Ride the music

See what i am with that bass that tears down my arms, i'm not a virtuoso, i press timidly the fat strings, guessing the notes, the rythm like a tide reaches me, a staccato anchored and my curved body begins to swell, until my fingers hurt;
I'm not a musical scholar, i don't keep no technical words about instruments and electronic devices i use, i don't even know how to balance the sound of mine, i feel every tones and for me they are all worthy to be;
When i play i love my part gritty, catching the air around into a swirl of chaotic energy, i'm playing the cosmic egg, if only i could rebuild the world with one rock song;
I'm not a poser, i don't play to be watched, there's no attitudes i snatch to raise a pitiful ego through the eyes of a bystander, i'm reversed in myself, i play in my own mind, selfishly, the pleasure is for me only, i bestow not even one cell to act for someone else, i'm not anything because music is not a business for me, it's my passion, it instils me life when it catches me in the curls, here i nest and at one point my senses shut, i'm not a prisoner anymore, easily swaying, i'm sitting on a gust of wind, the music is in me, no one will ever steal me that breath, watch me and find for yourself the stream leading to the best of all pleasure, feel free;
I'm nothing more than this awkward boy when i play... but hell knows i love the music i hear, with a bass or a guitar tearing down my arms.

I invite you.

In this dance.


And i thank Satan for the inspiration. (ah ah running joke around here)

Chronic eeriness

What a strange day!, i think!, watching in the black of my coffee, it's 17h18, i'm eating jam and chocolate on slices of bread, with a second cup of coffee, for more than 5 years now i skipped the breakfast, and today i'm taking one... in the middle of the day; i'm anxious, today is a strange day, the threatening clouds are low, weighting on us, i feel the boil like if i am in a cauldron, i think i waste so much energy in my anxiety that i needed to snack so late, or i will faint in the bus i have to take a while later, tonight i'll be out socializing, but alone, i feel so helpless...

I have oportunities to live one of my dreams, but i'm stuck in my personality, i'm getting more and more antisocial, crossing the path of other human beings could soon become unbearable.

And now i feel gross...

"Amazingness"

The pages flip as i click randomly, fumbling on the net with no purpose, nowadays everyone has a personal space on line, people are dithyrambic about their interests, mainly about the celebrities they worship, saying things as lame as, "she (or he) is the greatest, the nicest, the cutest, The INCREDIBLest" well let me add "The DULLEST" and this kind of depictions are galore, all with the same shallowness, deprived of arguments, mess of over simplistic and meaningless words; at this point one can think i'm full of prejudice and harshly unfair, i could have this doubt too.. if i haven't checked another frame on their presentation page, and this one is blank each time, it says : "write a description of yourself"... i'm stunned... a recurring phrase i read is : "Wow, it's too complicated to write about oneself", it comes clear that a majority of people don't even know themselves. ok so i say it again for who has still a doubt, people's imagination and knowledge are as blank as their description frame! and yeah i don't care for them.

(the whole superlative part is a mockery, you would have guessed)

when i get low, i get high

If some cameras were displaying my life widely, like those shitty reality programs on Tv, people will think i'm a nutcase; there are times i watch in the blur and i hum inarticulate improvised melodies, repeating one or two phrases related to how i could feel on the moment, sometimes i use lyrics from a well known song of myself, usually i stay motionless, i guess my face is melting like if a big hand was trying to pull down a mask i could wear, out of fatigue, out of melancholy, i'm as entertaining as a tombstone; and there are times, i jump around the appartment, scurrying from one spot to another, doing what i thought about doing which is, during those extatic moments, almost everything at the same time, i flap my hands and do weird movements (ref : garden state ) while squealing like a creepy rodent, i feel my muscles want to be used, so i'm energetic, impredictable, erratic, i wriggle with swift gestures, i make faces always squealing, chanting and impersonating the most madman ever, out of too much energy, not knowing really how to dissipate it.

Those are parts of my roller coaster, maybe symptoms of loneliness, if i had a regular activity, a regular sharing with people will i be more regular myself, will i vent what i feel talking to someone i trust, instead of bursting in highs and lows, maybe i am simply this madman unable to control his emotions.

No Spare

Lately the filthy ground is so frozen that i couldn't stick my fingers in it; Though, i keep it in a square of molded ceramic; After this ruthless blow nothing will ever grow again in my formerly precious compost, one year it gave its best to pop out lovely marble-shaped tomatoes, as red as a heart, and as bright as a dry ruby, i gathered all this sheer offering in my palm, watching the frail plant stripped from its gems, appearing almost pitiful after i stole what was the ostensible tenderness from my vegetal friend, at that time i didn't realize it will be the last, i took the wonders born to my sight because i assessed it was kindly given up to me, i was greedy and careless, i devoured the magnificent creations like it was mine with no presents, no attention in return... not a word, i get strenght from it, proud and sure of my advantage, casting my shadow on a so openly generous creature; Now this is the end, the ground is as hard as steel and as cold as ice, and my desperate fingers keep wandering on the dents, stiff on that ceramic square, and no tears i shed would be enough to reanimate the love once given to me.

Dephased

My definition of what is cute, nice, emotional is not in the objects, for me it's focused on the atmosphere, an harmony of colors and shapes, thus generally what is considered dirty, or unsane, or unproper by people who follow the stereotypes can be seen as beautiful and touching by me. With this i'm also perfectly aware, i can point out all the details which build up one particular atmosphere i like.
When i hear a sound it's the same process, i don't see a band playing which is prosaic, the appearance, the simple shell, no, when i hear a sound my imagination build up an entire story in an entire new world; All that is based on the way i feel, i'm considering fitted ensembles, i can see the beauty in despair and trash, and miss it in what is obvious like fluffs, strass and twinkles... maybe it just proves that i'm scattered.

Please Stay

When the bell rings i'm in the back of the flat, taking refuge in my cozy corner which i can encompass in my two arms building a circle, i greet with a timid smile and a gaze already turned on the inside, i wait for the start, the perfect moment to speak about what moved me those past days, i know i have to endure all the plain civilities and i inquire like a good host about the last gossips. The time passes, i feel less tense, my passionate self places outbursts of reasonings and stories, parcels of what stayed in my mind in the flow of images and words i consume each day; the room is sober, no one feels really confortable under this economic light, smothered by oldfashioned insipid walls, the most courageous ones sit for a couple of hours, hardly revealing their worries and thoughts as i'm so focused to contain myself, never impose, i feel i'm doing an entertainer job in those situations, but my best is only a sad clown or worst, a lecturer. Arrives the time to let go, swiftly reassemble the belongings and like a butler i'm behind, without a word more than "bye", to close the door on the miserable guest.

Can't they guess in my eyes my begging call.

(It seems when people plan to see each others, they await to be entertain, maybe a program of the festivities, the fake costumes and the fake smiles, i'm not a fucking tv show, i only ask for honesty and simplicity; here's a good ironic quote : "come as you are... and i swear that i don't have a gun")