Drewhadou wrote: Well I'm sort of in the process of forming one with my best friend. We both do vocals and he plays the piano. I've been in bands in the past, like when I lived in Arizona. Right now its kind of in the works though
best of luck
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
May my death be proud, And my pride be my death. I’ve consumed myself with a false pride that comes before the fall. And I’ve since fallen. And I’ve picked myself up. I’ve made an error; my erroneous confidence. You see in my own refusal to bow my head I’ve made it an easier target. I walked with it too high. And the snipers had an easier target. Assassins, Assassins, Assasssins. Assassins, Assassins, Assasssins. Sometimes we need to lower ourselves. Because balloons can only float so high. Eventually, somewhere in the stratosphere, they explode. Just like ourselves. We have pressure that is only alleviated through deathblows. You see, it’s good to be happy. And it’s great when we sing. It’s nice to be content with ourselves, But it all comes with a territory that we need to anticipate and conform with. Territoriality is scary. A notch worse, it’s terrifying. But in, my own, introspection, I have become my own salvation. These aren’t crimes against humanity; they’re crimes against ourselves.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
Dude not bad at all. Very old-school Glassjaw like.
Karma Sutra Symmetry...
Tri-heart subtractive process. Bi-opt neglective context. Can you envision it yet? Trapped in and tangled in the right-of-way. Run over romance with a million miles per hour. Topsided toiled oil spill caused a sputer like no other.Poured out the contents enfolded in the parcel. failed delivery tranfixed on the frequent details where the lights have'nt the room to mingle with all the good angles of you. Shimmer of the eye, to that soft spot on the neck we've nestled tougnes in to match the taste.
Togas and tarnished notes. Checkmark the yes and we'll be blessed, Mark the no and I'll die the death of man's man for. Eyeline sighted imagery to make a mockery of all the photography.
Tri-heart subtractive process. Aesthetics the coma imprint. Can you envision it? The game of seated top side tables and chairs, and a rousing round of "laissez faire". I'll keep it quiet, and you keep it safe. Not a word to the world, and god's clasping his appendages easy on the eyes. Hear no evil, see no evil, touch no evil, but I've tasted every inch with the mark making a spill of amends I'm in contract to complete. The game of "laissez faire", but letting my fingers linger there. This bed will be our grave sweety...
I need to improve on my rhythmic skills. I'm new to writing anything that would be done verbally and I still need to find my style. I like reading everyone's stuff too, it's nice to see how your minds work.
What are your influences? Be it gospel music (church songs are seriously some of mine for love songs), horse back riding, the color yellow, jazz... anything. What defines your work?
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Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
MissMae wrote: I need to improve on my rhythmic skills. I'm new to writing anything that would be done verbally and I still need to find my style. I like reading everyone's stuff too, it's nice to see how your minds work.
What are your influences? Be it gospel music (church songs are seriously some of mine for love songs), horse back riding, the color yellow, jazz... anything. What defines your work?
i try to map every single thing in my head out. I try to filter my thoughts and then turn into writting material. Writting is my way of discovering myself. So my inspiration, other than Trophy Scars and The Fall of Troy, is, myself.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
i try to map every single thing in my head out. I try to filter my thoughts and then turn into writting material. Writting is my way of discovering myself. So my inspiration, other than Trophy Scars and The Fall of Troy, is, myself.
Dude I wish I were that organized. It seems that despite the different styles you all seem to totally know what the hell your trying to say and how you wanna say it. I just map out the basics (what I wanna write about) and then from theres its all just a factor of what works and what doesnt. So I can't say I have a style, just a "tone" that I want it to have. But yeah, you guys ****ing rock.
One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
Drewhadou wrote: Dude I wish I were that organized. It seems that despite the different styles you all seem to totally know what the hell your trying to say and how you wanna say it. I just map out the basics (what I wanna write about) and then from theres its all just a factor of what works and what doesnt. So I can't say I have a style, just a "tone" that I want it to have. But yeah, you guys ****ing rock.
well, I over simplified. I try to map things out but I can't. I really do have a million things constantly going in my mind and I can't ever sort it out. So my writting is about me trying to sort things out, and some things that have certain topics are just things I was able to extract from the castastrophe of my own mind. So really, I'm not organized, my writting is an attempt to organize myself.
And pretty much everytime I try to write a song about something, the topic will change at least 3-4 times whilst writting.
-Coupled with my ambivalence towards pretty much every situation, I'm a mess.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
sweet, i love lyrics threads. It's been a while since i've really written anything but I might start posting stuff soon. I'm sort of working on a series of novels, or at least what i hope ends up being novels. My main goal is to do the 3 of them I've been planning with possibly a few graphic novels tying up things inbetween the 3 stories. I may post a few chapters as i finish them.
woo! Does anyone else want to submit something for my magazine. It can be anything you want-- poetry, drawings, photos, stories, band reviews, sex reviews, political blurbs... pretty much, I need submissions so I can publish a copy and not look like a liar.
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Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
How foolish. My original inclinations were positive All signs were pointing to “yes.” Upon further pondering, It seems that everything is working in the contra-positive direction. This is the last time I consult a magic 8 ball.
Tell it to me straight. Eyes can be enigmas. Perhaps I’m only good at evaluating situations when my heart isn’t in it.
Maybe I’m too selfish, And my meticulous calculations are self damning. I told myself I wouldn’t let this get to me. Sometimes chips fall where they may, sometimes; not. Sometimes things are better left unsaid, Better yet, unthought.
Giving my brain idol time to evaluate is decay. Whittling away everything into nothing for thinking they meant everything. Every notion has an affect, Every action as an equal and opposite reaction. I’m wasting my time.
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I'm a man who fucks with fire. I'm a man who sleeps with liars, but I don't come from Hell, no. I wasn't raised in Hell.
lucas wrote: im not surprised no one posted lame poetry, we all listen to trophy scars. intelligent music for in intelligent kids.
...
echolalia. echolalia.
we may be the only ones here awake, but i know we aren’t the only ones making a bad decision let’s just fit in. (don' you feel like disappearing, sweetie?) a bullet through my chest aimed at a heart that may or may not be behind my back and a smile ripped across my face by a girl with a grimace ripped across hers i’ve been limping off to sleep to a lonely cocoon in my sheets I could really use a few moments of something different. She’s got such echolalia. echolalia. When I whispered “don’t forget me.” “forget me.” this is going quite well it seems. -- Edited by lucas at 06:26, 2006-02-19
I've been webcomic-ing today and thought of you guys.
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Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust--
"there is no sound (in a voiceless mouth)" written by j. e. "skippy" zanetis, ii
give me hot water i'm more loving in winter sell her clothes to embers i'm basking in shivers and touching the nose i'm clutching her notes reading what i should be is cut with her coke
i swear it's the pills and telephone bills catch me to bleeding call me to feel her chills i want to know why she glows where do your hands go when she's out on her own? a lip ring and her clothes the soberest repose god only shows like high-priced liars and candles when her eyes froze
I wrote this this morning in that half awake exhausted stupor you get sometimes. You know, when you have that crusty **** in your eyes and every movement you make makes you three times as tired as you already were?? Yeah...but anyway...
Bushido Memoirs...
Kid Creole may have killed his people, but Im taking the knife to this dance floor of text based bittersweet anthem of gore galore. And as the poor and I did before Ill take two hands from one pocket and place them to the fire. This isnt the bastard in me, just the trip wire homicidal tidal downward spiral idol sadist with a smile in cloak and dagger attire. Im tired of being tongue tied, and tucked behind my teeth. Playing the meek while daydreaming of being too weak cuz my trigger fingers been torn to splinters. Had your cake and ate it too. Hope the edge does the same to you.
Resistance and uphill, fitting for the spill. Cant place a digit on it, summer bonnets kept the reason shaded. Proof by nine faded. From mine, from yours, and this lopsided bowel, bloody towel lettered R.E.C.I.P.R.O.C.I.T.Y. And by memory, it was a body. Through insanity, and it touched me. Never been. Fingers there. Never win. Unmarked, never gonna be a hobby of mine. Rather make a mark, and blot it fine. Line it in lipstick for the stick. Inch it out, cuz we've something to talk about.
Had your cake and ate it too. Hope this scene carves a fool of you...
Brother Memoirs (Cats and Girls, Politics and Negligence…)
Cats and girls, politics and negligence. Taste the scent, dabbled a bit, and fingered out the evidence. Cracked myself open on the glass and saw I was the drug itself. Tangent for intangent violent behavior cuz swearing Im lying to the letter by saying Im better. Its your reflection and the smile brother based lie I lived every day til the sun set in and truth spilled out on top of it. Crooked teeth to match the crooked candy coded pattern of "man we'll make it happen" when Malibus calling despite my anchor falling. I'd ****ing drown you, but I wont insult the ocean floor with your face a painted whore who the girls all turn soaking garments for. Piss poor and whats more, cut out your chest and spit up a chore, and the bile duct piled up as before. This is the pharmacy carved inside of me. For them, and then, and now the what will be. Well end the masquerade with raids and Reagonomics to make light of the bigger failure. Im undressed to impress. Dead broke, and you know I sold my name for the fill. Being the lie isnt easy, brother is in remission, and Im better as the politician. But if someone cared...
oh, i'd die to find out exactly where my body lies tonight.
i guess it's a shame i'm not serious about the idea of seeing how many of these suicide perches i could climb. without a witness. who needs a witness? like two rabbits slowdancing on the railroad tracks, we don't care about the frailty of our necks. i found the corner from which i could look up and see her apartment glowing like heaven, but it was in the middle of a bad neighborhood. they could decide to love me if this night ended tragically, but i dont have the determination for such a thing. i stared down everyone i saw. yes, this is a dare.
and i walked the long way there, like the first time when neither of us knew any better. but she wasn't a destination, though she had been before. these days i don't walk anywhere, i walk everywhere. and these nights do something to me, and i find myself drawing straight lines with my eyes and calling them tightropes. i bit down hard on a euphoric fear each time a car scared my shadow out of hiding and he stood before me.
if this street is a stage, if headlights are spotlights pointed in my direction, i face the curtain.
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
let it go unsaid that perfect accuracy must be spared nothing we can say can mean a thing we're all cliched, just to what extent? even through a failed system of attaching symbols to meanings power lies in jargon the microphone is mightier than the sword he who can convince men can move mountains and he who can move mountains shall meet his own end when one more eloquent pushes the peaks back in his direction and convinces him to lie down underneath them we all talk ourselves to death orator tantum bellam tumulum sibi meret
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One day a student in a math class asked his teacher why two plus two equalled four. Immediately, the skeleton of Aristotle popped out of the ground and said to him, "because I said so."
