By RKO

Send me home and bring down the skies. If I can remember the words I wrote yesterday, maybe I’ll feel fine. If you pay me any mind, I’ll start to lose mine. I wish I’d been a lyricist so these fractured sentences would bloom in the hearts of teenage romantics.

I’m awake, and I don’t want you to forget.

            Keep me around your finger. It’s so much better than feeling less than alive, than reading half-assed hormonal detective stories. You may find me less than steady, but I’m sure to smile anyway, if it puts you anymore at ease. I can hardly wiggle in the space between the time you breathe in and the moment you evaporate under my thumbs.

How Can You Ask Me Again? (11/23)

What year is it?

Hello, all. I apologize for my hiatus. I actually, I wouldn't even call it a hiatus because it has been full of homework and classwork and finals work and cleaning and driving and pining and cleaning some more and waking up at weird times and so on and so forth. To sum it up, college has been a whole tragic monologue of business. 

The plan was to make an update a couple of weeks ago after I had performed at an open mic night. Remember the poem I said I wanted to recite? Did not go over as well as I planned. I had not practiced enough and the results were not at all satisfactory, so you still have that to look forward to at some point or another, just not now. 

You see the bearded man in the picture above? That's Allen Ginsberg. A while ago I was assigned to read "Howl," and writing has not been the same since. I've started on this series of excerpts of whatever my brain decides to throw up at that certain point in time. Some of it is rather personal and emotional, but what I like about it is how honest and bare it all is. I think that's what I've derived most from Ginsberg's writing is the nakedness of his words. It's refreshing, in a way.

So, I'm pleased to say one of those excerpts will be posted in a moment. This will probably not turn into a regular kind of update like my poetry, but it's a brand of work I know I will continue to pursue, so it's very likely more will be posted in the future. These posts will be put under the label "howling" in reference to Ginsberg's poem.

Meanwhile in my life, I'm staying in Louisiana for Thanksgiving and get to see my family from Tennessee tonight. I'm very excited - I miss them all very much. 

I have a lot of video blogs to catch up on. Thank you, Miss McGuire.

I get to see Frank Turner in March! 

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving. Thank you very much for reading! In the words of a good friend, be lucky.

I'll end today with a recent music video from one of my favorite current artists, Florence + the Machine.

I Dig Every Second (10/26)

This is mostly just some FYI about the last two poems I posted, "Farewell to Julian" and "First-Person Space."

The first poem is dedicated to Brian Jones of The Rolling Stones (featured in the photo uploaded with the poem), a man I'd read up on a great deal at the time of the poem's composition. The title comes from his favoritism of the name Julian which is derived from one of his favorite musicians, Julian "Cannonball" Adderley. I often feel Brian doesn't get enough credit for his achievements, and is more known for his destructive behavior than anything. So please know that Brian Jones was the original founder of The Rolling Stones, meaning he held the auditions for the band which Mick Jagger and Keith Richards attended. Brian was also the first noted musician to master slide guitar in England. He composed an entire film score which featured the likes of Jimmy Page, and mastered a little over twenty-one instruments by the time he was twenty-seven. Also, by the time of his death at the age of twenty-seven (thus making him one of the first and most famous members of the 27 Club), he was clear of all illegal drugs contrary to the popular belief that Brian had burnt out due to his substance abuse.

The second poem, "First-Person Space" is a villanelle. It's better that I not discuss the subject of the poem, but I will tell you that I love writing poetry with guidelines like villanelles. Usually the idea of rules tying down art is not something I think of affectionately, but it's not to such a suffocating extent. It's more like a rainbow, you know? Instead of having the colors spill every which way, they're aligned to make something neat and just as aesthetically appealing. 

That came out a lot cornier than I intended.

Still working out how I'll manage to watermark my writing. It'd be a lot easier if I still had my old photo editing software.

I also wrote a poem yesterday that I intend to recite for things like open mic nights, so I will not be uploading it till I have had the opportunity to perform it publicly. In other words, you'll be seeing it before you read it.

I must be off now - class is about to start.

Hasta luego!

Today have some Dave Grohl, aka my muse.

"First-Person Space"

I sit at my loom, spinning my tales

Threading through words like silver lace

And yet I sense my vision fails

I met a figure on foreign trails

Who sought for me a safer place

Where I sit at my loom, spinning my tales

He left me here for brighter gales

Left alone recounting his grace

And yet I sense my vision fails

Honeyed skin for which my heart ails

Sea foam smile with sarcastic trace

I sit at my loom, spinning my tales

Cold breath, soft as a nightingale's

Distanced by mere first-person space

And yet I sense my vision fails

Changes expose that which time veils

And as hard as I try to conjure your face

Sitting at my loom, spinning my tales

I only fear my vision fails

The Coldness of My Winter (10/23)

You know what's difficult? Keeping up with more contemporary musicians. I just found out yesterday that even though I'll be able to see Soundgarden and My Chemical Romance at Voodoo, I'll be missing The Raconteurs on Sunday. Oh woe is me.

I'm going to try to revise my most recent short story today. Shannon gave me the idea to upload pdf files of my work and watermark them so I'll be less paranoid about plagiarism when, in reality, I doubt there are people creeping about and just waiting for me to post my own work so as to steal it. Still, though, you never know.

Last night someone asked me if I was sober. Which I was. Which must say multitudes about my behavior.

In more relevant news I'm trying to keep up with what's going on in Turkey, as well as spread the word about Dr. Zhicheng whom I learned of from this lovely piece on deviantART. Do sign the petition and help the cause.

I know I said I'd be doing daily updates, but I feel like I should hold off throughout this week. This blog was intended to be about my writing, but I've been doing more prattling about my life more than anything. And even if you who reads this are not particularly bothered by such, I still need to figure out more ways of publicizing what I created this blog for.

Hopefully when I get started on this new book I've had in my head, I can post things like character profiles and sketches and previews. In fact I might post previews of short stories I've already written while I get this watermarking method figured out. 

That and more to be sorted out in my next installment. 

Have some Frank. New music video. So new, in fact, that I can't embed the video so you'll have to do with a link. Lovely song. Great album. Check it out.

Sometimes I feel like my life is one big Frank Turner plug. And if my header doesn't prove it, I don't know what does.

"Farewell to Julian"

Grey eyes would poison me

They would taint my blood, I'm sure

I suppose I'm safe from here

But maybe I shouldn't stare

At your beautiful feathered wings

Sheer and torn, broken and worn

But look at your eyes, I don't dare

Grey eyes would consume me

They'd swallow me up, I'm sure

Not everything is clear

But maybe I shouldn't care

About short-sighted, hurtful things

About barks to bites, words and fights

But look at your eyes, I don't dare

Grey eyes would betray me

They would break my heart, I'm sure

They paralyze me with fear

But maybe I should bear

The pitiful prick it brings

Being too late, spat on by fate

But look at your eyes, I don't dare

That Ain't No Crime (10/22)

I think I'm suffering from post-Rocky Horror Picture Show depression. Or it could just be the biology homework.

Yeah, I had to skip out on the LSU game today because of homework and allergies. I'm sure it's the change in seasons, but I do love this cool weather. The boys did great, though! Geaux Tigers! I can't wait till we take on Bama.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show at Little Theater was spectacular. Before I've only ever been to movie participations with a shadow cast, but this was an actual play. The actors did a spectacular job. I even got to take some pictures with the guy who played Riff-Raff. I would upload them here, but I'm making a very strange face I'd rather not tarnish my blog with. Very sweet guy, though.

I'll be posting another poem right after this. Two in one weekend! Don't get too overwhelmed.

Also, it looks like Robert Plant's going to be at Jazz Fest! Shannon is a witness to my excitement - I legitimately freaked out.

If you don't keep up with Nikki McGuire's writing blog, you're missing out. I'm helping edit her book right now and she's definitely a name you'll want to remember. On her blog, she posts a video diary which describes what said book entails. I would do the same if a) I had not copied off of her enough already and b) I knew what to say in a video. So, instead, have a video of me dancing to The Monkees with a Delia's bag over my head. Quality stuff.

Also, thank you to the Bogos for following! I miss y'all!