Music :)
I don't think my last post made any sense. haha I guess that happens when you're a little sleepy =P so here's a different song by the same band
Laura Simpson, Vocal Jazz
Hey there, I know I haven't written in a while. I woke up unusually early today, with a bit of a jolt. I think its because my mind keeps dredging out memories of my professional singing days and asking me what to do about them. My final year in high school, only year at UNLV and my summer in Philadelphia have been hanging out in my mind's recycle bin for a quite a few years now, I'm not sure how to file them and it's frustrating so I want to throw them away.
If you asked me why I stopped singing I might give you one of these answers.
- I was in it for the wrong reasons, and because of that, grew impatient.
- My voice deteriorated, singing became difficult and disappointing, so I lost interest. It would take a lot of work to be able to perform the amount I used to at the same quality.
- With all the distractions, I couldn't get serious about it in my first year of college.
I think it's a mixture of these things and maybe a couple more. So when those memories pop up, I bury them in some new hole, covered by a fresh layer of newly manufactured excuses.
I don't know how to identify with the mistakes I've made in this area of my life, or how to categorize all the foregone opportunities. I don't want to call it failure, because I know I'm too young to have actually failed at anything. Only death throws the gavel down. Who's to say that my every wrong won't be made right before I leave this world.
Even if I'm given just 10 years more on this Earth, I hope I'll have already circled back to jazz and cried into the microphone some more, being broadcast from some antenna somewhere, or before an audience who claps not because it's customary but because my performance has caused their hands to spontaneously collide.
Maybe you'll hear my ridiculous, clumsy guitar playing again. My voice'll come out with a limp, and fall flat on the ground instead of making every molecule within range vibrate in agreement the way it used to. This is just the sound of my life malfunctioning a little, with a past too big to throw away, and yet too much a part of me to ignore.
If you asked me why I stopped singing I might give you one of these answers.
- I was in it for the wrong reasons, and because of that, grew impatient.
- My voice deteriorated, singing became difficult and disappointing, so I lost interest. It would take a lot of work to be able to perform the amount I used to at the same quality.
- With all the distractions, I couldn't get serious about it in my first year of college.
I think it's a mixture of these things and maybe a couple more. So when those memories pop up, I bury them in some new hole, covered by a fresh layer of newly manufactured excuses.
I don't know how to identify with the mistakes I've made in this area of my life, or how to categorize all the foregone opportunities. I don't want to call it failure, because I know I'm too young to have actually failed at anything. Only death throws the gavel down. Who's to say that my every wrong won't be made right before I leave this world.
Even if I'm given just 10 years more on this Earth, I hope I'll have already circled back to jazz and cried into the microphone some more, being broadcast from some antenna somewhere, or before an audience who claps not because it's customary but because my performance has caused their hands to spontaneously collide.
Maybe you'll hear my ridiculous, clumsy guitar playing again. My voice'll come out with a limp, and fall flat on the ground instead of making every molecule within range vibrate in agreement the way it used to. This is just the sound of my life malfunctioning a little, with a past too big to throw away, and yet too much a part of me to ignore.
Today
- Took my love to the airport and watched him fly away.
- Printed stickers and typed invoices into a spreadsheet for an oil distributor.
- Drove in some of the worst snowy road conditions I've ever seen.
- Purchased a sledgehammer and with the help of my friend Kyle, destroyed my favorite desk on the side of the road.
- Snuck into a house.
- Drank the best Latte of my life.
- Danced the Argentine Tango.
- New England Clam Chowder, need I say more.
- Was encouraged by my man to follow my dreams and live the life I was born to live.
-Fell asleep in a nice warm bed.
okay, the last one is just a guess ;)
- Printed stickers and typed invoices into a spreadsheet for an oil distributor.
- Drove in some of the worst snowy road conditions I've ever seen.
- Purchased a sledgehammer and with the help of my friend Kyle, destroyed my favorite desk on the side of the road.
- Snuck into a house.
- Drank the best Latte of my life.
- Danced the Argentine Tango.
- New England Clam Chowder, need I say more.
- Was encouraged by my man to follow my dreams and live the life I was born to live.
-Fell asleep in a nice warm bed.
okay, the last one is just a guess ;)
The Protagonist
I have days tied to my ankle, they scratch the black asphalt up from under the snow. I wait for him in the car, allowing it to warm up, watching as he pushes the perfect snow off from all the windows. My throat is sore and my hands are dry so I clutch the steering wheel, put on the whole armor of jazz and turn up the volume. This car makes me want a horse instead. In fact, it makes me want to shed all layers of want, and that's something I've wanted only recently. Content, I reach for the passenger seat warmer, set it on high. He'll notice it just in time to appreciate it.
As I drive and drive through the driving snow, the thin layers- white silk on rough black skin deceptively delicate- drift and make the road look like it's crawling along with me. Of words exchanged from around then I remember only that he's glad I'm patient and have a good attitude, that he hates snow, and that I shouldn't walk like I'm sick.
The protagonist is at the bar tonight and comes home smelling of cigarettes not his, with a smile, asking how I'm feeling, now singing in the shower improvised lyrics that include my name.
The days I'm dragging clank like cans tied to the fender of a car. There are ribbons and there is confetti. It's a good sound and leaves the idolizable glories of 2009 just a residue from the bliss that is me in the present moment. Then again, I guess it's weird to have this thing tugging on my ankle like this. :)
As I drive and drive through the driving snow, the thin layers- white silk on rough black skin deceptively delicate- drift and make the road look like it's crawling along with me. Of words exchanged from around then I remember only that he's glad I'm patient and have a good attitude, that he hates snow, and that I shouldn't walk like I'm sick.
The protagonist is at the bar tonight and comes home smelling of cigarettes not his, with a smile, asking how I'm feeling, now singing in the shower improvised lyrics that include my name.
The days I'm dragging clank like cans tied to the fender of a car. There are ribbons and there is confetti. It's a good sound and leaves the idolizable glories of 2009 just a residue from the bliss that is me in the present moment. Then again, I guess it's weird to have this thing tugging on my ankle like this. :)