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Gone

April 2, 2013
Creative Writing, Poetry
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I audition for the role of rejection
3 years and counting facing my reflection
This has to end at least let us pretend
That nothing has ever happened
It will never happen to us in the end

But don’t say you’re sorry now
It’s too late, Apologies wont help
Come to think of it, they never did
Just put me further back on your shelf
Every so often you clean the dust off
play with me, you break me, replace me

Though just when It feels right time runs out
3 months, my window, flying past
2 months wasted, will these moments last?
1 month left, Could this get any worse?
time is up, your direction is forward
Ill be hanging back

 

Pretty Lush By: GlassJaw

April 2, 2013
GlassJaw: A Reawakening, Musical Fantasy
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I am half asleep, barely functioning on this day of work. So I don’t know what to say.Oh yeah, enjoy the song!

Pretty Lush By: GlassJaw

I draw them on wreckless,
etched in,
scratched in like resurrection.
Your sins are killing you and you
can bet they’ll get me too.
I’ve got to give some to get some.

Mining in the river, standing in the rain.
Down on your knees while you heave at the drain.

You can lead a whore to water and
you can bet she’ll drink and follow orders.
And I said, is this what you wanted?
Is this what you needed?
Give it some more time.

Tonight I’m going to a party,
but it’s already started without me.
I aced philosophy and mastered the art of spiritual phrase!
I’ve got to give some to get some.

The disco ball spins away another year.
I wish you a broken heart and a happy new year.
Only three words come to mind (true till death)

You can lead a whore to water and you can bet
she’ll drink and follow orders.
And I said, is this what you wanted?
Huh? Is this what you needed?
Give it some more time.

Ohh.. restrain.
Where would you fear you would be?
How the fuck can I please and then clean?

Only three words come to mind (true till death)
pray when you did what you said.
Death makes you kneel at the great.
All I had to say I did say.
When all you do is scream at the drain.
You f-ugh!.

You can lead a whore to water and you can bet
she’ll drink and follow orders.
And I said is this what you wanted?
Come on, Is this what you needed?
Give it some more time…

Tomorrow’s GlassJaw installment…

April 1, 2013
GlassJaw: A Reawakening, Musical Fantasy
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I have hit some GlassJaw gold on the interwebs by finding Daryl’s personal explanation to some of the songs. So, I will present you with him quoting what inspired him to write the song that I will be posting tomorrow on my blog. I think I’ll start doing this from now on, or at least until I run out of quotes. Which may be before my GlassJaw arsenal has been exhausted. Anyway, here it is. I am giggling as we speak mulling over it all.

Daryl Palumbo-

“That deals with a girl who I had been with and had been my best friend for a couple years, but it got to a point where she moved away to college and had grown out of me as a phase in her life. I didn’t appreciate being treated like a phase that was to be progressed through. So she decided that drinking and becoming a frat girl was more important to her than me. She decided that I was a lifestyle and that she had grown past me. I wasn’t too into that and that’s pretty much what it’s about. I don’t drink myself so, to be beaten out by a fuckin’ bottle wasn’t too hip by my standards.”

Digital Woman

April 1, 2013
Creative Writing, Poetry
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For a special artist…

She takes root in some unknown town.

At least unknown to me.

She speaks as if a thousand muses

Invade her personal being

Oozing life and light yet,

I never quite see the same from 

still images baring her eyes.

Darkness accompanies an inferno

In disguise.

Waiting to burst through an open door.

To anywhere but her bedroom floor.

Something keeps her stagnant,

authoring lamentations galore.

She exudes an all-knowing countenance.

Still, so subtle in delivery.

That you can’t decide whether it’s an insult

Or a touch of flattery.

I don’t care to know, for

Her spoken word exceeds the value of gold

It’ll buy anyone happiness

If they truly comprehend what it is

they behold.

A treasure that’ll never grow old

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Silence By GlassJaw

April 1, 2013
GlassJaw: A Reawakening, Musical Fantasy
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This song always brings me to the very brink of bawling my eyes out at the end. It’s just the way he sings it. It shows the writer’s vulnerability: Daryl Palumbo, in this case. It’s been known/believed (I never could ask personally) that he was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease after years of touring with GlassJaw. And if anyone knows how that goes, it is a pretty terrible way to live life until you get it under control with medication and regular doctor visits. It’s been rumored that he was forced to wear a diaper during some of his shows just in case any discharge occurred. Which in-turn, forced them to tour less frequently and now it seems like they only do a few shows per year. But their followers have never lost faith. I still thank him for giving us his music.We all are dedicated to what he has provided us. Instead of holding it inside forever.

Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Silence BY: GlassJaw

That burning feeling.
Red liquids.
Clear liquids.
Blessed are the sick.
Children shiver in the river.
Where is our god now?
Does he watch over all in El Segundo?
He don’t lie when he say,
Under!

I’m wasting away.
I find time to pine.
When pining away my time.
Within sin.
With no redemption.
We will find our souls
and the shells they’re kept in
all wasted away.

Blessed are the sick in me.
The prey, the thrill, the chill and we
are martyrs that crumble on time.
Predestination.
We’ll stop upon dimes.
And he’s constructed us all in El Segundo,
as the shivering children pray.

Demons in
Demons out.
Cry for dawn.
Gratis.
bored.
I’m the matador of the children’s ward.
Beggars wed choosers.
Red sheets.
Bed sheets.
Boozers.
I’m the head fan.
Blessed be my bed pan.

It’s a cold, having just been mugged feeling.

In the sun
I’ve got this for you
It’s under my finger nails.
I brought this for you.
It’s typically Sunday.

I’m digging a hole.
I’ll shut out the world.
This is what it’s like to be alone,
This is what it’s like to be alone…

Drive

April 1, 2013
Creative Writing, Poetry
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It took me hours to get home tonight
every moment your name riddled my mind
Hopeless thoughts at the speed of light
Grasping to the only memories I can
Prolonging my suffering till I pretend
That I will be alright, I will live
Without you in my mind
I’ll drive

Light up another broken promise tonight
An excuse to stay behind enemy lines
Halfway through the pack of my displeasure
Play the next track, it’s feeling better
Take another drag, let the flow work my soul
As I melt into the rhythm, my only antidote
The drug that knows no overdose
But a beat to keep my own
It Drives me

To the limit, it drives me, to the end
When I can pretend, that none of this hurts
And how it never hurt you; but can you feel it?
The pulse of my heart is weak, can you feel it?
My playlist is running low, and I need you
To grace me with your 80’s hits, your old school tricks
Dance with me before you leave with your last line
Before I see your green eyes for the last time.
Sing your song and smile and if it feels right…
end this sorrow tonight.

In The Wee Small Hours; Performed By: Frank Sinatra

April 1, 2013
Musical Fantasy, Ol' Blue Eyes
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Since I find myself awake at 3:15AM, thinking… I thought it’d be nice to share something from Frank Sinatra. I’m not sure who actually wrote it; there were several writers responsible for the ballads. But I’m just glad they gave it to Frank to sing 🙂

In The Wee Small Hours; performed By: Frank Sinatra

In the wee small hours of the morning

While the whole wide world is fast asleep

You’ll lie awake, and think about the girl

And never think of counting sheep.

 

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson.

You’d be hers if only she would call.

In the wee small hours of the morning.

That’s the time you miss her most, of all.

 

When your lonely heart has learned its lesson;

You’d be hers if only she would call

In the wee small hours of the morning.

That’s the time you miss her most, of all…