Writing to music
The music's on shuffle, I haven't posted in a while, and I want to write without thinking. Here are the results of my impromptu efforts to write to the songs that are on. All feedback is holy ^_^
You're not answering the question. I said, do you want to dance? and you're just standing there shrugging, making that polite I'm-going-to-feign-indecisiveness-but-the-truth-is-I-have-my-eye-on-that-fox-across-the-room face. Screw it. Maybe you'll dance with me after a few more drinks. Most people do. Not that I'm the kind of person you have to be drunk to want to dance with, it's just that a little booze in the system never hurt. Or maybe it did, if you got a DUI or something. But that's not my problem.
Run! There's fire on the hill, and they're dancing around it, worshiping the sweet remorse the flame holds. The autumn moon is hanging low in the sky. The lights are flicking on in the houses and they're screaming to the sky. Black figures whose dance partners are smoke and earthy flame. Look to the sky and be saved. There are no angels coming this time. Dancing, dancing... burn.
She peers in the mirror and attempts to fix her eye makeup. She's alone in one of those posh sort of ladies' lavatory lounges with gold-plated sinks and a neat stack of folded cloth towels beside the complimentary lotion that has a fancy French name. Sighing, she stows her mascara back in her bag and fishes out a delicate bottle of perfume, puffing a few squirts on her wrists. Her manicured fingernails run through her hair, arranging and rearranging. She glances around, but she's still alone, so it doesn't really matter how long she's in here. No one is waiting for her. Although this thought tastes somewhat sad, she dismisses it and tells herself she's a strong, modern woman who can take care of herself, thank you very much. Still, she wouldn't mind a man friend. Her friends have gone off to be wives, but that's not for her. She'd much rather have companion who travels the world as a famous detective, or maybe a spy. Now that's romantic. But the reflection in the mirror reminds her that it's rather silly to sit here all alone in this music box of a room, dreaming, so she gathers her things and makes for the door.
See the light, feel the light, be. We are the people. Raise it up to the creator and move your body to the groove, sway with the people. Open your eyes. Live for the beat, feel for the people, we are one. One people. Clap and wave, close your eyes and twirl around 'til you're lost in your head. Swimming in this lucid dream, you see the light. Bring the others, join your hands, pray to the music. One and two and three and four. Fly this flag high and climb. Down, up. Move, these brother and sisters and children and dreamers, move us to a better land. Stomp your feet and raise this earth high above your head. Never ending groove; ride it, be it. Move. Us to a better land.
Come now, pretty lady. Twirl your dress for us and clap your hands above your head. The boys on the fence will drink and sing. The stars and the moon will shine above the canopy. Orange. Gold. Lime. Red. Pink. Hips and lips and pretty things, all under white and scarlett ruffles. Raise your glasses high. Cup the air in your hands and put it to your mouth. Somewhere out in that lonely desert is a flower waiting to bloom.
I'm rolling down the car window and leaving my scarf to the wind, watching it billow and shimmer. Smiling as the sun kisses my wrists and freckles my nose. If I drive fast enough, I don't have to worry. Everyone and everything is moving my so quickly all I can do is shout hello as I speed by. I'm just a brief flash of something, I don't know what, in your life. This is one of those roads that's straight and long, but you can see the gradual curve ahead as it traces around the bay. The waves and a bright blue painting topped with creamy crests. On the other side of the road is a hill, and I smile. I'm smiling for blue sky.
Fast and heavy with angry fingers and you're sloppy and you can't see the music as your fingers hit the keys. Your clumsiness makes you more upset, but you trudge through, one gnarly note at a time. You'll finish this song if it kills you. Clearing your mind, you focus on every white and black line beneath your fingers. You have always loved how smooth they are. On and on... oh, but you know this part well. It's the part where you can get through flawlessly. If you really listen, you're a little surprised as to how well it's sounding now. You can see music staffs now clearly, and the once bitter tune is sweet.
You're not answering the question. I said, do you want to dance? and you're just standing there shrugging, making that polite I'm-going-to-feign-indecisiveness-but-the-truth-is-I-have-my-eye-on-that-fox-across-the-room face. Screw it. Maybe you'll dance with me after a few more drinks. Most people do. Not that I'm the kind of person you have to be drunk to want to dance with, it's just that a little booze in the system never hurt. Or maybe it did, if you got a DUI or something. But that's not my problem.
Run! There's fire on the hill, and they're dancing around it, worshiping the sweet remorse the flame holds. The autumn moon is hanging low in the sky. The lights are flicking on in the houses and they're screaming to the sky. Black figures whose dance partners are smoke and earthy flame. Look to the sky and be saved. There are no angels coming this time. Dancing, dancing... burn.
She peers in the mirror and attempts to fix her eye makeup. She's alone in one of those posh sort of ladies' lavatory lounges with gold-plated sinks and a neat stack of folded cloth towels beside the complimentary lotion that has a fancy French name. Sighing, she stows her mascara back in her bag and fishes out a delicate bottle of perfume, puffing a few squirts on her wrists. Her manicured fingernails run through her hair, arranging and rearranging. She glances around, but she's still alone, so it doesn't really matter how long she's in here. No one is waiting for her. Although this thought tastes somewhat sad, she dismisses it and tells herself she's a strong, modern woman who can take care of herself, thank you very much. Still, she wouldn't mind a man friend. Her friends have gone off to be wives, but that's not for her. She'd much rather have companion who travels the world as a famous detective, or maybe a spy. Now that's romantic. But the reflection in the mirror reminds her that it's rather silly to sit here all alone in this music box of a room, dreaming, so she gathers her things and makes for the door.
See the light, feel the light, be. We are the people. Raise it up to the creator and move your body to the groove, sway with the people. Open your eyes. Live for the beat, feel for the people, we are one. One people. Clap and wave, close your eyes and twirl around 'til you're lost in your head. Swimming in this lucid dream, you see the light. Bring the others, join your hands, pray to the music. One and two and three and four. Fly this flag high and climb. Down, up. Move, these brother and sisters and children and dreamers, move us to a better land. Stomp your feet and raise this earth high above your head. Never ending groove; ride it, be it. Move. Us to a better land.
Come now, pretty lady. Twirl your dress for us and clap your hands above your head. The boys on the fence will drink and sing. The stars and the moon will shine above the canopy. Orange. Gold. Lime. Red. Pink. Hips and lips and pretty things, all under white and scarlett ruffles. Raise your glasses high. Cup the air in your hands and put it to your mouth. Somewhere out in that lonely desert is a flower waiting to bloom.
I'm rolling down the car window and leaving my scarf to the wind, watching it billow and shimmer. Smiling as the sun kisses my wrists and freckles my nose. If I drive fast enough, I don't have to worry. Everyone and everything is moving my so quickly all I can do is shout hello as I speed by. I'm just a brief flash of something, I don't know what, in your life. This is one of those roads that's straight and long, but you can see the gradual curve ahead as it traces around the bay. The waves and a bright blue painting topped with creamy crests. On the other side of the road is a hill, and I smile. I'm smiling for blue sky.
Fast and heavy with angry fingers and you're sloppy and you can't see the music as your fingers hit the keys. Your clumsiness makes you more upset, but you trudge through, one gnarly note at a time. You'll finish this song if it kills you. Clearing your mind, you focus on every white and black line beneath your fingers. You have always loved how smooth they are. On and on... oh, but you know this part well. It's the part where you can get through flawlessly. If you really listen, you're a little surprised as to how well it's sounding now. You can see music staffs now clearly, and the once bitter tune is sweet.