…1:09 am…getting drunk and high, but gear (bass-playing items) are ready to go…
watching revolutionary film, and waiting to switch over to recording…writing some shoddy lyrics presently, but might re-edit later when there is time to work…now is an anticipation for the playback…1:53 am…no sound except through recording…writing to musician friend online…short statements back and forth…explaining the the unplanned discombobulation right now. with the bass unheard, and that makes midnight session weird…2:20 am…nothing to speak of as progress, what a feeling of ironic joy, and for such a petty reason…3:00 am…gone…2:40 pm…the return…not going to let my simple song dwindle, that would just swindle my need, and ‘we’ can’t afford that…ideas for a bassline are flitting about my conscious mind…surface thoughts analyzing for the sake of nothing, the approach and the purpose…four/four time with slight change-ups at the two and …
my fate is locked in tightly with yours, but the avenues for release from the present state are terribly limited. the understanding defies the reason, and the reasons defy the proper logic out of the chaos. ordered thoughts might seem the perilous undertaking. ‘Nixon Void’ beckons from the dark dead subconscious of archetypes unborn. a string of letters and symbols that conceptualize into empty anti-growth. a nihilist is breathed into life, and yet, wants that breath taken back to wherever it came from. spite and despair bring this “thing” to us, and we all have to face our demons down the barrel of a gun, an image that denotes our futile narrowed vision. we are lead around by the bells, ringing to create unendurable confusion, and we meet the intense things that be. overtaken by the bullets of implied …
the breakdown was mutual… the manacles set upon the wrists… the diseased mind permeates the foul and sanctified heat of resistance… the stink of awareness from the outside world revealing the madness within this maelstrom… the dripping and gooey internal structure fairly teeters with the substance falling from the ceiling… you raise your eyes to notice that stalagmites extend downward toward you, and this pit seems far too small… to express your way out of a paper bag is nothing so intense as performing your way out of a jagged hole inside your heart… this is where things have been taking place of late… the mind becomes far too tight and constraining upon itself to be of any real use… the music is alive, though, and there are few who would wish to see it… this other necessary entity …
please me more than a sense of rhythm, a thing that lends itself over to anything, and still makes depth appear where none might have been visible before… the shallow now does not seem hollow, and rational senses give way to following the music… whether classical or rock-inspired, the muse is never far from the thoughts of all who really appreciate the gift that music can bring… this thing that moves the soul to and beyond the gathered status quotations… a haunting melody is not always the necessary key to the forgiving weight of instant gratification… sometimes it is the momentum of a repetitive rhythm that lends to freedom of mind the most… that freedom of movement we all require in order not to feel as though our actions are controlled by others who don’t even know us… if …
original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton
excerpt; “Life mapped out like – a – maze
“Life in hectic cryp – tic – haze
“I’m left to die in – a – daze
“Floating down those gut – ter – waves
“Like – rats – we – drown!”
original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton
excerpt; ‘He wore a whip and a coat with tails,
While the wicked clowns held boards with nails
I arose, naked and dirty, and screamed at them with weak authority
“He turned and gazed right at me,
And said, ‘Everything’s alright, sonny
It’s time to meet your fate,
At the hands of brutal hate’
original songcraft by C.Michael Keaton
excerpt; “Chaos is defined by the order it brings
“Pretty ones are best defined against the ug – ly
“And in truth is where the falsest lies lay
“Spread amongst the glitter and decay…”
They are there right now. Everywhere in our midst, keeping a patient eye upon the suckling void active in humanity, and this fatal flaw will always reveal itself given time. To betray a withering self that cannot think beyond the material scope of the reality they seem to hold so dear. The possessions that can take a stranglehold upon their keeper. A misty recollection of what the past had been. Now, just subtle memories overlaid the entire scene the eyes can take in at once. Baffled by the ill-tempered, I stride motionless through the questionable realm of thought, and get to know the hollow chest which is my emotional center, my heart. The mind and body can stray away distracted, but the heart guides the soul to its fateful destination. Weeping in sorrow over the torturous existence that sometimes …
crispy from the fryer, eye have come to spread cheer and enlightened false riches. philosophy is emotional experience, and it moves like friction in the mechanical, it needs something there to lubricate its’ machinations. nihilism makes hippies breed faster, and communally, they resemble rabbits accustomed to rapid fornications. twisting their genitalia into some heated amalgam of fleshes that makes all the bodies move, writhing and thrusting, into bliss ever more temporary from the mouth gaping wide open to reveal the pain beyond the dark swelter. the ejaculates of the mind’s eye have become distorted folly. by all foolish standards, self-parody is the macabre avocation that propels the defiant urge forward in the ‘mic/mac’ cosmos. darkness needs to light that love brings to inflame the wounds from active witness to the pitfalls of reserved behaviors. the actions that inspire billions …
tHere are strangenesses about in this lair…small surprises along the way to greater things…no focus will well lead someone across the blades with a disappointed air…the scraps of personal power that we give to other beings is astonishing to say the least…what obnoxious freaks are we to think we are the masters here?…the surgeon will cut with a certain precision to the incision, they have all done this before somewhere…the world is not our whore to play with so easily…what benefits the estranged soul who darts in and out of the centuries looking for bliss, is it possible to understand wholly from within?…it feels like a real shambles, but will always change without reason to the hard second…turnabout is fair play, or so they say…eye don’t believe in a way out…it is all obnoxious puppetry in the extreme…we are …