this is a very warm dream.

Today's one of those days, where I wish I lived in a world where no lines bind a nation, and this planet is one giant park where we could roll down the slopes of China and land in the banks of Cuba.

It's one of those days when you just want to stay at home and be out there at the same time, half in, half out. Like I'm sitting on the edge of my veranda, curled against the softest pillow and my nervous legs are stretched, long enough to soak up the rays of the unyielding sun.

I can taste the cooking from next door. It's the wind, bragging the scent of whatever's there on your table, Neighbour.

It's one of those days where you spill bits of ripped paper from atop an 11-storey building, and see how it dances its way towards the ground. In beautiful, arrested movement. I can't dance like that, not even half as graceful.

I can close my eyes and disappear under the warmth. I disappear, and then I'd fly across the sky as though I'm on rocket power, just as easy.

I'd land beside a grand piano, in the middle of that same giant park, playing endless tunes on an empty seat. What a momentum. This is Chopin, not Bach.

I look up before pulling up the blankets. I'm curling up underneath it, leaving all the brightness behind. This is a dream. This is a very warm dream.

---
October '08
.

after hours.

No, this isn't my original song. I still suck very much at making music, so for now I'm keeping a promise I made to Bestiepoop, who requested that I record myself doing a cover of Velvet Underground's "After Hours".

This is, actually, only the second song I've played on my guitar, so excuse my morbid amateurism.



Download link is here (Bestiepoop might want it, but if anyone else finds my voice bearable and would like to download it, you may click at your own risk. Consider this a warning. Although, it would indeed make me a very happy puppy, hee.)

My songwriting career, by the way, seems to have sunk before it even sailed. I still can't manage to create any sort of worthy music. Let's face it, yours truly is rather talentless in that department. Sigh. :(
.

the man without a face.

The man without a face has no mouth
But you can hear the venom in his voice

The man without a face has no eyes
But he has a glare that could kill

The man without a face has no nose
But he could smell fear from miles away

The man without a face has a heart
But it is locked away and hidden
Behind a ribbed cage
As though it is shameful
As though it's a disgrace

Because the man without a face knows
That if he gets his heart broken
He would die three times over

And all the insecurities he has ever kept
Would float right up to the surface of his face
In the shape of a nose
A mouth
And a pair of eyes

And the man would then have a face
With nothing to hide

The empty mask has fallen to the ground
And everyone can see the sadness in his eyes

---
June '09
.

about songwriting.

You see, my roomie is a dude who likes to write music. And he happens to be rather good at it. Because he does not shower a lot, let's call him Mr. Bum.

Well, Mr. Bum is a whiz at making music. In his hey-days, he can write up to 4 songs a day. Sometimes, he even lets me sing them. But even though Mr. Bum writes plenty of songs, he has left his performing days behind in high school. My other roomie, Miss Nose is another whiz at writing, and she often becomes Mr. Bum's lyricist.

Now, as you know, I also love to write. And I love music just as much. I've written poems before, but lyrics, not really. I tried asking Mr. Bum to put music into my poetry but he stubbornly declined, citing; 'You can play guitar so do it yourself'. He also added, 'And since you're planning to buy a ukulele, prove how bad you want it by making at least one song on my guitar'. And yes, he's right, I am currently obsessed with buying a ukulele. I even have a name ready for it - Waikiki. I want a Lanikai LU-21 soprano ukulele to hold and cherish for my own till death do us part, godammit! But that's another story.

I know what Mr. Bum is trying to do. He's trying to get me off my lazy ass and start being creative! That's a good thing, I suppose, even though he's being utterly obnoxious about it. The problem is, I think I suck at making music. The lyrics I can do, but the music.. It'll take me days. Years. Centuries. I might pass these on to my grandchildren, and I don't think even they can fulfill this mighty task! I'll never have a ukulele! .. Okay, I'm exaggerating.

So I started writing yesterday, and came up with lyrics for two songs. It's a bit different to my usual writings, but I showed it to Miss Nose, and she had nodded approvingly. Unfortunately, I have not finished the music. It's like, only 5% done. And I don't think I'm that happy with it. My guitar skills is extremely amateurish and exceedingly craptastic, I think. But I'm trying, and it's strange how I'm actually enjoying this process...

Here's a preview of the song lyrics I wrote:

You've said and often mentioned of journeying to the moon
Well, isn't she a Goddess, your fairytale in bloom
I thought that I'm the dreamer here, and you're the realist
But now I see the table's turned, and I'm the pessimist

And,

Everyday is a waking hour
With them, you'll stick like petals on a flower
And you'll get kicked for being sour
Because there'll be no comrades like them
No, you'll never find people like them

Each song is titled Congratulations and Miss Nose and Mr. Bum respectively. (Yes, I'm making a song about my roomies, it's a cheap attempt to woo them into buying me a ukulele)

So for the next week, in my free time, you'll probably see me strumming the guitar and tapping musical chords into my notebook, or in front of the laptop, recording and singing and mish-mashing whatever sound I can find on GarageBand. Note that I will be quite anti-social and may bite at the slightest poke. Facebook pokes included. Yeah? Yeah.

Wish me luck!