News

News: If I could, I'd tie my hair up in dreds and live the life of adventure from the high seas to the mountain peaks, gathering gold and jewels and tales of mystery and action :) but for now, I'll just have to do with writing about these things as if they were truly real.

--12 December 2017 --

Quote: Words are pale shadows of forgotten names. As names have power, words have power. Words can light fires in the minds of men. Words can wring tears from the hardest of hearts. --Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind

The Fellowship

September 28, 2013

A Writer's Fascination with Physical Experiences

I like to write, as I'm sure many of you are aware by now, and I think that one of the many things a good writer always looks for is experience - ways in which one can expand the craft and master the pen.

One part of experience is entirely physical. If you're going to write about it, you can only come close to doing a situation justice if you've actually experienced the thing for yourself. Ever been knocked unconscious by a fall from your valiant steed? You might be a mighty and powerful wordsmith, yet if you've never experienced so much as a simple slip or fall, it will be difficult for you to do justice to a character in a brain-bruising situation.

I think this is one of the reasons a lot of writers are often found saying, "Oh once I've experienced *insert item here* then I'll know exactly how my character feels!" I've seen such people get thrilled with even little things, like the way the setting sunlight accentuates the skin tone of a passing stranger,

"Oh Crowley! Look! He seems just like my MC but I think he's got broader shoulders. It's like the scene out of *names work in progress*. Oh it's beautiful. Let's trail him. I need this moment to last." *proceeds to follow at a distance*

or...

"Agh! Mom, mom, my finger. I slammed it in the door, it's going to fall off."
"Oh, that looks nasty already dear."
"Hurts like stink... oh! Oh this is perfect! Oh this is just what I needed, it burns a bit and tingles. Ok, I need to write it out quick while I remember. It's very similar to what Jesteen feels when Carolwik smashes his hand against the tavern counter with the pommel of his sword. Gah, I hope it doesn't bleed. Ugh. Anyway, it's not just a quick slip and retraction of the hand with a little shake, it's gonna be genuinely painful. Oh dang."
"You might want to put some..." *daughter races up stairs to room* "...ice on it. Oh dear." *mother returns to housework*

pinterest // folks, I really really love wildflowers


Those are a few silly examples; more often than not (at least in my case), the noting and recording of such experiences is an internal and personal one, rather than public. However, let me share something with you.

I've been recently reading a bit before bed and a bit in the morning, just to get my mind going; it gives me something to look forward to as a break from my studies. In any case, in one of the books, the main character is poisoned and the author describes the pain that he feels in detail.

Returning to my situation: I've been subjected to infrequent and surprising bouts of extreme nausea lately (compared to this summer, in which those bouts were much more frequent and lengthy, I'd say it's an upgrade). This afternoon I had a particularly surprising one of great intensity. I was quietly studying in the living room when I felt an upwelling sensation of disturbance at my solar plexus. Within minutes that upwelling had bloomed into a fully-body sweat and terrible, crashing waves of intense heat, and a hardy desire of my stomach to empty itself. It forced me into a rather unbecoming ball of whimpering human flesh. Then, just as soon as it came, it was gone 10 minutes later.

In between sucking air through clenched teeth and threatening to tear the upholstery off the couch, my mind wandered back to the MC that had been poisoned in the book I was reading,

"Good gravy, if this is what he felt like at the onset of being poisoned, then I must truly admire his skill at running miles to the apothecary to find an antitoxin to cure his travel companions and himself."

With that, I made a mental note to attempt the poisoning of a character at some point or other in the future. Do realize, though, that I'm not saying intense nausea is the same as being poisoned, I'm sure the latter is far more unpleasant, particularly if it ends in death. Death is never a fun thing to experience. It generally means the conclusion of life *shrugs*.

Thus, here ends my short discussion of a writer's fascination with physical experiences, both good and painful. I'm sure you'll come to appreciate the maniacal glow in your friend's eye when they whisper, "For the love of authorship!" as they probe at their broken toe, a long-forgotten soccer ball shuddering to a stop in the distance.

Signed with one substantia nigra,

Squeaks.

September 23, 2013

Dare to Love -- {Poem: Fan-Fiction}

I wanted to do a little spin-off of some poetry I read by Anne Elizabeth Stengl (see her blog HERE; she's amazing!); so below is a piece she had tagged on with her pitch for Shadow Hand, followed by my fanfiction, if you will it :P It's not a complete nor fantastic work of art. Just something I scribbled out in 5 or so minutes.

***
Be bold, my heart!
Now is the hour
You've dared to love
The maid Starflower.
--Anne Elizabeth Stengl 

***



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-----

Dare to Love

Be bold, my heart!
Now is the time
You've dared to love
And deal in crime.

Be bold, my soul!
Your steadfast beat
Has parried off
The incomplete.

For in your haste
You've left a hole
And opened up
Your childish soul.

And from the outside,
To the inn
The darkest world
Will chase and pin.

Your heart is beating
Yet it will stop
If you should lose it
To the fop

They hurry out
In dandy glaze
With eyes a flutter
And tongues of praise

Their jowls glisten
And purses clink
With cruel jest
And lies in ink.

Beware your beauty,
It draws a beast
And from the forest
A pagan priest.

And on your chest
They'll flay you out
And sacrifice
Without a doubt

Your tender soul-
Will darken yet
When love's fool heart
Bequeath's a threat

And that once innocent
Turns to shade
A deeper darkness
And tarnished maid.

Be bold, my heart!
Now is the time
You've dared to love
Now risk the climb.

Be bold, my soul!
Your steadfast beat
Has parried off
To winter, sweet.


----

That's all for now my dears,

Signed with a little bit of Lemna minor,

Squeaks.


September 21, 2013

Clipped Wings -- {A Poem}

I wrote a poem today after contemplating life. It's definitely on a topic that I still wrestle with: the concept of loving someone even if they're perverted and sinful in the most extreme way. How can you love someone who has taken a life or ruined a life? I must be frank with you... I have extreme trouble forgiving those kinds of people and I still have mountains to climb with regards to that. However, I suppose this poem is more or less my thoughts on the subject written by the me I really wish I was: a quickly forgiving individual. In any case, I hope it's enlightening to you :)

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---

Clipped Wings

Sometimes I let my mind get the better of me,
I think I need but I only just want.
I’m learning to let those things go
And hold on to the basics of life,
The bare minimum,
The stage without the props.

I still don’t really know,
Forgive my indecision.
I want to answer more than think,
But thinking is a prerogative of my life
It’s the way I’ve always done things.
So forgive my indecision.

I just want to say a few lines,
A couple quickly-written words
The fading notes of a summer song.

I don’t love people only when they are what I want them to be.
If I did, I would be a hypocrite,
Because I love myself and I am not who I want to be.
I love people for who they are naturally,
Liars and thieves,
Abusers of good will and fools.
Perverted and procrastinators.
They’re all the same in my eyes,
We’re all drinking the same water
We all walk on the same earth
Breathing in a conjoined atmosphere.

Many times I want to distance myself:
In some ways we like to think we’re better
That we’re not ‘as’ tainted,
But if we’re honest, we’re all no better at the core
Than the booze-addicted neo-pagan guy on the street corner.
We share the same roots as the murderer on death row
Who slit his mother’s throat.
We’re all under the same curse that has plagued man since The Fall.

I reach out to an apple,
It’s hanging from the tree,
Swaying in the breeze,
Red flesh glistening against the sunshine.
I take it and bite.
It’s delicious.
The taste refreshes my senses
It is everything good at once
Like the cool wind blowing from the north
And the heavy scent of autumn
And the faint brushes of a kiss
And the tantalizing warmth of a heartbeat
And the soft call of the birds, flocking and flying.

There is good in this world,
And there is bad.
And I think our haste to judge at face-value
Is an inherently awful thing.
Because yes there are serial killers
And teenage thieves at Walmart
And people who bake razors in candy.
But there’s also the guy that holds the door for you,
And the gymnast, sweating and victorious
And the new parents crooning over their child
And the crazy uncle, eager to entertain.

There’s backyard barbecues
And boating trips in the summer
And snowball fights
And unexpected phone calls from a friend
And a wilted flower in the hands of an admirer
And a parcel from back home.  

There’s a soft furred kitten,
And a warm fireplace
And a hug when you’re sad
And a full meal to satiate your hunger
And the satisfying click when you flick off the light-switch.  

I crawl under my sheets at night
And put my glasses on the little table.
I turn up my eyes to the ceiling
And heave a sigh of relief that another day is over.
Sometimes I’m really happy that it actually is over
And I don’t have to worry about people or grades or appearance;
And sometimes I wish I’d done things differently,
Been a little more kind, a little more inclusive,
Smiled more and shown some encouragement.

I never can turn back time,
If I found out how, I’d live my life all over again,
Because I think I messed up when I was 3
And felt jealousy when I first realized my little brother was coming to live with us.
But if I turned back the clock, I wouldn’t be writing this
And I wouldn’t be sharing what I know in the best way I can.
Not that this is of any use to anyone,
For all I know you’ll examine it for rhythm and meter and rhyme
I assure you there is none.
This is the heartbeat of my soul.
And its intricacies are unknown even to myself.

What I’m trying to say is:
When a bird captures your vision
And you stare at its beauty and freedom
As it overcomes gravity with a thrust of muscle and sinew
You will think of it as glorious
[either that or as just another bird]
But in any case, at some point or other, we’ve been fascinated.
And we don’t stop to think of how complex its life must be
The bird isn’t exactly guaranteed another meal
And it has to go build its nest.
There’s no pre-built homes for it to buy
And no drive-thru’s to conveniently provide dinner.
There’s no running water in the tree-trunk
And no soft bed with flannel sheets.
They’re on their own,
Roughing it the mountain-man way 24/7
With two legs and a set of wings.
So what do we say?
We say they’re beautiful.

That’s what I’m trying to say.
You’re beautiful and I love you
Just as you naturally are.
With your bad morning breath and sweaty feet
And the way your hair is unruly when you roll out of bed
And your unexplained anger at the incompetent drivers in society
And the fact that you hate flossing your teeth
And the times when you’re sick and miserable
And the times when you’re sobbing and stressed out.
It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor,
A+ or C-, straight or gay,
Atheist or Christian
Pro-life or pro-choice.
I don’t have to agree with your decisions,
But I still love you.
Because every person deserves to be loved,
Even if they’re hell-bent and on death row,
There’s still a piece in each of us, however small,
That demands nurturing and encouragement
And that seed, if watered,
Will grow into a beautiful tree

And that tree will stand tall one day
And it will overshadow the animals of the field
Providing refuge for the birds of the air
And the beasts of the woods,
And I hope that a little love from my heart to yours
Will help you grow just a bit more,
Even if you’re still below the ground,
Curled up in fetal position,
Scared to make a move,
Hiding behind a fa├žade of your choosing.
I still love you. And so do many others.
So step forward, make a new beginning

And grow.  

September 7, 2013

A Source of Solitary Breath -- A Poem

Here's a small poem for you guys :) Enjoy! And yes, inspired by Mosani Pi by E.S. Posthumus. Glory! I honestly don't even know what the poem means...I just wrote what came to mind. It's nonsense to me. If you think otherwise then please do share and maybe the inner workings of my mind will be revealed to me :P

---





A Source of Solitary Breath

Closing upon oneself, a flower, a flower,
Petals and colour [thick colour, the kind that
just. The kind that is. The kind that I. The kind.
The colour. It's just. It is. You taste and feel,
Earthy, velvet colour, so thick and full
So thick, full, thick, oozing and plastic]
and striking sunlight and moonlight
Stars breathe.
Standing and shrinking, blooming, bursting,
Stretching to the sky and collapsing and caving
Withered and earthy.
Wind blows, leaves crack and fall and disperse

Trust and compassion,
Hope. Love. Peace. Virtuous.
Shining.
Touch my hand, take a grip
A small grip.
A small touch. [it gives life and life is]
A little bit of life between death.
Complete.
An inhale and an exhale.
A smile and a glance
A true love.
Love. Waterfall, kaleidoscope of brilliance.
Brushed with artistry and glory
A masterpiece,
Not framed, free, free as life.

I shoot, I writhe, inside outside back forth
I extend my soul, plasma hot
Hot hot, burning, skin, touch
Velocity and scream and glance and touch
Dispersing through the universe to touch
One touch, one glazing of a shoulder
One heavy breath, miasmal air.
One simple and only -
One small -

A break. A snap. A silence.

Closing upon oneself, a root, a shoot,
Believing in oneself, or not,
It's universal, what you extend to.
[extended so far, I split my mind thinking about it
Across the world even! in two places but one time]
Planted and rooted, then -
Time. It stretches us. Weaves us
Breaks us
Pulsation of life.

I escape through the barricade,
Pounding feet on pavement,
Exempt of it and free
Soul- soul! free as light
Light rays spilling everywhere,
A broken body, light spilling, flooding,
Immersed in light and light and light.
Snap back, neck, front drenched, sweat
Camouflage and combat gear and mud and sweat
Human, mortal, finite,
Solitary.

August 17, 2013

Kraul's Story | Inception Inspired -- An Excerpt

I give to you a piece on Kraul, a story of the man depicted below. The music that inspired this piece is called Mombassa from the movie Inception.
[Reader's tip: Turn up the music while you browse this piece, it adds to the fullness of the story]

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---

The fog spilled dangerously down the hillside, swathing everything with a deathly glow of dragons breath and the devilish smell of demon blood. Kraul dragged his blade out of his victim and wiped it on the tainted grass.
“It is on,” he whispered under his breath, chasing away the fumes with a leathered hand, “bring it on you vile horde.”
A blinding flash of light split the air from the east, followed by the deafening roar of some fell-beast. The scent of death tinged the air and Kraul felt his blood boil inside his veins. He held his sword out, swishing it silently through the mists, beating back the foulness as he stepped forward with confidence. He flexed his left hand, unconsciously sliding the spike out of its holster on his middle finger. He braced himself, listening carefully for the crunch of leaves beneath the foot of an unwary foe.
Ah! He heard the snap of a twig from somewhere within the mists. His eyes shielded behind his hood, head bent low, arms ready, legs snaking forward step by step. There it was again, the sound. He redirected his footsteps to the right a bit more, slipping on a patch of blood. The mists swirled away, revealing the torso of a demon, wreathed in dragon’s breath, its yellow eyes still glinting despite its undeniably dead state. Kraul ignored it and crept forward again.
“Heh, Skithers, look here. A meekling. What a tasty little morsel.”
The voices of the demons betrayed their nearness. Just a little left and behind an especially thick fog-bank; Kraul crouched to his knees, blood staining the leather of his pants, and he waited.
“Aggh, this cruel blade!” cried an airy, sickly sounding voice, “It bites and stings, my cursed wings are bent Pithkaforl. I won’t fly again!”
“Morsels are tasty, Skithers; leave the wings you fool, fresh meat while we can and then back to battle. When will we get another chance like this.”
The sound of iron claws scraping stone resounded; Kraul slinked forward another step. He made out two brutish shapes in the darkness, their wings tucked behind their backs – hooked claws at the peaks pointed downwards venomously. Only a moment more, he thought, waiting for his chance to strike.
“Wot, Skithers gnaw off something of choice, not your own flank you daft fool.”
“Poisoned I swear it! Poisoned arrow tip, oh my leg burnsss!” Skithers clamped a blistered hand around his right flank, yanking at the flesh.
“Milkweed, you dumb animal. It’s only milkweed. The battlefield is full of its curse. Look, here.” Pithkaforl held up a human-figure with his left hand. Long hair draped down, nearly touching the wretched ground. Kraul noted the shape of a woman. He growled imperceptibly, flinching and ready to jump.
“You take the first bite, leave your fiery haunch for later you daft beast!”
Skithers sighted the prey and a trickle of drool pooled in the crevice of his mouth. He reached forward with a claw and,
Thunk.
The demon screamed, agony in every breath. He roared and lashed at his back, pulling out an arrow.
Kraul realized he was not alone. It was time to act. He slid left, slipping precariously on sinews and bones of the fallen. His gauntlet clinked with familiarity as he slid out the blades on his fingers.
Another arrow pierced Skithers; Pithkaforl would waste no time in retreating and leaving his companion to defend himself. Yet Kraul saw the twitch of his wings and he flung himself from a rock, landing with his blade pointed downwards on the demon’s back.
Pithkaforl screamed, shoving the maiden’s body to some unknown place in the mist. Kraul slid down the curved tail, sliding his sword out of the brute’s back and lashing his wings as he fell. His breastplate protected him from stakes on the ground, yet one managed to pierce his thigh; he felt the warm sting of pain. Leaving the stake in, he lunged as the demon turned to meet him with glowing yellow eyes.
“You!” it screamed in agony, “Traitor! I shall strew your innards across the Great Court and—“
He had no chance to finish his statement, however, for Kraul launched himself forward with all his strength, piercing Pithakforl’s heavy hide and slicing his heart from his chest. The demon staggered a moment with shock before quivering and toppling sideways, exhaling a last breath.
Traitor I may be, thought Kraul, steadying himself against the tail spikes of the fallen angel, but that is a title I shall bear with honour.
Stepping forward he ignored the pain in his thigh; his boot crunched something shiny – a golden locket. He left it on the ground as he crossed over Skithers’ slain body, now coated in arrows. He sent a silent word of thanks out to whatever unknown archer had taken him down.
His eyes wide, senses keen, Kraul crouched low and moved slowly through the mist.
First a hand, then a scarred arm, then the torso; he had found her…the maiden.

“Aggh!!” Kraul beat his fist to his chest, a display of deep affliction. He was too late, she had been lost. The empire would fall.  

---

Signed with mischief, 

Squeaks.

The Sky Riders by Christopher Hopper

More Here

For those of you who have an interest in Christian fiction/fantasy/steampunk then you'll want to check out Christopher Hopper's newest soon-to-be-released book called The Sky Riders (so dubbed steampunk pirate fiction). Also, CH has released some free wallpapers and banners on his website. Check them out here: TSR Wallpaper and Banners.



That's all the update for now :D Cheerio folks!

Signed with cat fur,

Squeaks.

July 8, 2013

Writing a Memorable Introduction

Every writer and many readers are aware of the utmost importance the introductory paragraphs hold when it comes to the success of a book (and I refer to book, in this sense, as a fiction or fantasy novel written for the enjoyment of the reader...NOT a cookbook). You may have clicked the link to this post all the while thinking to yourself, "Oh well this should give me instructions on how to write a memorable introduction, just like Squeaks stated." You're about to be disappointed, because I cannot, no matter how hard I wish I could, tell you how to write a memorable introduction -- probably because I can't recall writing any in my own literature in the first place.

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Let's begin with an example of what I believe is a great introduction. The following excerpt is taken from Stephen R. Lawhead's book, In the Hall of the Dragon King (book 1 in the Dragon King Trilogy):
The snow lay deep and undisturbed beneath the silver light of a dawning sky. Overhead, a raven surveyed a silent landscape as its black wings feathered the cold, thin air. The bird's rasping call was the only sound to be heard for miles, breaking the frozen solitude in irregular staccato. All around, the land lay asleep in the depths of winter. 
Every bear, every fox, hare, and squirrel was warm in its rustic nest. Cattle and horses stood contented in their stalls, heads drooping in slumber or quietly munching the first of the day's provender. In the country, smoke drifted from peasant huts into the windless sky from rough-hewn chimneys, sent aloft from hearth fires tended through the night. The village, clustered close about the might walls of Askelon Castle, slept in pristine splendor, a princess safe in the arms of her protector.
All through the land nothing moved, nothing stirred, save the raven wheeling slowly overhead.
This introduction to Lawhead's book has stuck in my mind throughout the years. I recall first reading the trilogy when I was 18; to this day it continues to stick with me as being, in my opinion, an excellent example of an opening introduction to a spellbinding tale.

Plenty of young writers find themselves drawn into the trap of writing action-packed introductions that will "captivate and ensnare" their readers.  They begin with a tremulous crash of swords or a blood-rushing chase scene, or perhaps the revelation of some secret that appears to shatter one of the poor characters. Now I'm not saying that it is sinful to write a fast-paced introduction. Heavens! some of us may need that extra kick to get things rolling. I know plenty of books that could have used a good bit of action before subjecting the reader to the drab chronology of historical facts.

I am suggesting that, instead of relying upon action and suspense to draw in a reader, we should broaden our horizons and strengthen our trade by practising the feel of the gentle and soft whisk-like scenes that brush us smoothly into the plot. For instance, if you haven't read In the Hall of the Dragon King you might not believe me when I tell you that the above introductory excerpt is immediately followed by a scene in which a fatally wounded knight disrupting the peace of a temple with an urgent message, thereby sending Quentin, a young acolyte, on a fantastic adventure.

Memorable introductions are made with care, much like flowers and gardens require tending in order to reach their full potential. One cannot expect to impress a reader if they display a lack of motherly love towards the binding of their tale. My best advice is to take your time -- don't rush the plot, don't force your scenery or characters to do something they seem to be resisting, and don't jump directly into something unless you are absolutely certain it is necessary for the benefit of the reader.

Remember: Christian writers should not simply write to tell a story for a hungry reader, they write to make a whole new world come alive. They, in desiring to be like their Creator, imitate His ways by breathing life into the imaginings of their souls -- in this way, a writer is capable of reaching from the depths of his or her own heart into the heart of the reader.

Writing is a far more delicate art than many think it; yes it is rough and difficult, but it is a dance of the soul and our keystrokes and pencil smudges should imply this truth even in the very opening sentence.


Signed with star sparkles,

Squeaks.

June 25, 2013

Rise by Skillet -- Album Review

As some of you may know, Skillet came out with a new album this year called Rise. I decided to listen through it and write down my thoughts about the songs. So here is my take on their album! Enjoy :) 

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Synopsis: John is definitely experimenting with new beats and feels. Some folks may like it, some may hate it, some may be passive about the entire thing. It seems to me like they're going for a bit more of a catchy/driving sound while experimenting with increased synth and electro...kinda reminded me of a few 80s bands that I've listened to. They deal with topics of mental illness/psychosis (or at least that's what it seems like to me) and the concept of being a freak. A couple of the songs are good...even one or two that I think could potentially (given the right conditions and vocals) make worship songs. All in all, it was an okay with album with its ups and downs. I particularly like the fact that they were successful at creating catchy tunes.

[note: a * means I really liked that song]


Rise:
Ok, reminds me a bit of TobyMac/TFK lyrics…but the music is definitely the awesome Skillet that I’ve always known. John’s voice is a bit grating as usual. I was a bit surprised by the chorus part, but hey…it sounded nice; epic bass too. Good kick off to the album; count-down, call out, tonight is the night…yep sounds preppy to me!

Sick of It:
This song started off like a Depeche Mode kinda song…but then it dropped into the thick synth and steady drums. Lyrics are a bit negative-focused, but I think the title gives that away. I like the concept that yes, if you are sick of something continuing and not changing they you should step out and make a move to alter it for the better. A bit more of a scream; my favourite part was the whispered bridge with the strong drum beat. I do think they could have done better with it though.

*Good to be Alive:
Loving the intro to this song!! Reminded me somewhat of Imagine Dragons. The lyrics are wonderful; a bit heavy on the treble sounds in some parts…but otherwise I found it beautiful (perhaps because I relate closely to the lyrics, they just resonate with me). I particularly like the repetitions of “It’s good to be alive” because it really is great to be alive :P // the last minute of the song really surprised me with the sudden transition…I didn’t really like that because I thought they were going great places with their positive lyrics, but they suddenly did a turn-around for the negative. Pity.

Not Gonna Die:
Strong music, strong lyrics, and therefore strong emotions emitted by this song. Particularly usage of the words “abuse”, “flatline”, and “chains”. The bridge was nice. All in all, I wasn’t too surprised by this song…seems like a regular Cooper tradition. I liked that there were no finale-surprises like there was with the last song.

Circus for a Psycho:
Pretty sweet intro, a bit creepy with the combined voices though. All in all I didn’t like this song at all.  It makes me wonder if everyone was fully sane while writing the music and lyrics… Also, the whole Nicki Minaj sound with the female vocals grated on my nerves. Plus: another one of those surprise endings; dislike.

American Noise:
The first soft song of the album. About time! Beautiful lyrics and beautiful music. I really like it :)

Madness in Me:
Another interesting intro that transfers into a bit of chaos, quickly cleared up by Cooper’s voice. Definitely a strong song dealing with, if I may be so bold as to suggest, mental illness. Not a song I can relate to…so I don’t have too much to say here. // another unnecessary surprise and change in the music however the reading of Scripture definitely bumped up my thoughts of this album…great choice!

*Salvation:
Haunting intro, beautiful vocals! Love the lyrics. I think it could potentially pass for a worship song if someone did a cover of it.

*Fire and Fury:
I’m loving this song. It makes me think of a really rough cover of a Starfield piece. The lyrics are amazing! Not to mention it’s a duet and it’s gorgeous! Like Salvation, it could possibly make a great acoustic worship song.

My Religion:
Catchy start. The vocals don’t quite measure up to the music. I like how the lyrics refer to the fact that we don’t need all these traditional things like priests, pews, or even a “proper” church building to be Christians. We just need to believe in Jesus and follow Him completely. However, I find there are some issues with the lyrics…Cooper focuses on what God can do for him, rather than on what he can do for God. Also, he never once mentions the word “Christian”, “God”, or “Jesus”. I have a few issues with that…but otherwise it’s a good song. I’m still getting the sensation that he’s trying to copy some of the older 80s bands (maybe that’s just me though).

Hard to Find:
A generic song of encouragement with generic chord progressions; it’s a welcomed break from the negativity of several earlier songs. I like it, but I wouldn’t say it’s anything new or special.

What I Believe:
Typical well-loved Skillet intro with the violin. I like it, although I dislike the line that says “When I’m down on my knees you are what I believe.” I think that we should believe no matter whether times are good or bad. Other than that, it’s a good song.

*Battle Cry:
LOVE THIS SONG. You just need to listen to it to understand. It’s definitely a battle cry for the weak, weary, and lost. I love the implied reference to spiritual battles, not to mention the use of the word “prayer” and the statement of moving mountains. Great outro too!

Everything Goes Black:
Pretty intro and finally some nice male vocals! Definitely a bit of a darker song; I’d compare it to thunderclouds rolling in with a bit of sunlight glinting through the top canopy. Definitely some strongly implied themes in this song.

Freakshow:

 Curious intro. Definitely a bit more of a driving song; they seem to be experimenting with synth and electro sounds as well as taking a new approach to writing lyrics. I don’t exactly like this song very much…the term “freak” seems a bit too strong the way John is spitting it out and the vocals are definitely grating. All in all it gave me this sensation that there was a giant monster in the room covered by a nice white satin table cloth. 


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That's all folks! Leave a comment if you have any thoughts or want to add something to the discussion :D 

Signed with feathers, 

Squeaks.

June 19, 2013

5 New Song Inspired Poems (Randomness & So Forth)

Hallo folks! I wrote 5 new poems while the internet was down at home. They're inspired by various songs. I tried to do a little bit of everything... so hopefully there will be one in there that appeals to you :) Enjoy!

Google Images


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Moonlight/Waterlight – Inspired by Hidden Lakes by Shearwater


Trickles.
Tiny trickles.
Moonlit trickles.
Trickles and trickles and splishing squish of water,
Seeping and spreading and splashing around,
Cascading upon the worn, torn ground.
Heat, heading east, holding high reddened hopes,
Raising sacrificial bodies upward to universal emptiness.
Grasp my wrist, pull me upward,
Body twisting, coalescing together, every cell,
Inspire another breath, feel ligaments stretch, strain
Up toward skylight, moonlight, waterlight.
Feel the pull of the sliding droplets,
Negative pull against the earth,
Released from gravity.
Wounded animal,
Howling into moonlight,
Twitch and curl of neck,
Curve of spine and crisp fur to skin,
Wild wind, whispering secrets to those unbound,
Freedom and sanctuary between solitary pines
Shadowed by dark and light, moonlight, waterlight,
Wait for the call of the deep
Darkened dusk, dampened paw pads,
Free, like the crystalline drops,
Trickling.

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Iced Around -- Inspired by The Snow Leopard by Shearwater


Ice-satin,
Sensitive and craving.
Flowing and earthly,
Curvature amidst the dips.
Sunlight embraces,
Seeping through the dark,
Melting ice and warming satin.
Hushed wind, breathing softly,
Rushing over crests and into gullies,
Pooling beside oceans before sinking.
Blinded suffering, coughed away,
Thrown aside for new life,
Sensations, separate and singular,
Melding and mixing:
Cataclysmic conjoining of three things –
Love, hate, and trust.

Everest, I cannot breathe,
My soul is not for sale,
Send word.

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Martial Lantern -- Inspired by Star of the Age by Shearwater


Broken pebbles, crunching underneath every step,
Every footstep, shadowed by lantern light –
Swinging back and forth, to and fro,
Lantern light, spilling over cobblestone, searching
Searching for crevasses to fill
Frothing light, bubbling all around, over leathered soles
Through dirt and mist and pools of stagnant rainwater.
Swinging all around.
Crunch, crich, crunch, crich, crunch,
Forward bound – toes pointing and thrusting,
Cleaving the air and conquering the soil,
Micro gunshots, cracking through the dawn.
A revolutionary battle, fought in inches and centimeters,
Pulsating life connecting and brushing past the inanimate
Gliding through history, making history, leaving history.
Conquer, claim, and change.
Shine and fill.

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Roses and Wells -- Inspired by If This Was a Movie by Taylor Swift


Sitting by the dresser is another book,
Wait. Not another book,
A book. Just a regular book, but
Look inside, there’s so much more.
There’s a story of my life, between pages 130 and 131.
Opened pages, sunlight hiding, rain slipping down the terrace,
Sit in my chair and pull it close,
Open.
Crushed a bit, dead and dried, still beautiful…
Remember this? This rose. So many memories.
Drying my tears with softened fingertips,
Brushing back hair with calloused palms,
Drawing hugs from a well of infinite belief,
A well that lied and ran dry.
Running on the railway,
Holding intertwined thoughts between the oak,
Perfected scene from a film,
Pass the souls, pass the elixir of joy,
Pass the rose,
Pass the keys,
Pass the eviction notification,
Pass the draught of pain.
Crushed. Dead and dried. Still beautiful.
Here’s to the memories,
Have another smile and draw from another well.

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Stealing and Revenge are Poison – inspired by Better than Revenge by Taylor Swift


Hands on my waistline,
Trigger finger posed,
You’ve asked for friendship,
You get revenge.
Stealing has consequences,
But I’m no cop,
Stand in the corner or
I shoot.
It’s quite simplistic,
Raise your eyebrow and roll your eyes,
But all the acting is about to end,
It’s obvious that you had ulterior motives,
Got what you wanted,
Sneaking and stealing,
But there are bills to pay
For all the withdrawals you made
From my life.
There’s just one lesson you will learn:

Guilt is arsenic and you’ve been out-witted.

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There ya go! That's all for now; I know some of the poems are weird and perhaps a little not-me, but eh...I was really bored and tired and needed something to write :P Anywhoodles,

Signed with cat whiskers,

Squeaks.

May 1, 2013

The Atmosphere Inside -- (a poem)

Hey folks, here's a poem I wrote yesterday (the 30th of April; GWAH, I can't believe it's already May!!!!). Enjoy!

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The Atmosphere Inside

What is breath, that it should determine life?
And why, between lattes and over textbooks,
do we josh about how we've lost ours?
I spill my soup & sandwich over the floor,
you drop a napkin and bend your knees,
and suddenly we're fighting for air?
Is there not enough in the world for
7 billion people? Why am I straining?
Don't intoxicate me by sharing O2 gas,
I can survive off of another nitrogen mix,
Yet so it seems, the atmosphere of
communal life insists we must inhale,
And in that incredibly animalistic act,
We are all one. What was in you is now in me,
is now in them:
Preacher, teacher, skydiver, massage therapist,
ex-con, bridesmaid, grocery assistant,
skinhead, lawyer, clown, professor.
"I love you" exhaled,
50 yrs later inhaled, "Declare war."


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Signed with my toothbrush,

Squeaks.

February 22, 2013

A Collection of Serious Poems

Hey folks; I had the sudden inclination to write some poetry...some of it is personal and some of it is not personal. Some I wrote from the viewpoint of another person, some I wrote from my viewpoint...all of it was written today. Make what you will of it, what I know in my heart, however, is that this is deep stuff for me :) 


Google Images


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(a piece that has nothing to do with me)


FAS = inversion of (SAF - E)

In the midst of the passion,
The small burst of life
Careened from the darkness
Brought forth, conceived.
Tiny, tiny heartbeat,
Beautiful secret,
Hidden.
Caressed by the unknown,
Softly cared for,
Sweet tiny soul, so beautiful.
Ample time to grow in love…
What a mysterious gift.
Slip.
Slip, Slide.
.Sneak.
Darkness, deep purple evil
Infiltration. Perpetrator.
Engulfing the tiny blot of light.
Overcoming in one sly glide
One choice of the lips,
One move of the throat.
.Danger.
Death pulses nearby,
Ready to reach out,
Reach and grasp what it wants
But there is more.
SO much more fighting for
So much more in resistance:
Purpose? Life? Love?
God?
.Destiny.
And evil retracts its grip,
Spell binding horror of fleshly desire.
Yet, LO, it leaves its mark
Seared into the light,
Branded deep within.
Hellish consequence of life.
Regret.
                Agony.
                                Sorrow.
                                                Hell.
Still the light grows,
The heart beat strengthens,
Like thunder, like a storm without wrath.
A frightening wind, escalating
A hurricane of life,
Shattering all wants & driving forth needs.
INHALE
GASPPpp
L I F E
Tarnished yet beautiful,
So fragile, so golden, so worth all.
Crescendo of life-blood,
Rhythmic pulsing, steady-rush forward.
Radiating light & glory & beauty.
Love & Hope.
Yet tarnished by poison,
By soulful, human pleasure.
Two actions, one outcome.
Joy – Affliction
Pleasure – Pain
Success – Regret
You.
The fog never lifts,
Trudge to work through this sludge.
Frustration, confusion,
What?
Here & now, but not my choice.
They never do get to choose.
It’s not their fault,
The guilt rests on you.
Watch the little light,
Struggling to bloom,
Inching its way through the fog,
Flickering in & out,
Stronger, weaker,
Teardrop.
Weaker, strong,
Hold my gaze.
Freedom? Shelter…
Fear & desire…
Your regret.


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(written from my viewpoint)


Deeper, For You

A hand reaches through the darkness & grasps,
Grasps those who wander in fog,
Whose eyes have been dimmed & broken.
A smile, full of love & care & warmth & purpose,
Stretching over the mire, straight to your heart,
Plunging deep within. Connection.
Soulful connection, deeper than sex or will or destiny.
Wrapping tight around beliefs & fog, & pulling,
Forcibly pulling out out out of self.
Intent focus, so intent it burns holes
Holes in my clothes, in my brain, through my skin,
Between my intellect, holes, holes everywhere.
I ooze. I pour out, seeping into the dirt,
My body broken for you, every single inch,
Splattered over this room.
Tendons ripped. My heart skewered. Blood.
Watch & listen, I shall teach you.
The fog will lift, but if it doesn’t,
I will burn through it with my soul,
Reach through & take your hand.
Trust me. I will fight every step
Gain or lose this ground.
You are a treasure, soaked in poison,
And I will die for you.


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(written from another's viewpoint)


Farther to Purple

They think I’m fine. Hah!
Hell, I think I’m fine too,
In fact, everything is fine…right?
No, wait, go back, rewind.
Re-wind. Farther, farther.
                                There! Stop!
See? See that?
Oh, I didn’t know. I had no clue.
I mean, you know, trust & all…
Why would I doubt? I shoudn’t.
I didn’t. But no everything
Is different. Everything.
It explains so much. I mean,
The fog. Abnormality. Inability.
Wait, no no, haha…that’s not right.
I’m fine. I’m laughing this away.
Come on guys, laugh, this is stupid!
I love how you plunged
Plunged that dagger into my brain,
But never said a word.
I’m fine. Really.
Life is so much better
When you taste the poison…
Forever.
Haha. 


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(I have no clue what this means, I wrote what came to heart)


Before I Fall

Pick up the pieces from where you last left off.
I see you counting down.
Clear – violet – purple – blood – heart.
It’s a fish. Opening & closing its mouth.
Anxiety, remorse, regret. No.
It’s a beaver. Slapping water, sprishh, spray.
Diseased bones, my soul!
It’s a lion. Running & hiding from terror.
Drown my sympathies.
Carry these broken bones, this fractured body,
Down from the mountain.
Carry me away, far far away.
6 ft. under flowers’ roots, I am at rest.
The joy of peace, the ray of truth.
                                                                Tell me everything.


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So it's a little bit sombre, I get that...but I do hope you folks enjoyed :) I pretty much spent eh...45 minutes cranking that stuff out...and it's all rough (no editing) so I don't expect a hugely grand response :P 

Signed with blossoms, 

Squeaks.

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