Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

You wield that word like a sabre,
As if to preclude my words and humanity,
To write me out,
And yes it is true,
I don’t exactly fit any puzzle,
Always out of step in conversations,
Odd socks and baggy shirts,
Socially awkward in the extreme,
But what of it?
A tiger can’t change his stripes,

This moniker you have bestowed upon me,
It is a badge of honour,
I am proud of the war I waged to earn it,
I am strange,
And I’ll die on that hill,
With a weird grin on my face.

Hey there inmates!

How is everything going for you lot this week then? Very well I hope! January is marching on it seems, I’m rather surprised how quickly it seems to be going. I’ve been rather happy with the work I’ve scribbled this week, including the pictures. Anybody who has followed me for any measure of time could tell you that is rare. I never really bother with new years resolutions or anything, but one thing I told myself I would do is sort my desk here in the asylum out. It’s now probably the nerdiest thing in my room aside from myself. I’m rather content with it though.

So, you didn’t come here to listen to me narcissistically talk about myself and my desk. You came here for music right? Did anybody see todays theme clue? I did post it a tad late I’ll confess. I bet you didn’t guess it.

Without further adieu, the musical theme for this here Harlequins writing music post is chillstep! What is chillstep you ask? I’m very glad you’d like to know. Chillstep is something of a derivative sub-genre of dubstep music. You’d probably not be able to tell that they’re related though, they sound rather different in practice. Aside from both being electronically created of course. As you may be able to tell by the name, this genre is slower and softer (120-140 beats per minute) and tends to have an almost ethereal quality that lends itself well to relaxation and chilling. Why did I choose chillstep this week? Well, quite simply I’ve primarily listened to it while I write recently. At least the last month or so. It really has helped me creatively and I wanted to share it with all of you. It’s not all about screaming and heavy riffs you know!

So, why not join me as we delve into the musical minds of collected artists the world over?

Kyon Grey – Meliora

Michael FK – See You Again

Krisu – Beyond Butterflies

Nomyn – Promise

Blackmill – In The Night Of Wilderness

And there we have it! Feeling a little bit loosened up? Feeling a sense of peace? Well, that’s chillstep for you! All of these artists seem to be a little more on the obscure side (maybe an exaggeration) so I’d very much like you all to go and show them some love. They definitely deserve the attention, they’ve really helped me recently.

So, speaking of helping me, would you like to see my social media links? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page over on Twitter as well. It would mean a lot if you’d consider following me over on those sites. Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please also consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page. Thanks for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

When love is broken,
It’s like being thrown overboard,
Dragged right under the waves,
Diving into the aquatic depths of melancholy,
Breathless and sobbing in whalesong,

The blue holds you in the dark,
You languish there in sorrow cultivating a shell of coral,
Pressure like punishment for your heart broken,
Even the most advocating voices prove drowned out,
Supportive sonar failing to pierce the muck,

This drowning can last years,
Staying alone in the safe womb of suffocation,
But humans are social creatures,
Eventually a light may shine from the surface,
Like a gulf stream in human form,

A new infatuation from above like a fish hook,
So you swim towards it,
But do not be overhasty,
They say that ascending too fast is hazardous,
You could get the bends,

Jumping from that ocean to the dating pool,
You could be beset by paralysis and constriction,
Twisted like a soaked cloth,
And just like the great blue,
Acting in rashness could crush you.

Within each of us is a forest,
Wintry and ensconced in deep fog,
It is replete with demons,
Past events given terrible form,
Haunting each day we open our eyes,
Every emotional wound,
Every failure,
Every neurotic belief,
Every chance you didn’t grip,

But a piece of our soul fights back,
A demon hunter,
Our internal dialogue of positivity,
Leather-clad and under wide-brimmed hat,
A spitting image of your self belief,
Fighting blade and hammer,
Stalking each incubus with stake in hand,
Sparring with every horror that brings you down,
Decapitating every insecurity and exposing their fatuity,

This slayer of monsters,
Their war will never cease,
To once again bring about your dawn,
And sustain your smile,
If only you’d believe in their cause.

I attempt to scribble each day,
Ever since I met Shakespeare I wanted to write,
Since I broke bread with Lovecraft,
Was lectured by Nietzsche,
Sipped fresh tea across from Austen,
I longed to put my soul to paper,
Their work is a literary blueprint,
One that I follow poorly,
My pen is a crayon in comparison,
Macaroni art to their opuses,
Put on the fridge by an indifferent clientele,
Stood beside those greats,
Those mavens,
I am a wannabe,
Playing at authorship,
Faking it and not making it,
A nobody.

It’s time for a scary movie,
So turn the lights down low,
Let the atmosphere surge in weight,
Hear the faint whispers from the VCR,
Insert that old cassette,
The cultural id of an era gone by,

Through this box television portal,
The static has such horrors to show you,
Of masked faces and demented dolls,
Corny gore and monsters in your dreams,
Hooked chains and torn skin,
The ornery song of a chainsaw,

Even pixelated the terror feels real,
Your pulse quickens,
Transfixed as you peek between sweaty hands,
You can almost feel the wine on your face,
Don’t succumb to the fear child,
It’s only a movie after all.

I was a foul caterpillar of ineptitude,
The time came to become better,
So I coat myself in stone and feathers,
Material for the renaissance,
But something is amiss,
This is not the cocoon I was promised,
But a sarcophagus,
A cell for my bodily stagnation,
An incarceration for each magpie I didn’t count,

Now more sludge than butterfly,
I am instead stifled by this cage,
Why does metamorphosis elude me?
I just wanted to finally be better,
Nothing more than to emerge,
To evolve,
To be superior to the me of yesterday,
Yet it feels as if it isn’t to be,
Like a moth plucked of its wings,

A grub for evermore.

That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.

Good day inmates!

So another week is here eh? How’s it been for you? 2022 thrown any spanners at you yet? I certainly hope not, that would be rather rude. I’m really not enjoying the winter, I’ll admit. I’ve had a stinking cold yet again. It’s more annoying than debilitating at this point. It also seems like almost everyone I know is getting similar things. It’s not the great plague either, just the time of year I suppose. Still, it’s not stopped me writing at least.

So, it’s time for part 118 of the Harlequins writing music. I wonder if one day I’ll get to a thousand parts of this series. That’s quite an insane thought, even for me. Did anybody see my clue earlier today? I revealed that I’m showing off a single band in todays edition. Did anybody work out who the band was?

Yes, that’s right! It was Paddy and the Rats! Now, they are a band I’ve listened to for a couple years after finding them purely by accident on the great tube. They are a rather distinctive band from Hungary that take a lot of inspiration from the likes of Celtic and folk music. At times they can sound like a fairly standard punk rock band, but then throw in an accordion, electronica and a variety of instruments I don’t even know the names of. They have their fair share of upbeat jigs, but then are quite capable of slower, more sombre melodies. I’m going to try and show you guys just how broad their music chops can go. Let’s go, shall we?

Join me as we delve into the musical minds of Paddy and the Rats!

Paddy and the Rats – That’s My Nature

Paddy and the Rats – Join The Riot

Paddy and the Rats – My Sharona

Paddy and the Rats – Dark After The Night

Paddy and the Rats – Ghost From The Barrow

And there we go! Quite a varied array of songs eh? I could listen to these guys all day to be honest with you. It wasn’t actually too easy to narrow down my choices to only five songs, but I could hardly put the bands entire discography on here. They even did their own version of the song ‘Drunken Sailor’! It’s really good! As always, I’ll include a link to their website here for your perusal. I hope you check them out, they really deserve the love!

Here you go!

Speaking of links, I ought to include my own eh? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and even a Twitter page! Please consider following me over on those as well, it really helps! Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well! Cheers for everything!

Until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

Let me tell you a story,
A yarn of spies and the spied upon,
Of a world under our own,
A world of shadow and masks,
A world we are not privy to,
For the better,

She is a woman,
But also an agent,
A clandestine weapon with fake lashes,
All false wigs and suppressors,
A dame of deception,
She had slain tyrants while wearing unfamiliar faces,
She once had a lover,
But the flag stole him under its yolk,

He is a man,
But also a tool,
An extension of his nations left hand,
All handguns and sabotage,
An artist of wetwork,
No foreign dossier is safe from his gloves,
He longed for a normal life once,
But the flag kept drawing him back,

It’s a tale of two nations,
A love story spelled out in gunshots and dead drops,
Of two souls under opposing masters,
Once brought together by their humanity,
But rent asunder by the flags inhumanity,
Forced in future to kiss via crosshairs.