Girls. Chapter 1.

So, there’s this girl, right?

A lot of people know her. I just started to know her. She writes and tweets and is part of the community thing I’ve become totally addicted to.

She likes to dance and she wrote a nifty post and a poem and it hit me in the diaphragm. So I remembered something I wrote. I don’t know why. I also do not know why I am up at 6 in the morning.

Well, yeah I do. I’m up at six in the morning because I’m worried the very large cup with the very small amount of OJ in it that is my career. I’m serious about the OJ. It’s good for you. But it’s a shitty metaphor and I’m dead-dog tired.

Let’s just shake that one off, shall we?

What’s news? Well, I’ve done a track that I’ve done already twice before. This will be the third time that I have done the same project. I literally can’t do this project again. And yet, I will. I have this feeling that I will be recording this track … again. This track that is the bane of my existence. I shouldn’t have looked at it. Shouldn’t have touched it with a ten-footer. And yet I go back and back again. And maybe it will color everything I do here. I don’t know. Maybe I am just tired. But it seems like I’m starting to rack up a track record of misses and ennui. I don’t know. I’ll have to see. Maybe I’m not giving it enough time.

I think there’s something psychological about all this.

I need to figure it out right quick too, because I have real stuff coming up in April. Real live, local stuff which could lead to stuff that I will start getting paid for. That could lead to other stuff which leads to more stuff which leads to stuff which helps me. I can’t afford to get psyched out because I don’t think I’m good enough and I question the way I do things every track.

Anyway. Butt-o’clock in the morning is no time to be pondering these thoughts. About the poem: I should be all dramatic, and leave you with it. I wrote it when I was leaving a sitch that was really trapping me, a few years ago. I remembered it now.

UNFETTERED

When I say “release”
I am not talking of orgasm
I am speaking of the chains fallen
Limp! – Impotent!
to the ground

The soaring, flying phrases of an aria
carrying me away from the detritus
of the expectation
that I will stay in my cage and be quiet
for you

I rub my ankles, I had never been sure
that they were there, that I even
possessed ankles!
No one is standing with a gun at the door
No one is keeping me here
And the sky outside
is blue, with only a few
dark clouds.

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Girls. Chapter 1.

2 thoughts on “Girls. Chapter 1.

  1. OOOOH That reminds me of another poem of mine that you may actually dig as well. It is kinda similar but not.

    Repression

    The start of a few lines without a finish
    Feelings without words to express them
    A burning thirst to express myself yet
    A voice being strangled by unknown forces
    Repressing the very essence of my soul.

    Struggling to express the chaos within
    Wanting to explode and say things
    Better left unsaid
    Yet needing an outlet for these demons
    Haunting me

    Fighting a battle with no clear winner
    Where everyone ends up losing
    Outside forces believing they have obtained a prize
    Accomplishing the unattainable
    Wishing for a realization for that to be true

    One must be able to move on and let go
    To not wish for that to which they cannot have
    Losing yourself as you settle
    Knowing one will always want what they are not
    Getting and had with someone else

    Finding the strength to obtain the wisdom
    To not be seduced into forces
    Which thrive on control and power
    The need to be needed the want to be wanting
    Finding the lines and the words to say

    No I will not be your repression
    I will not settle for chaos
    I will not be strangled and smothered by
    The forces wanting to pull my soul into an abyss
    My words in time with find their voice and be heard

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