"Today Was A Bad Day"
I wanna live, I wanna die
Life is pain, pain means you're alive
Am I wasting my time
Trying to get through to you?
Song after song falling on deaf ears
I can't find the words to explain
How I feel today
It doesn't matter
You won't hear them anyway
Some days are good, some days are bad
Today was a bad day
I wanna scream, I wanna cry
I can't bear another day of quite
I've been saving my breath
Keeping it balled up inside
You don't seem receptive to it
I can't find the words to explain
How I feel today
It doesn't matter
You won't hear them anyway
Some days are good, some days are bad
Today was a bad day
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I can't think of a good title for this blog entry.
So, for those of you who don't already know*, I once punched Amy Scaffidi in the face. By request. Out of friendship. Yes, it makes sense, stop looking at me like that.
Anyways, I was just laying in bed trying to think of new song material, and it occurred to me to write a song about this. And by this, I mean the time I punched my very good friend Amy in the face. I've got some lyrics worked out and an idea for the melody. I'm not going to post anything here; I want this one to be new to everyone when it's performed the first time. I will, however, share the title I have in mind:
MY FIST+YOUR FACE=LOVE
* If you're reading this, there's a good chance you do already know, as Amy and I love talking about this.
Anyways, I was just laying in bed trying to think of new song material, and it occurred to me to write a song about this. And by this, I mean the time I punched my very good friend Amy in the face. I've got some lyrics worked out and an idea for the melody. I'm not going to post anything here; I want this one to be new to everyone when it's performed the first time. I will, however, share the title I have in mind:
MY FIST+YOUR FACE=LOVE
* If you're reading this, there's a good chance you do already know, as Amy and I love talking about this.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Stories!
Inspiration has struck, and tonight I finally have a chance to sit down and write. I've just completed a rough draft for a story, the beginning of a new writing project. I don't want to say too much about it yet, but I think there's some potential here.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Looking through old computer files I found 2 documents related to a story I was working on in early '08. The story itself, however, is nowhere to be found. Like all my unfinished stories (and for the record, I've finished very few of the stories I've started writing) this story was a rambling character exploration without a clear idea of where the plot was going. It focused on a couple, Simon and Samantha. Samantha has a bizarre allergy to water, is extremely ugly by even the most accepting standards, (wicked witch without the magic) and is verbally abusive to Simon, but loves him dearly. It's just her way. Simon understands and doesn't mind. He's an extremely submissive person. Their relationship works because they wouldn't work with anyone else; Samantha is too big of a bitch, and Simon's too much of a pushover.
I got the idea for the story after read Wicked, the Oz revisionist novel. I really liked that book, and the scene that stuck with me the most is when the protagonist, the witch, is running through the snow on a mission and has to cover up because she's harmed by water (which, of course, you know). Shortly after finishing the book, we had a snow storm and I began thinking of what it would be like to have that sort of weakness in the real world.
The document that I lost is the very beginning of the story wherein nothing really interesting happens, but I spent a lot of time with it establishing who these characters are, and the nature of their relationship. What I still have is a letter from Samantha to Simon (which is probably among my favorite things that I've ever written), and a scene I thought of in which Samantha gets tried as a witch by an extremest church, and is left tied between to large poles to die in a rainstorm.
Check this out:
My Dearest, Detestable Simon,
I weep when I think of you, and for that I curse the day we met. Your memory brings burning tears from my eyes which roll down my cheeks leaving scorched flesh in their wake. Despite my better judgment, I miss you terribly and long for the day when I can once again look upon your pathetic face with that obnoxious grin I’ve come to both love and adore. I’m not worried that you’re being unfaithful; your taste in disgusting creatures such as me leaves your choice of potential lovers in my absence extremely limited. Truly, you are as stupid as you are annoying, and for that, if nothing else, I love you.
To satisfy your nosey concern for my family’s well being, know that they are all well, except of course for my dearly departed grandfather. Mother asks about you incessantly. It’s no wonder you two get along so well; you both seem to have an uncontrollable urge to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. She misses you, and wishes for me to convey to you her hope that we’ll be married someday, though I assure her I would never burden you with my hand in marriage. Even a little toad like you deserves better.
I can almost hear you asking “enough about Mother, how was the funeral?” Well, it was everything a funeral is supposed to be, dismal and boring. I don’t remember much about the wake afterward. I was very, very drunk. You know how close Grandpa and I were. Even now, weeks later, I feel the sting of his absence.
I know I’ve been gone longer than I had originally planned. The death of someone as wealthy and influential and Grandpa leaves much to be done by the family, and it’s taken longer than expected. In the years you and I have been together this is the longest we’ve been apart, and I’m sure you miss my cruelty as much as I miss your submissive pandering. But be comforted by the fact that we are almost done with our work here, and I will be home soon. And God help you if the place isn’t spotless when I return.
With all the love this black heart can muster,
Samantha
P.S. Have you been feeding my cat? If he’s lost a single pound under your care I shall string you up by your toes and beat you about the head with a fire poker until it cracks open like an egg.
Hugs and kisses, yours forever, so on and so forth,
S.
***
Two large men held Samantha by the front doors of the church. She was naked, bleeding from the nose, and terrified. In front of her at the pulpit the minister pointed at her.
“This creature is a witch, brothers and sisters! If her vile countenance isn’t enough to convince you, consider the acts of fiery destruction to befall us since she entered our midst! Consider the result of our tests!” At that, one of the men holding Samantha lifted her left hand up, still red and swollen from being submerged. The congregation all stared at her, mumbling their agreement.
“Godammit I’m not a witch you bastards!” One of the men holding her punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her.
“Silence, you fiend!” The minister was now leaning so far over the pulpit to point at her he was practically falling over it. “You have been in congress with the devil! I can think of no better punishment than that which the Almighty has already sentenced you to. May God have mercy on your soul!”
At that Samantha was turned around to face the doors as two women opened them. A scent filled the church. Samantha recognized it, and it filled her with terror. It was about to rain.
The scent also brought back memories of Simon. Back home during storms, he would open all of the windows to let the smell of the rain fill the house; another way to let Samantha experience water without being hurt. In the midst of the fear and panic swirling in her mind as she recoiled from the cold, damp air, appeared a glimmer of regret for the way she had always treated Simon. If only he were here, just so she could see him one more time.
She was dragged outside and placed between two large wooden stakes in the ground. Thick ropes hung from them which were tied to her wrists. The congregation had come out to form a semi-circle. Samantha immediately began struggling with the ropes, trying to get her hands free, but it wasn’t long before a tiny spot on her arm started to burn, then another on the other arm. As the sprinkle escalated to a shower, Samantha got a glimpse past the open doors of the church. Before she lost her wits to the pain, she saw a familiar looking blonde woman, who had been kneeling at the alter, stand and turn towards the doors. With a blank expression, she walked forward reaching out to close them. In her last cognizant moment, Samantha shouted the name of her enemy. Inside, even with the heavy doors now closed, Cynthia could hear. She turned back to the altar to continue her prayer for forgiveness.
Steam rose from Samantha’s body as she stood writhing and screaming in agony. Only a few of the parishioners seemed to show any sign of compassion, which even with them was limited to looking away and covering the ears.
Samantha’s world had gone black. She couldn’t hear anything, not even her own screams. The smell of the rain had vanished; there were no smells of any kind. All that existed was pain and remorse.
I got the idea for the story after read Wicked, the Oz revisionist novel. I really liked that book, and the scene that stuck with me the most is when the protagonist, the witch, is running through the snow on a mission and has to cover up because she's harmed by water (which, of course, you know). Shortly after finishing the book, we had a snow storm and I began thinking of what it would be like to have that sort of weakness in the real world.
The document that I lost is the very beginning of the story wherein nothing really interesting happens, but I spent a lot of time with it establishing who these characters are, and the nature of their relationship. What I still have is a letter from Samantha to Simon (which is probably among my favorite things that I've ever written), and a scene I thought of in which Samantha gets tried as a witch by an extremest church, and is left tied between to large poles to die in a rainstorm.
Check this out:
My Dearest, Detestable Simon,
I weep when I think of you, and for that I curse the day we met. Your memory brings burning tears from my eyes which roll down my cheeks leaving scorched flesh in their wake. Despite my better judgment, I miss you terribly and long for the day when I can once again look upon your pathetic face with that obnoxious grin I’ve come to both love and adore. I’m not worried that you’re being unfaithful; your taste in disgusting creatures such as me leaves your choice of potential lovers in my absence extremely limited. Truly, you are as stupid as you are annoying, and for that, if nothing else, I love you.
To satisfy your nosey concern for my family’s well being, know that they are all well, except of course for my dearly departed grandfather. Mother asks about you incessantly. It’s no wonder you two get along so well; you both seem to have an uncontrollable urge to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. She misses you, and wishes for me to convey to you her hope that we’ll be married someday, though I assure her I would never burden you with my hand in marriage. Even a little toad like you deserves better.
I can almost hear you asking “enough about Mother, how was the funeral?” Well, it was everything a funeral is supposed to be, dismal and boring. I don’t remember much about the wake afterward. I was very, very drunk. You know how close Grandpa and I were. Even now, weeks later, I feel the sting of his absence.
I know I’ve been gone longer than I had originally planned. The death of someone as wealthy and influential and Grandpa leaves much to be done by the family, and it’s taken longer than expected. In the years you and I have been together this is the longest we’ve been apart, and I’m sure you miss my cruelty as much as I miss your submissive pandering. But be comforted by the fact that we are almost done with our work here, and I will be home soon. And God help you if the place isn’t spotless when I return.
With all the love this black heart can muster,
Samantha
P.S. Have you been feeding my cat? If he’s lost a single pound under your care I shall string you up by your toes and beat you about the head with a fire poker until it cracks open like an egg.
Hugs and kisses, yours forever, so on and so forth,
S.
***
Two large men held Samantha by the front doors of the church. She was naked, bleeding from the nose, and terrified. In front of her at the pulpit the minister pointed at her.
“This creature is a witch, brothers and sisters! If her vile countenance isn’t enough to convince you, consider the acts of fiery destruction to befall us since she entered our midst! Consider the result of our tests!” At that, one of the men holding Samantha lifted her left hand up, still red and swollen from being submerged. The congregation all stared at her, mumbling their agreement.
“Godammit I’m not a witch you bastards!” One of the men holding her punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her.
“Silence, you fiend!” The minister was now leaning so far over the pulpit to point at her he was practically falling over it. “You have been in congress with the devil! I can think of no better punishment than that which the Almighty has already sentenced you to. May God have mercy on your soul!”
At that Samantha was turned around to face the doors as two women opened them. A scent filled the church. Samantha recognized it, and it filled her with terror. It was about to rain.
The scent also brought back memories of Simon. Back home during storms, he would open all of the windows to let the smell of the rain fill the house; another way to let Samantha experience water without being hurt. In the midst of the fear and panic swirling in her mind as she recoiled from the cold, damp air, appeared a glimmer of regret for the way she had always treated Simon. If only he were here, just so she could see him one more time.
She was dragged outside and placed between two large wooden stakes in the ground. Thick ropes hung from them which were tied to her wrists. The congregation had come out to form a semi-circle. Samantha immediately began struggling with the ropes, trying to get her hands free, but it wasn’t long before a tiny spot on her arm started to burn, then another on the other arm. As the sprinkle escalated to a shower, Samantha got a glimpse past the open doors of the church. Before she lost her wits to the pain, she saw a familiar looking blonde woman, who had been kneeling at the alter, stand and turn towards the doors. With a blank expression, she walked forward reaching out to close them. In her last cognizant moment, Samantha shouted the name of her enemy. Inside, even with the heavy doors now closed, Cynthia could hear. She turned back to the altar to continue her prayer for forgiveness.
Steam rose from Samantha’s body as she stood writhing and screaming in agony. Only a few of the parishioners seemed to show any sign of compassion, which even with them was limited to looking away and covering the ears.
Samantha’s world had gone black. She couldn’t hear anything, not even her own screams. The smell of the rain had vanished; there were no smells of any kind. All that existed was pain and remorse.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Hello blog
Haven't posted here in a while. Interestingly, the only thing I've been really unmotivated to do lately is write in my unmotivated blog! This is good... well, you know what I mean.
Here's stuff that has happened/is happening:
The Caterpalooza show went really well. I was blind, and singing my atheism songs in front of my highly religious family was a little awkward, but I felt really good about the whole thing.
The World of Darkness game that has been "happening" since fucking November is actually, like, happening! The addition of Dave and Julie tonight makes 7 players who all have really interesting characters. I'm excited about this!
$D money and I are kicking around an idea for an acoustic Pink Floyd show this winter. He's going to play banjo. It'll be sick. Stay tuned.
At the Dowd's housewarming/Rikku's birthday party last night, I decided that for my birthday in September, I'm going to throw a funeral for myself. This could potentially be really fun. And sad. And everything else.
Last week Bryan and I went to a poetry open mic night, and saw The Book Not Yet Written. I've been taking a new interest in poetry since.
Also, new song idea a few days ago. It's about fucking time I write a happy song, and this one will be about my awesome friends.
Ok, bye for now.
Here's stuff that has happened/is happening:
The Caterpalooza show went really well. I was blind, and singing my atheism songs in front of my highly religious family was a little awkward, but I felt really good about the whole thing.
The World of Darkness game that has been "happening" since fucking November is actually, like, happening! The addition of Dave and Julie tonight makes 7 players who all have really interesting characters. I'm excited about this!
$D money and I are kicking around an idea for an acoustic Pink Floyd show this winter. He's going to play banjo. It'll be sick. Stay tuned.
At the Dowd's housewarming/Rikku's birthday party last night, I decided that for my birthday in September, I'm going to throw a funeral for myself. This could potentially be really fun. And sad. And everything else.
Last week Bryan and I went to a poetry open mic night, and saw The Book Not Yet Written. I've been taking a new interest in poetry since.
Also, new song idea a few days ago. It's about fucking time I write a happy song, and this one will be about my awesome friends.
Ok, bye for now.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Preparing
Just a few more days until I'm playing at the Caterpalooza music festival!
In other words, a few more days to learn a few more songs to decrease stalling between songs!
In other words, a few more days to learn a few more songs to decrease stalling between songs!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
It could work...
Woke up with an interesting idea for a social experiment/performance art thing. Picture me, in a park or on a street corner, with the Blue Hotness, next to a sign that reads "WILL ROCK FOR PUSSY".
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