Missing the Song
The dissonance of the stained,
soiled keys-
played over, again and again.
Chaotic notes are leaping-
alive from-
the wood and ivory.
The musician-
wanting order-
for his chaotic song.
Searching for sense-
lost in rhythm,
Regulation.
The chord that’s strummed echoes-
soft and sad;
dripping audible tears-
on the bound world around it.
Brushed away-
by rough, unfeeling hands.
Many children play an instrument for school. Or, even better, they may play it for their enjoyment. I play an instrument too; it's the piano.
I started practicing on the piano at the age of five. My parents recall that on the first day of my piano lesson, which would eventually lead up to eight more years of diligent practice, I was crying because I didn't want to learn and because I was nervous.
But now, as I look back, I cannot imagine why I would react that way to the piano.
(ooc: i literally am just going to start typing. hopefully something representative of my normally sentient nature will result)
wooden stairs I climbed, my feet
bound tight with string. I climbed
up into the darkness with a pack at my heels
a pack of dogs or wolves or mice or deer I could not tell.
into darkness danced we all, springing
up on silent feet
in time to the drums and to the pipes way up above.
what song played pipe and drum, that wound its way below?
though eagerly I danced and sprang to it, I do not know.
I am Aalen.
I am 16 years of age, and i live in a small city neighborhood.
I like thinking of stories and I like telling stories. I do not like writing them down. (too many speling erors)
When i think of a story the first thing i do is tell it to myself. then i tell it to my best friend.
I have created countless storylines, elements, mechanics, worlds, settings, multiverses and the like. but the one who helps me get them straight is my friend Leinad K. Romethe.
intro ambience...
bass beat in a steady groove.
makes everybody in the club want to move.
chipstep is a wonderful sound, with a
bass so hard that it shakes the ground
party suddenly filled with robots
music slowly getting more like
sound is building, cymbal filling the
silence spilling from the speakers.
drums kick in on a simple beat.
just enough to make you move your feet.
the sound spills into the street.
making everyone who hears start dancing.
This started out as a submission for Mary's contest (http://enterthewriterslair.blogspot.com/2011/12/announcing-first-ever-writers-lair.html), but it was too long. It’s a Christmas story, as you can’t tell from the title, but it’s also a lot of other things. So…onwards and upwards.
*
One of Three
Anita’s exasperated cousin once asked, “You think life’s a soundtrack, don’t you?”
Quiet, dark, alive.
A shaking hand to hold.
Do you hear music in the distance?
Faint and eerie
Beautiful.
A dance in the trees.
Flickering shadows, soft lights.
Your hands aren’t shaking anymore.
Enchanted creatures, peering from behind birches.
Do you see this elsewhere?
Magic, seeping through your blood.
Mystery, awakening your nerves.
Is this really something that happens every day?
the lawn gnome said to me, he said: this is the way to go, he said:
dance like a polar bear, dance like an epiphany. tell the world that you don't care anymore.
once i was walking,
out on my front lawn.
i passed a man and he said hi ,
i turned around and he was gone.
the lawn gnome said to me, he said: this is the way to go, he said:
dance like a polar bear, dance like an epiphany. tell the world that you don't care anymore.
i started thinking.
and walking down a lonely road.
then it hit me,
hello... how do you do? you finally made it.. good for you.
this is a dream. and as you can see... we've made it be anything you want it to be.
you can go fly, go recolor the sky. this place was made behind the human eye.
this is a dream with a magical theme, and it lives for your wholesome delight.
adventure and sleep now combine in the deep where you live almost every night.
hello... come look at this. we've created things that don't normally exist.