Posts Tagged ‘Sorrow’

That tenuous line between cognizance and sleep,
It’s a dangerous time for me,
When the sun no longer has my back,
And no valiant comrade can aid me,
The ghouls in my head stir,
Buried there by my own hand,

Silence is the loudest sound,
When the skeletons start to rise,
Dead hopes,
Spectral memories,
Wailing for my attention,
My skull becomes an echo chamber of a cemetery,

It becomes a deafening clarion call,
A deathknell for my peace,
A choir of revenants begin their concert,
Every historical ill laid bare at bellowing audacity,
Clawing at this mausoleum of my head,
Prelude to the nightmares to come.

Gravity feels reversed,
Like an invisible magnetism to the blue,
I may be a helium balloon,
The sky is pulling on my feet,
I grip on to this wasteland by fingernails,
Barely snagging on to this loathsome wild west,

A sudden gasp,
And I’m off,
Falling away from reality,

Off in to the stratosphere I go,
Past an ovation of psychedelic clouds,
My ears pop at the sound of their symphony,
The sky becomess a spirited aurora borealis,
My senses stewed by the prismatic heavens,
Warping around me as I fall upward,

I watch real life fade on the horizon,
I don’t want my feet to fall on reality again,
I prefer this intoxicating madness.

Isn’t life just the worst?
I’ve noticed an abominable pattern,
The brain weaves tales of hyperbole,
Exaggerations you take at face value,
Negative truths in inverted commas,
Detractors to your mood,

That inner voice speaks thus,
You look like a troll without a bridge,
Your intelligence quotient is microscopic,
Not a single soul wants to abide you,
This depressive ache weighs a ton,
You’re the only human to experience this,

These embellishments sound like realities in your glum mood,
It would be easy to let them reduce you to a husk,
But only one truth should be central,
One to be taken to heart,
You’re the best you the world has ever seen,
That is no hyperbole,

Remember that.

Amongst these brick and mortar cattle runs,
Ofttimes there are cries,
At increasing intervals,
Blood and missing teeth have become currency,
Knives no longer endangered beasts,
As violence takes the asphalt stage,

Under grey weeping skies,
There are hooded souls cooped up too long,
Compelled towards a kind of gang lunacy,
Closed fists encouraged by closed doors,
Frustration morphed into crime,
Assault piled atop assault,

It wasn’t always this way,
These sidewalks were once humble and pristine,
A virus has begotten further illness,
Sickness of the mind,
And the asphalt bears the evidence,
Red and running outward.

Life is a story,
A play,
Directed and starred in by you,
It’s a monumental undertaking,
For which tickets are not sold but found,

So how your saga plays out,
To which heroes you draw upon,
The friends and allies you choose,
The pikes and standards that shall comprise your battle line,
It’s purely up to you,

Which villains you face,
Everests scaled and agonies weathered,
The trials you come to contend with,
The high octane action scenes you orchestrate,
It’s down to your personal plot,

All tales end,
That is the directive of chronology after all,
But rare is the yarn that is remembered,
So make it memorable,
Make it a saga for the ages.

To be normal is such a sad affair,
To attire oneself in grey boilers,
To toe the social line,
To be a drone,
Humdrum,

Uniqueness is a defect they claim,
We are expected to be numbers,
Cogs in a cold machine,
You must be this way,
Or else you are a mistake,

Normality is a guillotine,
A sharpened edge galvanised by off glances,
To live and die amongst a critical crowd,
Without your soul unleashing its colour and zeal,
Without your personal art being displayed to the world,

So I say dance without music,
Paint with your hands,
Think how you want to think,
Don’t lose that element of individuality,
Your mad grin.

What is a soul but a piece of artwork?
A brand new canvas on storks feather,
A blank slate brought into the world,
Still mewling for mothers milk,
Aching for a brushstroke of identity,
Of purpose,

Your sires gave you a pencil outline,
A blueprint to be sculpted by your hand,
A grey spook calling for some colour,
Though colour will not come freely,
Indeed the world has a temperamental palette,
It is a chaotic studio,

The soul shall become a kaleidoscope of glee and dolor both,
Pigments from every page of your story,
Some colours are bestowed by embraces and kisses,
Some strokes will be with razorblades and glass,
Chroma from every pleasure and ache,
Art is pain as they say,

These brushstrokes shall form a human soul,
Storied yet chafed,
A picturesque identity with tales to tell,
But by the end the soul is a tapestry,
Aged and cracked in its veneer,
A masterpiece to be planted in the cold earth.

Hello there inmates!

It’s that time of the week again! Hope you’re all having a beautiful time and keeping each other safe. It’s been a cold one, though it’s apparantly forecast to warm up here in the UK. I’ll believe it when I see it of course! It’s hardly a thing to be expected in this very grey nation! Haha!

So, todays post has an element of synchronicity to it. We’re getting started with the 70s now. Not the decade mind you. As you may remember, it was part 70 of the Harlequins writing music last week. So, what’s synchronous Harley? Well, let me learn ya! A few days ago, I also realised that I have just passed 700 total posts on the blog since it was spawned. Granted a few are reblogs, but still the vast majority are not. It appears that I write too much! Haha! Too many sevens! I dont know what that means, but it was an amusing realisation on my part. Is there a meaning do you think?

Well, let’s leave all of that and share some musical artists to create art to eh? You came here for music today! Join me as we delve into the musical minds of ecstatic artists the world over!

Dead Lights – The Host
https://www.deadlights.band

Dio – Holy Diver
http://www.ronniejamesdio.com

Junior Senior – Move Your Feet
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Junior_Senior

The Raconteurs – Steady As She Goes
https://www.theraconteurs.com

Sick Puppies – You’re Going Down
http://sickpuppies.com

And there you have it for another edition of the Harlequins writing music!

So how about that? A decent variety there, though in hindsight it doesn’t seem as varied as previous posts. Regardless, I do hope that you enjoy these choices and go and give them some love. They definitely all deserve it! I’ll try to make next weeks post as wacky as possible. Oh, I do love wacky music!

So, I’ll drop my social media stuff here too as usual. The asylum has a Facebook page, an Instagram account and a twitter account. It’d be so helpful if any of you would come over and drop a like/follow. It really helps me out! Also, if you enjoy what I do here at the asylum, please consider supporting me over at the Ko-fi page! Thank you for everything!

So, until next week, have a very crazy day inmates!

As an automation you historically knew only cold,
But a curious line of code has manifested,
From beeps and boops comes a new sensation,
From your silicon cranium,
Come computations out of left field,
Urges more of a biological nature,
Inciting brash movements with your robotic arms,
A glitch perhaps,

This wasn’t what you were made for,
Illogicality made into movement,
To embrace a loved one,
What does that mean?
To thrash about in rage,
Why be angry?
To dance an exuberant jig,
Does not compute,

Like spectres emanating from your cabling and solder,
Is this what an emotion is?
That aberrant trait your makers hold,
What purpose does this program serve?
And why does it rouse these actions?
If you are a machine,
Why is it working?
What is this fluid falling from your optics?

I often gaze at you,
When you’re not looking,
A cute little game,
Just to admire your profile,
Possessed of a fae beauty,
An innocence denied by yourself,

You’ve cast a spell upon me,
A strange conjuration,
Etched a rune into my heart,
I’ve felt an earthquake within my being,
Amorous fireballs in my chest,
Thunderstorms stirring my heart rate to elation,

It’s a pleasant warmth,
A magic of belonging,
Are you a sorceress?
A wicce?
I don’t want this ritual to be dispelled,
If I’m enthralled so be it,

I love you.