Sparks of Color and Sound

Erasing his own 

presence, the past that built

a space without stars. Losing

his flaw to restrain, denouncing 

the crippling realities of reality.

He induced everything at the end,

freely dispelling the truths in

exchange for magic, that

bone chilling apparition. 

The effect as if he knew

that he was trapped, but 

still flaring the end of

spontaneous,

gorgeous

   crescendos. 

Here's a snippet of my fiction story/short book/tale

*I was in South Carolina with Jake  last weekend to visit David and the three of us had tickets to see Brand New in Myrtle beach. Brand New decimated and destroyed as usual, but the night before the concert David took us to a couple bars and a dance club. Since I don't drink, it was rather awkward for me dance (more like dry hump) with a drunk girl so I stayed on the sidelines. At least creative inspiration struck and it lead to an addition to the fictional story I have been working on and off for the past year or so. I like it, so here it is. The title of the story is Inside The Brain Library. *

The rainbow array of lights seizured around the ceiling. Bodies magnetized by sweat and spiced cologne gyrated with movements that would clench the fists of their fathers'. Feet didn't move due to the traps of sticky puddles that splashed from the rims of fruity mixed drinks. Hips and hands did all the moving, they did all the talking. Gazes were driven by the prospect of sex and body language was the only form of communication. Nobody spoke with words because it would have been too sloppy to understand from the liquor and the deafening bass frequencies spit out by the speakers. Everybody was drowning in alcohol.

Luke Bright stood cemented to the floor. Ten minutes ago he was molded with a girl, working his drunken charm on her drunken ears. He thought her name was Monica, it was Carey. Now the gyrating mass stayed from his blank stares towards the flashing lights, leaving him with the only private place in the building. A foot and a half radius of space between him and the mob of sex was a separate universe going through an instantaneous evolution. His desire for quick gratification was done.

 

He didn't know how or why, but Luke's brain was holding a shovel, taking up the earth to bury his old ways that he was not proud to have done. Luke had tried to hide his past deeds  in the farthest regions of his brain, but had failed time and time again. The memories always resurfaced, no matter how much dirt he piled on top, his past would eventually crawl out and find him again. This was the last hole his brain would ever dig. 

 

Luke's past had always came after him like a monster tearing apart everything he started to build. Relationships and life goals never went anywhere promising. Every flame he ignited was blown out with suffocating effectiveness. Now his brain had the monster in the grave, but before he filled the dirt back into the hole he raised the shovel into the air with both hands. Muscles and gravity drove the metal tip into the throat of the monster. Two inches of neck were gone and the shovel was removed. Another strike and three more inches were torn. Two more gone, three more gone and only four inches of skin and vertebrae and veins held the head to the monster. The shovel raised towards the sky and them met with the ground, passing through the last four inches of his past. The crowded space in Luke's head was cleared. His brain had space to move around, space to think. There wasn't a trace of past to piece together as clues. With the disappearance of the victim, so did the suspect and the act fade into nothingness. It is impossible to tell about Luke's history because even he became unaware of it. The past that haunted him had been destroyed, decimated to leave only an empty space with no residue of what had been there before. 

This evolution happened as the mob continued to gyrate, clueless that Darwin's theory was taking place inside a brain standing in their center. 

Sigur Rós at the Filmore in Detroit

The four translators of sound bow

under glowing spheres, floating 

replicas of the planets and stars.

Gracing this one from across the sea with

greetings in their native Icelandic tongue.

Beams radiate in color, my insides illuminate. 

A cello bow saws at a guitar and

this small world of listeners explode

in applause, thank yous for transcendental euphoria.

My skin tingles with hair rising

as my muscles relax.

I hit the wave of awe centered around

the rush from chest to brain, 

from brain to sky and

for a moment I forget the confetti in my hair

and the thousand others being reborn

in the rainbow blizzard.

Survival Essentials

I'm going to start putting up some of the poems I have written. I took a creative poetry writing class last spring and it peaked my interest. It's a lot like writing songs, so I likes it a lots. This one is about my childhood at the Gormans' old house on Cedar Avenue. Imaginations grew wild there.

Survival Essentials

I remember my first decade 

when thinking was an adventure at

our wooden house on Cedar Avenue.

A tree house forewarned our fears

with a misspelled sign reading,

"ON GIRLS ALLOWED!"

I remember my Ninja Turtle toys in

the sandbox, how that single square of the 

world was a universe to us and 

the little plastic became living people.

At the edge of the yard, honeysuckle bushes

arched together to form a tunnel.

I remember it led to another realm

where we went to live, not to escape.

I remember our tent indoors.

Trusting our flashlight defenses 

because those beams of light scattered

darkness, and bathed the frightening faces

with the comfort of dawn.

I remember how everything existed and nothing mattered.

We lived inside our minds

and the outside world embraced us.

Now I must see adventure in the

future of children and careers. 

To never become trapped by the

indestructible walls of a cubicle. 

To search for honeysuckle tunnels

lining the path that is essential

for my vital systems' survival,

to still believe everything exists and nothing matters.

*Side note* I really want to see the new movie Where The Wild Things Are. By just seeing the commercials, it seems to capture exactly what I'm trying to say in the poem. My belief that holding onto your head and heart from childhood is one of the most important things anyone could possibly do. Also the song "Wake Up" by Arcade Fire in the commercial is oh so glorious. Where The Wild Things Are trailer

So long Russenorsk...

This was the magic of Russenorsk.

I really miss Russenorsk. They began during our freshman year at OU and I was even part of the jam that brought Tim and Jack together. Our dorm from freshman year, Washington Hall, absorbed their energy and their concerts were the single way that I kept contact with some friends from Washington Hall. Now that Russenorsk is gone, it feels like those friendships will fade as well. Conor Hogan and I were the two biggest fans, and we went to an uncountable amount of shows. There was a core group of people, mostly all from Washington Hall, that were always there with me, pumping our fists in the air and jumping around as we sang every word. 

There was a magic about Russenorsk. They grew with me through college and they represented what Athens was to me. There was a sense of friendship in the music. A feeling of adventure, that no matter how small and unimportant the adventure may be to the rest of the world, it was vital to the me. Their music was kind. It had despair, yet carried a hope. Russenorsk mirrored a lot of what I loved about my favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut. They shared these themes and feelings and messages.  I finished the ending of Slaughter House-5 while sitting on the sand of the Atlantic coast and listening to "Long Winter's Coming" on repeat.

Tim, Jack, and Zach of Russenorsk... I want to thank you for growing with me and giving us all some very wonderful music. The memories of the shows are still strong. The beginning shows when it was only 2 members and you were still trying to figure out what you were doing. The first album release show and how I was amazed at how good the record was. The acoustic show at the donkey when the power went out and we in the crowd kicked in as a room full of backup singers. The countless shows at The Union where you guys made it your home. The second album release and the growth and maturity of "Comforts."

Russenorsk went out in perfect fashion. Bidding farewell with a final show at The Union, they played for about 90 minutes, twice the normal set for a local show. My friend Sam from Cincinnati was finally able to see them live after 3 years of loving their music. They played all of the favorites and we were able to sing along the loudest that our voices would allow. We yelled "No Crash!" as the music stopped for a second and Jack pointed his cello bow out to the crowd. They played their last song, "Long Winter's Coming" and the Athens music giant was falling down, just as the capsules of fire do in the song. I looked over at Conor at this point and could see that he too was going to deeply miss this band. It felt as if a vital part of what the town of Athens and Ohio University were to me was dying prematurely. I had expected them to last until we all graduated at the end of the year, but it didn't work out that way and a hole has been left unfilled. Once the chaos and mayhem of "Long Winter's Coming" came to a halt Tim went to the side of the stage and grabbed his acoustic guitar. Russenorsk had been playing all electric for at least a year. Jack grabbed his cello. Zach grabbed his floor tom. They walked off the stage and into the crowd. Unplugged, they began playing "Science Tells Me" and the crowd sang along. It was pure. Russenorsk was ending , perhaps burying, their music with the people who had loved them so dearly. As "Science Tells Me" ended they went right into "Long Winter's Coming" again.  As the last chorus of the song came, the crowd was off time with their singing. Tim asked for one more time to get it right and we gave it to him. They deserved it. It was beautifully sad.

Thank you Russenorsk for more than you could ever know. I know you appreciated it with everything you had in your hearts. Take a listen to understand what I'm talking about. http://www.myspace.com/russenorskband

Momentary Prophets

Three days ago, on Tuesday I was walking from class and I heard three guys playing music in the grass. In the middle of campus they were playing an upright bass, an acoustic guitar, and what caught my attention the most was a sitar. The sitar player was wearing a sunflower print vest and they all had varying forms of long hair. I like meeting other long haired fellows. There is a friendly unspoken acknowledgment between dudes with long hair. I asked if they minded me sitting and watching and they replied with a, "Please do." Others soon followed and sat down in the grass. There was a kind energy about the musicians and I was eating it up. They said that they were playing a free show at Jackie O's the next night at 10. They called themselves Momentary Prophets.

I went to the show the next night and the stage was filled with instruments of all kinds. A local musician named Bongo Bob was playing with them at this show. They were from Virginia, but it seemed like they knew many of the local people. A sense of friendship was  held by the band and all of the audience. Everyone seemed so happy to be in each other's company and it was very refreshing and warming to be there. As they played the crowd danced and smiled, soaking in the music and good vibes. The music was great and the singing was beautiful. The musicians switched between instruments all the time and all three sang. They played a cover of Led Zeppelin's "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You," but they sang the words for "Black Dog" to the melody of "Babe I'm Gonna Leave You." That was really cool. They jammed on songs, keeping the groove and feeling alive as the lead singer switched from a 12 string acoustic to the sitar. 

They played for close to 3 hours and took a break halfway. They said, "The way we take breaks is we like to come into the crowd and hug as many people as we can. So everyone should try hug as many people in approximately 5 to 8 1/2 minutes as possible. Happiness. Happy people. Happy times. Moments like these keep my optimism alive. As I talked to the band and the other people in the crowd, it made me think we all need to do this extremely simple, yet crucial task of being kind people.

Here is their page if you want to hear what I'm talking about:  http://www.myspace.com/momentaryprophets