The Aching Blues- Revision by Myladimoon, literature
Literature
The Aching Blues- Revision
The Aching Blues
"Lloyd, is this you?"
Lloyd looked up into the smiling face of yet another friendly co-worker whose name he didnt know. Yea, that's me, he thought even though the man on the cover of the magazine looked alive and happy and absolutely nothing like he looked right then. He remembered the photo shoot well. He, Lloyd Whittaker was named Blues Guitarist of the Year for 2006 by The Blues Traveler magazine once. It was ages ago it seemed, when his life was beginning, and now two years later he found himself back in the same old town, doing the same old thing. 36 and alone.
"Good times," he mused under hi
I am a singer of the blues by Myladimoon, literature
Literature
I am a singer of the blues
I am a singer of the blues.
The violent violet melodies of my verses
Flow from the farthest fathoms of when I loved you.
And when you left the loving, lingering lap
Of my most marriageable moments,
I began to sing the blues.
And now I weep in my ridiculous repetition
Over the open and obvious outcries of your going.
And as I cry in crazed calamity
I pound my periling self against the pungent pavement
And I inhale the scent of my bluesy freedom.
My blues no longer betray a bitter and bespoiled state
But rather rectify my most righteous remembrance of us.
And now I sing, in my sultry way, a salute
To the tailored thought we built
I hum along with the tune of my tires
Speeding along the textured pavement
Forever in my true nomadic style
My rear window is piled high with the trappings
Of which I have collected on my wandering journey
And looking through my window reflected image
I see flowers on the highway
Left in honored rememberance
And I wonder
When will my time come
When will I dream and sing
And laugh and sleep and hum
With the tune of tires passing me by
In their true nomadic style
The aching need of societal dependence
A deep-rooted evil culminating in ominous espionage
The death of our innocence
All riding through the skies on chariots of fire and nuclear dreams
'You can't jam change down the American throat,' they say
But I don't believe it, the hypocrisy of it all
The nation's military makeover
Disguised as patriotic revival
Seeps into the worlds turning
Deliciously toxic is the American way
We live now amidst the intracorporate civil wars
While the nation spirals downward in a lusty roll of greed and spite
We live in the culture defined by the HP way
Among the tragedy we mockingly call life
And we scr
The soul's greatest sacrifice is the loss of our youth
And I shall forever remembers the greatest dawnings of yesterday
A playful happy child in the midst of my unforgotten past
A vibrant woman plunging into the chaos of tomorrow
As my wave of adolescence crashed upon my fragile youth
I became the angry writer,
Caught in the winds of my emotional tempest
The calmness of blessed maturity after the summer storm
Was the gift of trying experiences
A gift I can now more sweetly cherish,
Looking back with retrospective humor
I am young
I am simple
I am life undeniable
I am a world of hopes and dreams colored vibrant with ambition
And the beauty of my life's design is beyond most's recognition
I am charging through the greatest Chaos, knowing I'll be seen
I am loud and quiet, light and dark
I am my own prom queen
I'll never fear what is to come
I know without a doubt
The pathways of my moonlight dreams will be my only route
I am prejudice unblinded by the rantings of another
For I know the song within my heart is my truest lover
I am the morning promises of new dreams in the skies
I am the black nights summons' to the tears that this world cries
I a
I feel I am forever running, running from sweet you
Running from the things you say and all the things you do
To my heart and to my body and my poor tormented mind
Crying all alone again, its my that they must find
Find me in the dark recesses of my broken fears
Comforted only by the burning of my broken tears
The brilliant love I had for you was nothing less than great
But you've tortured me, beyond any means, too desperate now to hate
I hate the you have torn from me my weakest attempts to fight
And that your bolstered ego believes everything that you have done is right
I've lost my loves, my hopes, my world, and all my will to si
I fall in no disgrace from my exulted heights
Swimming through candy-coated caramel wisps of milky incandescence
And the earth reaches up her beautifully sinful arms
To welcome and embrace my dying spirit
And the ancient rebirth of starry grace
Fills my once grand stage with their cooling presence
They call me Shakespeare in whispered cries from the heavens above
As my final words flow in tides of autumnal tears
And my dying breath fills an ethereal eternity
The serenity of my final descent plunges the world into an ancient time
A time of praise and a time to look to the past
They called me Messiah once I seem to remember
And tha
Twitch and scurry and rummage and shuffle
Down the tattered halls of scholarly insight.
Music dances alongside his hurried walk,
And gods roar with no greater passion
Than a man of intellect on a mission.
Bustle and mumble and plunder the mind,
No respite in sight for as far as the eye can see.
The man with the horn-rimmed glasses
Promises cherished teaching in his very demeanor.
Small in stature with a Titans force,
Tweed jackets and knowledge to spare.
A balding pate and a crooked smile,
Mask the greatness in our time.
A walking sinner of saintly proportions,
For he fells faith with a single pen stroke.
Revered Colossus of h
The lights the bright bright lights
And toys and candy and games and big stuffed teddy bears
And smells of sweat and sweet abandon
And people come for a destitute decadence
Billy swings between mommy and daddy
Back and forth back and forth
Swinging feet and weightless joy and sweet sweet fairtime bliss
Mommy mommy buy me a balloon
The State Fair's in town. Come and see the spectacle
Tommy and Suzy and little Carol Ann
Scream through a forest of too tight wranglers
Children fanning in a million frenzied directions
The flashing lights of the big ferris wheel tumble in a drunken spiral
And Billy loses
The world blossomed before me like liquid starbursts of interior fabric and yellow lighting. It took my mind a few moments before I realized that sickly yellow light was the overhead light of the car I must be in. Yellow light set in black fabric. The light shut off with the dead thunk of an old car door being handled more roughly than the car gods intended. The seat beneath me was worn and faded to the touch but bore the oddly comforting feel of old leather. A jangle of keys and then a terrible rumbling and rocking and shaking began. Like a rock concert gone terribly wrong. With a fiery kick and a short encore, the concert ended and the
Sullen drops of watered indulgence fell towards a placid and malleable expanse. A girl lays in a porcelain prison, submerged and subjugated to her own blind and internal tortures. Drip…Drip…Drip. She lay with demons in her watery grave and they tear at her thoughts of self doubt and whisper sweet release from a razor-edged finality. The utter desolation of self induced mortality rests in her right hand as she draws its steeled edge towards the ivory covering of her skin. One burst of strength is all she needs and she will never feel abandoned again, the world no longer her scorning mother and she no longer the abused lover. If only she c
I am a singer of the blues by Myladimoon, literature
Literature
I am a singer of the blues
I am a singer of the blues.
The violent violet melodies of my verses
Flow from the farthest fathoms of when I loved you.
And when you left the loving, lingering lap
Of my most marriageable moments,
I began to sing the blues.
And now I weep in my ridiculous repetition
Over the open and obvious outcries of your going.
And as I cry in crazed calamity
I pound my periling self against the pungent pavement
And I inhale the scent of my bluesy freedom.
My blues no longer betray a bitter and bespoiled state
But rather rectify my most righteous remembrance of us.
And now I sing, in my sultry way, a salute
To the tailored thought we built
Favourite genre of music: Metal, 90s Alternative, Classical Favourite photographer: Jenny Bean MP3 player of choice: Realplayer Personal Quote: "It is the nature of all greatness not to be exact." -Edmund Burke