I am indeed odd, I am reminded often and harshly, I speak in polychromatic tongues, Delivering anecdotes and concepts from left field, I think differently, Coming to conclusions outside the mean, Perhaps it vexes the average soul,
And it is true, I am unhinged, Defiantly barmy and weird, But even in a madman’s eyes, There is a glimmer of logic, Don’t confuse my eccentricity for idiocy, I know what your cupped hands say,
I see the glances and hear the sniggers, But I’ll dance right through them, I’m mad, I’m not stupid, My grey matter, Though peculiar in its rationale, Works as intended.
How are you all doing? Your creative waltzes and endeavours going swimmingly? Good! That’s what I like to hear! Things have been rather stable here at the asylum, the weather is back to being unsure what to do and my sleep cycle is as messy as ever! Life is… adequate I suppose. That sounds worse than it is actually, my bad. Things are alright here honestly, I just don’t have a great deal to convey for this week. I suppose quiet is better than difficult eh?
Enough rambling, let’s get on to the meat and potatoes of todays post eh? We’re here for music aren’t we? Not the lamentations of a sad clown. Did anybody see todays musical theme clue? It wasn’t exactly a clue in the strictest sense, just a picture of me being… weird. Hopefully people see the connection there?
Todays musical theme is weirdness. Or strangeness. Or oddity. Or any other synonym you can imagine for something that is outside the norm. The eccentric artists and songs with bizarre meanings. The music videos with odd visualisations. It’s quite hard to pin down the exact theme of weirdness, as it is by very definition supposed to escape being lumped together. To defy classification you know? Todays post is more going to be about sharing some of the weirdest songs (and artists) that I have discovered over the years. There have been some really strange musicians that I have come across in my life. I’m convinced I’m actually drawn to artists that have some kind of “quirk” if you like. Want to see what I can come up with this week? I’ll try my best sensei! uWu! I don’t know what that was…
Please join me as we delve into the musical minds of wacky artists the world over!
And there we have it! I just had to include Weird Al you know. The clue is in the name after all! Some rather unique artists there don’t you think? I would very much like you to check out all of these artists my friends. They do deserve the attention and, generally speaking, they get less of it from the mainstream. Do me a favour eh?
I lied, can you do me two favours? Can you come and gander at my social media sites as well? The asylum has a page over on Facebook, an account on Instagram and a page over on Twitter as well. Please consider following and liking me over on those. It really helps me out. Links are provided here as always. Also, if you really enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over on the Ko-Fi page as well. Thanks for everything!
You have to be a madman to get through life, It’s a madhouse after all, An asylum with stuffy wardens, Straitjackets to keep us grey and legion, They try at least, In turn the world needs mad people, Rebellious little freaks, Can’t have a nuthouse without nutters, We bring art and insane cackles, The mad are the only ones to escape, The only ones to be free,
So my friends, Continue to dream in technicolour, Dance your clumsy dance, And greet each day with an unhinged grin, Be mad.
I don’t recall when, But we eloped from the realm of normality, Me myself and I, Became curiously strange, A rebel from sanity, A highwayman on the outskirts,
It was indeed a crime to some, And I was cruelly judged, Flogged and pilloried, Pebbles scraping at my painted smile, Stepped on, A grey screen held over my effulgent colours,
But I embrace this life of banditry, I’m the Harlequin, A heretic from the creed of routine, I’m not you, I’m not by the numbers, I’m an unapologetic renegade.
Do you feel that bass? That tone in the atmosphere, A low hum in sequence, Pounding like artillery, You begin to sway at the sound, Intoxicating as it is, It’s a legal high, A sonic assault upon your composure, A hysteria of the limbs, It threatens to shatter your shell, Make you move against your judgement,
It’s only a matter of time, The beat continues unabated, You’ll dance to this bassline, With a grin that’d make the joker blush.
I find my minds eye is clouded, Marred by ocular madness, By the squiggles, Shapes appearing like a vinyl, Little lines dancing about as couplets, A disco in my vision, A riot before me, No colours, Just monochrome, They silently play tag with my focus, Frolicking away before I can make them out,
I seem to have a million friends in my eyes, Or is it my imagination? Degeneration? Insanity finally seizing control?
Sometimes sleep can be like visiting a menagerie, A mad array of mental toys, Dancing and cajoling and fighting, I close my eyes, Logic takes the exit door, And the toybox opens, An entire universe of prisms and colours emerge, Faces and pyramids and music, Skeletons dancing against my backlit skull, All things blended into storylines that make no sense, It feels good, Unconsciousness is my minds best therapy, The crazier the dreams, The better the rest.
When you imagine an artist, You do not see me, You see a noble practitioner of the word, Your Tolkiens and Pratchetts, Not me, Not this freak with a pen,
I’m no artist, I’m a monster of art, My process is more of a hunt, Deranged savagery in each stroke, Less the orchestration of an artistic vision, And more the dismemberment of prose,
The words I scribble are the meat, The meanings behind them are a bitter aftertaste, A happy accident, Rending phrase from stanza, Mutilating rather than composing, Poetry coming from a state of psychosis,
I’ve read the greats, My fangs were cut on their work, This creature is a deviation from their ways, I write because I must, Perhaps one day, I’ll write this monster a happy ending.
There is tell of a fallen angel, Feathers replaced with horns, Some epitome of spite, And of this we are taught to fear, Lauded as some ultimate enemy, But I say different,
The devil is an amateur, Way out of his infernal depth, Ultimate evil sits in coffee shops and sips lattes, A creature as studious as it is destructive, Whose ingenuity has moulded countless systems of abuse, It chokes the land not in lies but toxic waste,
The devil should just retire, Last I checked we wore serpent skins, Extinction is just in a days work, Even Lucifer ought fear the mailed fist of man, Both in location and scale of evil, Humanity is punching down.
I heard tell of a witch, A maiden in this harvest season, A lady in an obsidian regalia, Where she walks the flock congregates, A winged host of subjects, Upon her word do they fly, She walks paths lost to man, She is the mother of ravens, She is never alone, She is nature, She is death, She carries the murder in her soul,
WorldofHarley 