....When you've settled on a song, try describing the feeling it conjures using concrete language. (Rather than abstractions like beautiful, sad, happy, etc., strive for sensory detail. Use as many action verbs as possible. Create a movie for the soundtrack.)
time travel to 10 years ago, "january 2012." jangle into the routine of ["the state of living death routinely called"] our "real life."* fold into the monotony of modernity, its loping pace, the high hat, the wood block. let the steel drum peal signal the singer, the story teller, the truth sayer, whose keening call pierces through the walls of drumbeats, of hearts. we are cracked open.
this voice hollows/ hollers/ holds/ and won't let go. "look what we have got"– own our privilege and witness disparity. shake our heads at someone else's "bad luck," but secretly believe it will always be this way–the rush, the crush, routine, bleed, forever, "even in the suburbs of Rome!" from wail to screech to pigeon somehow, suddenly buoyant. grief can't land here long.
sway into stacking rhythms, loping forward always, leaning towards next. overworked, micromanaged, drums pounding, on track, see nothing beyond what the algorhythms allow. "release my eyes"–climb above plastic stacked shelves, psychographics, disney abroad. tune into the lifestream, seek human connection, trills–"tell me you." beg to know and be known, swing together brief, somehow be persons.
bass and drum thump/ cut/ gut/ relentless, frantic–try to dance, feel the shift between syncopated beats. can you breathe? this loop is useless, "picking piles of flowers for the flowers' pot" — scooping, grasping, desperate – "it's all that i've got." see the cycle, know its net. despair, rage, yes, but believe.
rhythms slam against each other, crescendo to cacophony, it can't be loud enough. "a tooth for an eye" is a sorry bargain. a child's frustration: overlooked, unheard, clutching tight their knowing, pleading, "i'm telling you stories, trust me."* cling to their trampled truth: "borders lie," no one owns the land, "drawing lines with a ruler" arbitrary, gatekeeping.
stagger toward the roar, revive the steel drum call to arms, revise the line between need and desire. “open my country.” dance toward revolution.
*Jeanette Winterson quotes
this voice hollows/ hollers/ holds/ and won't let go. "look what we have got"– own our privilege and witness disparity. shake our heads at someone else's "bad luck," but secretly believe it will always be this way–the rush, the crush, routine, bleed, forever, "even in the suburbs of Rome!" from wail to screech to pigeon somehow, suddenly buoyant. grief can't land here long.
sway into stacking rhythms, loping forward always, leaning towards next. overworked, micromanaged, drums pounding, on track, see nothing beyond what the algorhythms allow. "release my eyes"–climb above plastic stacked shelves, psychographics, disney abroad. tune into the lifestream, seek human connection, trills–"tell me you." beg to know and be known, swing together brief, somehow be persons.
bass and drum thump/ cut/ gut/ relentless, frantic–try to dance, feel the shift between syncopated beats. can you breathe? this loop is useless, "picking piles of flowers for the flowers' pot" — scooping, grasping, desperate – "it's all that i've got." see the cycle, know its net. despair, rage, yes, but believe.
rhythms slam against each other, crescendo to cacophony, it can't be loud enough. "a tooth for an eye" is a sorry bargain. a child's frustration: overlooked, unheard, clutching tight their knowing, pleading, "i'm telling you stories, trust me."* cling to their trampled truth: "borders lie," no one owns the land, "drawing lines with a ruler" arbitrary, gatekeeping.
stagger toward the roar, revive the steel drum call to arms, revise the line between need and desire. “open my country.” dance toward revolution.
*Jeanette Winterson quotes
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