Yay! More #lyricalprosechallenge. And from one of my favorite tumblrers. I love her prose. It’s so good. If you’d like to do one, write a prose piece inspired by a song and tag it #lyricalprosechallenge. I’ll reblog it!
my head is pounding. there’s a jackhammer against my temple and it takes every ounce of strength to keep my teeth from chattering to the beat, and to keep my eyes open against the painful cadence. everything is far too loud. the paper shredder jolts into my head. the phone sends electric-shock across my skin. everything is too loud for my thoughts to come out right. i need out of here today more than i’ve ever needed out before.
i woke up this morning with thoughts of staying home. i was tempted to call my doctor and make an appointment, just to get out of work. i’d complain of constant headaches, trouble sleeping, invisible worry lines, and anxiety that comes from living inside of my head. he’d laugh, but at least i wouldn’t be at work. i’d be out of there in no time, and back home with something that makes me feel at least content.
the only thing i can stomach to listen to lately is sparklehorse. everything else is…too loud. there’s something grating about everything else. sparklehorse just seeps into my bones and seems to carry me through the day. somehow, everything requires just a little less effort. even though that “less effort” is still too much effort.
i had a dream last night that i had metal hands. i couldn’t lift them because they were too heavy - they were the reason i was so low for so long. i dragged them across concrete trying to file them down, sparks flying up, scarring my legs. i was damaging myself like i’ve done so many times. when i woke up to the sound of the alarm, my head was already heavy. my hands were asleep and reminded me of the dream. the dream reminded me of a song.
the process of another day. i’m tired, still; i’m waiting to catch some kind of break. waiting is for fools, i’m told, but i’m too lazy to act otherwise. or, maybe i don’t care enough to act otherwise. i keep playing the same songs on repeat, swallowing the words “i woke up in a burned out basement, sleeping with metal hands in a spirit ditch” like they’re a perscribed poison. they dull the ache of the jackhammer in my head, but they also lead to dreams of bizarre and fantastical things.
maybe tonight i will sleep.
Alright another one for the #lyricalprosechallenge tag. You should do one too. Write a prose piece based on a song.
Lyrical prose challenge Kanye West Good Morning
Coffee can only do so much in the morning, you know? It’s a foul drink, but hey, the future is fast and I better keep up; colours on, clothes on, expressions on, smile. It’s like I’ve been drawn to fail. I close the door and run to my stop. The train is only early when I’m not there; again, today. Bears don’t dress like this in the mirror, but here I am. The train goes past and I see my reflection. I’m happy for a moment, and then it starts raining. I think about my mother in times like this; she always asked who I wanted to be. My first answer was, ‘the grey rabbit in the blue lagoon’. She liked that. It was how I felt in school, and college was just the same. Get me out of this beautiful place, I want to be in the forest. “Rabbits drown in the blue lagoon” mum said. I know mum, but I can still draw rabbits in class. The other kids don’t care; but I’m all about the lines. Stupid questions make me nauseous. I am a one man expression.
The bus stop line explodes; I’m in the breath of clouds. What sick joke is this? I’m still out of time and running away from instructions. The girls look good, and good, and I better line up for glory. Be yourself and learn, they don’t know how fast a rabbit runs. I’m gone and fail marks won’t scar me; which is good because the paper is all that is left, and I remember; it’s cool. I give the expression a salute, and then I march on. The forest is one step closer.
Stuff I Like
I dont know what else to say except that...
Home Dog Silly Winkers (A Love Poem for Buttholes)
all these home dogs,
these silly winkers.
there is so much more
then finding your way
my name and which room
of the new house I have yet
scrawled on every side
I tucked last summer
into the corners
letter to my mental illness
you have lots of names
but none more than “defeated”
for every time i shook off your weak grip
to prove mine strong
Oddałbym -- I'd Give
I used long car trips to peel away the layers of his comfort and control. I had to do this in small ways, otherwise, it would...
Gloricompify (v. Chiefly American)
To overcompensate by glorifying.
I gloricompified all of last semester when I incorporated wine into my...
on a mothers neck
all grown up now,
headin off to war,
kill the enemy or
life and death collide
“It was then I learned being damaged, is a kind of currency.”