Zani 7d

Sometimes I sit around and talk to myself
Then I choose to write it down
I’m trying to figure out if I’ve gone crazy
Because I’m addicted to the sound

The music wont stop
Because when the beat drops
Its what makes the culture come around
It doesn’t matter if they think you’re lazy
They’ll be crazy about your sound

When you see the whole is much greater than the sum
We are all breed of many colours as one
Tribe

Bless this mess
There’s too many confessions to make
The last mistake I made
Was to underestimate

That there’s a limit to the past though
It stops with what we choose
To put our clever mind on
So if you’re living in the past dear
I suggest you come along

When you see the whole is much greater than the sum
We are all breed of many colours as one
Tribe

Sometimes I sit around and talk to myself
And when I say it all out loud
It starts to feel more like that I’m awakening
Its the awakening of the sound
Yes there is no mistaking
Its the awakening of the sound

Lyrics written to a rhythmic guitar piece. Topic is inspiration, community, art and creativity which is often mistaken for craziness. <3
alan Jul 14

My smudged and inky fingers hop from key to key,
they leave a black imprint where ever you see.
The satisfying sounds of the bell and the click,
the slam of the slug and the gentle clock tick.
I pull the handle away to the right,
as I look at the shine on the keys from the light.
They dance clumsily, flying over the ditch
as my words dart down with a clackity pitch.
My fingers are tired but I'm too excited for rest,
and my nails nearly break as I get words off my chest.

Vexren4000 Jul 10

Variable viability,
With various variations,
Vermillion volume,
Generating almost volts of sound,
As if to very variably,
To vie for vitality
The volume of songs upon the radio,
Blasting throughout the city streets,
Breaking the silence of the urban night,
Bringing with it pulsating waves,
Of purest sound.

Vexren4000 Jul 4

The ringing of dimensions,
The sound of air flowing in your ears,
the whispers of ancient times long buried,
Voices of family passed away,
Whispering deep by your eardrum,
The ringing of the telephone,
When no such phone is ringing,
An infection of madness in my ear,
The tinnitus,
Ringing a sound,
Almost like the haze of a radio,
As if my mind can not find a station with a clear signal,
Disturbing the sleep,
The modern world demands me to have.

Karl Johnson Jun 30

The Middleman is at the start
with a fistfull of pockets.
He walks more than he talks it, with
empty hands.
Orange Peel knuckles; peeling, showing
A segmented truth. He mocks it.
   Wholly revealing hisself with
waterbottle lungs,
   Breathing, squeezing; knuckles popping
   cracking, rabble-rousing-
The
Jenga game of a rib cage -
   - sounding skeleton and shouting -
As the beating heart un-falls apart
Unprotected, Uncontained.

By what unscrutability
can a pure heart be blood-stained?
   As his vain-ed cadence flows below the stone
The stone; a frame, posed.
Humble, yet reigns.

Like, the middleman comes to the end and
By God! Someone's killed the messenger, By God!
   Inadvertent
   Changing channels, all this
   static passive
   staging Battles
   A rib cage match like unintended, homicidal rattles
      As spinal shivers, the Middleman Delivers.

Play the music
Stop. Repeat.
I'm getting addicted to the beat

A song of love
Of sorrow. Of happiness.
I can't believe I'm in this mess

Play the music
Stop. Repeat.
Tears fall down
For such beautiful sound

A beat that I have always known
A heart that I can't call my own

"He gave me songs, I wrote him poems"
Paul Jones Jun 22

Beautiful to hear     the tones and timbre
of a voice that drifts     deep and then soars high.

13:30 - 22/06/17
State of mind: calm; pensive; reflective.

Thoughts: from reflections - on a quote by Nietzsche, "Those who can breathe the air of my writings know that it is an air of the heights, a strong air. One must be made for it." combined with listening to London Grammar sing their version of "Wicked Games" by Chris Isaak.

Questions: how will the voice of your soul take shape?

Last night I dreamt that Google
was celebrating me
through one of its doodles.

It was the simplest of them all,
the most ordinary and vanilla -
common as a rock, low-pitched with a cherry on top.

You clicked on it and it didn't have any answers.
It showed nothing.

No sound was added,
no funky animations,
no gamification.

Corny and simple.

I think they did a pretty good job in celebrating me.

Ami Shae Jun 22

Listen. Do you hear it yet?
The sound is golden
and so very true--
My heart has started beating again
all because of YOU. ❤️

A dear Friend found me again!
JOY!!!
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