own concrete entity, merely a disheveled apparition trapped in a foreign body. The amp screeches—jeeringly, it seems. I momentarily blanch. What the hell am I doing?

Perspiring profusely, trembling hands holding the gibberish lyrics to an unfamiliar forgotten song and an impatient crackling microphone, the beginning intro of the acoustic guitar sounds like a banshee’s scream that’s prompting my knotted larynx to begin making even an inkling of a noise. Quivering, quivering, quivering; dreadful hesitation and a near-death anxiety that wrings the delirious butterflies out of my stomach in an icy-cold freeze. An infinitesimal moment of silence. A skip of a heartbeat. A suffocating breath held until it coagulates. A spill of acherontic reluctance spilled down catatonic spines before one jolts and realises in shock that, surprise surprise, my parched mouth is actually producing sound!

Thus the song proceeds, with or without me. It’s up to me to chase after it’s vivacious footsteps. My voice is no longer my own, simply a phantom illusion; I barely feel it rising up and down, strumming the musical bars to the best of its abilities. Everything tastes like stereo static; clapping and cheering amid guitar and tambourine amid the anxious symphonies I relayed. The quaint scenario tangibly intensifies into a steady culmination, vertical horizons alighting into spontaneous combustion. Steadfast certainty underhandedly replaces the oscillating nervousness within me, pastel assurance slowly seeping in my ticking aegan-washed bones and strengthening every fibre of my abandoned sensibilities.

I find myself closing my eyes and loosening my grip, my driftwood soul getting pulled in the undertows of the euphoric moment. I can barely hear my own voice anymore, and I do not hear the crowd at all. Soprano, baritone, octaves, trebles, notes and rhythms and senselessness and song, they’re all that envelops me right now, my solitary company in this madness of a world. Raging fire burns in my emotions, thawing the glaciated blood in my veins, warming up the frostbitten angels barely holding my terse heartstrings together, bringing oxygen back to my perforating pulmonary flow; and nothing else matters anymore, only me and the music, the music and I.

The interlude swells into a deafening crescendo, and my frizzling neurons go off like fourth of July fireworks, showering the sky with brilliant sparks. It’s infinity on repeat, infinity in my teeth, infinity rushing low, infinity on an all-time high. This feels fucking amazing. What was there to be afraid of? Why had I been terrified all this time of such a ludicrous notion? Perhaps if I had steeled myself sooner, my brillo-pad songs would be less abrasive, and the ticking clock would’ve been on my side. But no matter, for I shall not dwell on the resentment of the past that keeps me embrangled within incarcerating doubt and merciless agony. Rather, I will focus on the now. This is me, doing what I never dared to do, doing what I’ve always wanted to do. I’m doing this for them, my beautiful divine motivations, though more importantly, I’m doing this for me, and for me alone.

The set comes to a slowing halt, the prospect tinging me with hints of sorrowful melancholy, and the audience bursts into polite applause, but the enraptured sensations linger still; and as I amble off the stage, I still find a soft lone melody humming whimsically at the back of my mellowing incandescent mind. It’s over, I sigh out to my palpitating lungs, to my shaky footing, to my disbelieving mind, attempting to calm my frantic pulse back into a metronome lullaby. But it will never be quite over, wouldn’t it? I ponder with a secret smile. I finally found my voice. I only hope I don’t lose it again. And I can only hope so hard it hurts that I don’t keep it to myself anymore.

~*~

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am…

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Filed under Prose

Vita Dell’aldilà: An Tragedy Opera in Four Parts

A makeshift smile, a polished look
Some rehearsed lines was all it took
He had it down, man, he was good
A woman screams, her mother weeps
A life so changed irrevocably
What he stole from her is gone for good…

~*~

ACT I: TERRO

Shadows under a spotlight, curtains calling and faces falling

Misfortune malady and maidens in masks, tickets outselling

The man of the show, the leading actor dies of a heart attack

They applaud his craft, the prima donna screams come back…

~*~

ACT II: INFERNO

Pantomimes place props, as paramedics arrive for scene two

The act has turned, audiences gasp, orchestra goes crescendo

A stagehand slips and farers faint, dim lighting and all is dire

Cigar tossed, a painted background of inferno catches on fire…

~*~

ACT III: PURGATORIO

The doctor announces the demise of a thespian, tears are shed

Performers pause for unfortunate condolence, in a quiet stead

Breaths hushed and whispers silenced in devastated memorial

As the stage director pays his respects, and indicates the burial…

~*~

ACT IV: PARADISO

But the artists recover, as the crowd settles down to a murmur

Limelight brightens, musical tempo, inquiries made no further

The poor cadaver carried away to the morgue to be cared upon

Death might watch from the audience, but the show shall go on.

~*~

When the purest soul is stained by sin
To the public eye where can she begin?
She lost it all and it’s gone for good
And she may never beat the system
But she won’t rest until she’s turned
The villain to the victim…

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Filed under Poetry

A Pontificating Performance

Today I fell and felt better
Just knowing this matters
I just feel stronger and sharper
Found a box of sharp objects
What a beautiful thing
Do you want a song of glory
Well I’m fucking screaming at you…

~*~

There isn’t a need to stick

Your sanctimonious wooden nose

High up and mighty in the air

For you reckon you’re so clever

And a marvellous timely troubadour

With your prevarications of despair

Oh, special, pretty, little white flower

The crowds adore your recherché

And a flounce of your plaited hair

But your hagiographic glass eyes and

Pinocchio nose impales mendacity

The audience bleeds whenever you share

Soon they will disperse haughtily

Leaving your stage in its desolation

And next time no one would give a care

So pray not be quite presumptuous

And see all sides of the icositetragon theatre

When you’re performing to be fair.

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Filed under Poetry

The Jester

Forcing me upon monkey suits and contriving me to entertain

I try to say so otherwise but my complaints are all in vain

They shoot guns at my feet, to make me do a silly dance

Threaten me with scarlet tomatoes to ensure absolutely no defiance

.

Dignity for decadence, ego for fifteen minutes of fame

A couple tastes of crystal sugar for a supply of lifetime shame

Masks upon masks plastered crudely, thick makeup to hide my frown

Am I still a human being or just another rundown clown?

.

They say to take one for the team, they tell me I’m unfair

When they’re the one making me dangle my nobility on a strand of hair

I wish no more, this life of jests and pie and mockery thrown to my face

Next time you catch me, I’ll be walking slowly towards the end of my life race.

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A Pretty Girl’s Throes and her Burlesque Show

How does a heart love
If no one has noticed its presence
And where does it go?
Trembling hands play my heart like a drum
But the beat’s gotten lost in the show…

~*~

Pretty girl

Made of sugar and spice

Poison and love

Machiavellianism and lies

~*~

Pretty girl

Craving for even just a bit of attention

Your parents never cared much

Your breath just reeks of desperation

~*~

Pretty girl

With short skirts and tank tops

Showing too much bare skin

To hide the monster within

~*~

Pretty girl

Do you feel ever so tall?

In your sharp glossy stilettoes

Looking down at people?

~*~

Pretty girl

Stomping harder at others

Till you trip yourself over

Did your ego get hurt?

~*~

Pretty girl

Red lipstick for your face to kiss

And a blade dripping crimson

For your mutilated wrists

~*~

Pretty girl

Batting sparkles from your lashes

Flirting shamelessly with boys

After all, they are just your toys

~*~

Pretty girl

Pink marks on a piece of napkin

Telephone numbers scribbled in

Stinking of rancour, regret and sin

~*~

Pretty girl

All alone on the crumbling stage

Once, they treated you as gorgeous

But now you’re just another freak in a cage

~*~

Pretty girl

A wilted rose between your teeth

Blood blotted on your battered lips

But in your heart the thorns stuck deep

~*~

Pretty girl

Just how much did your pipe dreams cost?

And just how much of your life was lost?

In the end, when all the bitter beer is gone

And the boys and girls had their endless fun

When the lights flicker out and the music stops

When your bubblegum world finally pops

When you finally see yourself alone, standing in a pile of shit

Ask yourself: Was it worth it? Was it worth it?

~*~

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Filed under Poetry

Human Machinery

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

</SYSTEM_START> 

.

Sunlight.

.

Another new day. Get out of bed. Reboot your CPU again.

Clean your parts shiny, no spot of dirt must remain.

Fix the errors, clean the viruses until you are better.

Now take a look at your face in the mirror.

.

Just the same emotionless face. As always.

.

Cold. Calm. Careful. Calculated.

Not a single bolt out of place.

Fixed. Unbroken. Perfect. Pseudo-dead.

Not a single wrong. Not a single mistake.

.

Best to keep up that facade.

Emotions are unwanted and bad.

Plaster a thick mask upon your face.

Don’t turn your mouth up. Don’t shed tears. Leave no trace.

.

Ready?

.

Now take a step outside. Slowly. Carefully.

Into your stage. Into your industrial play.

There are fellow machines also moving.

Nod a bit. But no expressions. No faint smiling.

.

Start to walk. The creaking of your gears, do not mind.

Walk. Carefully. Into your scheduled place.

Feel the clank of the metal. The process of your mind.

Faster. Faster. Time is running in a haze.

.

Into the building. Into the office. More machines.

But different. Flawed. Sentient. Actually having fun. Laughing.

Should you be jealous? Should you turn green with envy?

No. That is the work of a failed machinery.

.

Walk on. Walk on. Ignore. Ignore.

Lay your ocular device upon the cold white floor.

Into your room. Into your work. Don’t move another inch.

Don’t stop. Don’t rest. Don’t eat. Don’t flinch.

.

Keep on working for the rest of the day.

.

The ticking time signals the end.

Go on. Give your wires and screws a stretch. Stand.

Off you go, out the building. Into the setting sun.

Another day gone. Another job done.

.

Home.

.

Step inside. Flick the lights open. Adjust your vision.

Go into the living room. Sit. Turn on the television.

Apathetic to murders. Thefts. Corruption. Bad news. Death.

When time comes to time, shut down your systems and rest.

.

Repeat cycle the next day.

.

This is it. This is all there is to my life. To me.

 All but perfect cycles, all human machinery.

No emotions. No feelings. No fun. No nothing.

No joy. No sadness. No anger. No singing.

.

A world of metal toys, grinding gears, and utter perfection.

An industrial society reeking of smoke and oil with no other distractions.

A hellish life of monochrome, darkness, and bore.

Please. No more. No more. No more

.

. .-.-.-.-….——..-.-__._.–. 

N@O$#+.$(M@&@O¢^÷|¶’R√℅¢E°}’$- 

</SYSTEM_CRASH>

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Filed under Poetry