The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a long scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand; you must see your left hand erasing it.
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin (via bookmania)
One strange thing about me I could never figure out was how I could stare at the most mundane, unimportant objects and think about everything that was going on around me and in my life. When I would finally open my eyes without ever having closed them, I would realize I was sharing all my secrets with a book, a pillow or even my favorite summer dress hanging over a chair. These objects pulled my thoughts from my mind and my mind gave in.
Song writing is one of those things that I do when inspiration randomly hits and I usually have these “lyric epiphanies” in the middle of night when insomnia kicks in. I play the piano and acoustic guitar and have composed countless little tunes and songs, but I can never seem to put the two together. That is why I write stories (mostly about strange characters and surprising occurrences) and then try to colour it in with simple tunes and ideas of what other instruments would do (I really admire the “orchestra” band idea - I want those drums, that guitar, the piano, but I also want the violins, the double bass and sometimes even a saxophone! Why not?) I have been in a few bands and I am still trying to start one, but more on that later. This is an excerpt from one of my latest little poem stories:
I’ve never kept a diary because they tell too much truth
So when I met you I had no story to tell and no history
I picked up a pen for the first time the day you greeted me
And wrote down everything I felt and saw and thought
I’ve never collected photos because my memories suffice
So when I met you I had no pictures to tell my dreamy tale
I held a camera for the first time the day I had a glimpse of you
And took photos of every tree, bird, and remarkable man
