Song of Myself

***SONG OF MYSELF***

This past Monday night, instead of watching WWE Raw, I went to the Showbox SoDo in Seattle to listen to the epic music of Nightwish along with their opening acts Sonata Arctica and Delain. It was a fun and exciting night, one that I will cherish as much as when I saw them in 2008 at the same venue, if not more so. Nightwish was one of the many bands that got me through a lonely life at college from 2007 to 2009. To repay them for their awesomeness, I will do another lyric journal, but with their namesake. “Song of Myself” was released on their 2011 album Imaginarium, the final CD to feature second lead singer Anette Olzon. While I don’t know if her departure was on sour terms, I do miss her a lot, but that’s not to take anything away from Floor Jansen, who’s just as awesome as her first two predecessors. But no matter who the lead singer is, she’ll have Tuomas Holopainen’s genius lyrics to guide her through every song. Let’s get busy!


The nightingale is still locked in the cage
The deep breath I took still poisons my lungs
An old oak sheltering me from the blue
Sun bathing on its dead frozen leaves

A catnap in the ghost town of my heart
She dreams of storytime and the river ghosts
Of mermaids, of Whitman's and the ride
Raving harlequins, gigantic toys

A song of me song in need
Of a courageous symphony
A verse of me verse in need
Of a pure-heart singing me to peace

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

All that great heart lying still
In silent suffering
Smiling like a clown until the show has come to an end
What is left for encore
Is the same old dead boy's song
Sung in silence
All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angelwing

A midnight flight into Covington Woods
A princess and a panther by my side
These are Territories I live for
I'd still give mt everything to love you more

A silent symphony
A hollow opus #1, 2,3

Sometimes the sky is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

Resting pipes, verse of bore
Rusting keys without a door

Sometimes the within is piano black
Piano black over cleansing waters

All that great heart lying still and slowly dying
All that great heart lying still on an angel wing

I see a slow, simple youngster by a busy street,
with a begging bowl in his shaking hand.
Trying to smile but hurting infinitely. Nobody notices.
I do, but walk by.

An old man gets naked and kisses a model-doll in his attic
It's half-light and he's in tears.
When he finally comes his eyes are cascading.

I see a beaten dog in a pungent alley. He tries to bite me.
All pride has left his wild eyes.
I wish I had my leg to spare.

A mother visits her son, smiles to him through the bars.
She's never loved him more.

An obese girl enters an elevator with me.
All dressed up fancy, a green butterfly on her neck.
Terribly sweet perfume deafens me.
She's going to dinner alone.
That makes her even more beautiful.

I see a model's face on a brick wall.
A statue of porcelain perfection beside a violent city kill.
A city that worships flesh.

The 1st thing I ever heard was a wandering
man telling his story
It was you, the grass under my bare feet
The campfire in the dead of night
The heavenly black of sky and sea

It was us
Roaming the rainy roads, combing the gilded beaches
Waking up to a new gallery of wonders every morn
Bathing in places no-one's seen before
Shipwrecked on some matt-painted island
Clad in nothing but the surf - beauty's finest robe

Beyond all mortality we are, swinging in the breath of nature
In early air of the dawn of life
A sight to silence the heavens

I want to travel where life travels,
following its permanent lead
Where the air tastes like snow music
Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture
I would bathe in a world of sensation
Love, goodness and simplicity
(While violated and imprisoned by technology)

The thought of my family's graves was the only moment
I used to experience true love
That love remains infinite,
as I'll never be the man my father is

How can you "just be yourself"
when you don't know who you are?
Stop saying "I know how you feel"
How could anyone know how another feels?

Who am I to judge a priest, beggar,
whore, politician, wrongdoer?
I am, you are, all of them already

Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There's no fear in a dream

"Is there a village inside this snowflake?"
- a child asked me
"What's the colour of our lullaby?"

I've never been so close to truth as then
I touched its silver lining

Death is the winner in any war
Nothing noble in dying for your religion
For your country
For ideology, for faith
For another man, yes

Paper is dead without words
Ink idle without a poem
All the world dead without stories
Without love and disarming beauty

Careless realism costs souls

Ever seen the Lord smile?
All the care for the world made Beautiful a sad man?
Why do we still carry a device of torture around our necks?
Oh, how rotten your pre-apocalypse is
All you bible-black fools living over nightmare ground

I see all those empty cradles and wonder
If man will never change

I, too, wish to be a decent manboy but all I am
Is smoke and mirrors
Still given everything, may I be deserving

And there forever remains the change from G to Em


***WEEKLY SHORT STORY CONTESTS AND COMPANY***

Although I posted “Medicine Man” online yesterday, that wasn’t the one that will go into this week’s contest. I have different plans for the “paper hearts” prompt. It’s called “Ninja” and is named after a Skindred song, much like “Medicine Man” is named after a Pantera song. Here’s the synopsis to “Ninja”:

CHARACTERS:

DJ Rouge, African Assassin
Andrew Bradley, English Mercenary

PROMPT CONFORMITY: DJ leaves behind paper hearts as his calling card.

SYNOPSIS: Andrew is assigned by Babylon Bank to raid an African diamond mine in an attempt to bring them a priceless rock known as the Ninja’s Ruby. When he gets there, armed with an AK-47 and a belt of grenades, he begins slaying mine workers and rebel soldiers left and right with no absence of malice. The actual rock he’s looking for isn’t in the mine itself, but in the eye socket of a sword-slinging vigilante named DJ Rouge, who also came to the diamond mine, but to free the slaves instead of kill them. DJ and Andrew engage in a heated battle over the gem and the former’s quickness and stealth earns him the nickname “African Ninja” from his opponent.


***DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

Up next on the barbecue rack is Courtney Robyn, the psycho-bitch serial killer from “Mastodon”. Is it strange to say that this murderer is scarier to be around than a raging version of the eponymous animal in question? Shit, I’d rather get stepped on by a wild beast than get stabbed in the chest by Courtney Robyn.


***WRESTLING DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

KEVIN OWENS: What happened to the guy with the weird hair and the glasses?

MICHAEL COLE: Mauro Ranallo is ill this week.

KEVIN OWENS: Yeah, he probably got sick from listening to your commentary.

MICHAEL COLE: That’s nice.

The Cowboys From Hell (Austin Carlo and Court Jackson)

For the next few blog posts, I’m going to take a character (or multiple characters) of mine and try to find stories for them to be a part of. I’ve been trying to do this for over a decade with a barbarian I have named Deus Shadowheart and it looks like he’s all set. In this blog post, I’m going to focus on two more people who need employment. Otherwise, they’ll just rot in development hell for the rest of their wasted existence. Their names are Austin Carlo and Court Jackson, better known as The Cowboys From Hell. No, I didn’t originally give them that team name, it just stuck with me after listening to Pantera a lot. Like Deus Shadowheart, Austin and Court were once part of a combat sports slash dark fantasy novel called Hardcore Hell (originally called Hardcore Hate until my overly sensitive family shamed me into changing it). Because the novel had too many instances of telling instead of showing as well as hyperbolic descriptions that smothered the reading pace, it eventually had to be dumped and all of the characters had to be locked away in development hell. Austin and Court’s role in the novel was to be the bodyguards of a religious CEO named Hammond Gibbons. Hammond was extremely preachy and could get under anybody’s skin just by the mere mention of a fiery Christmas tree lot known as hell. Austin and Court didn’t necessarily agree with Hammond’s agenda nor did they enjoy being around him. But the money was good and so they took the jobs as hired henchmen. Now for a little characterization. If you think Deus Shadowheart was the biggest baddest motherfucker in the whole story at 6’4” and 285 lbs, try Austin and Court on for size. They were both 7’ tall and weighed anywhere between 325 and 400 lbs at any given moment. They weren’t a couple of lard asses either, they were just big muscular henchmen. Yes, they seem stereotypical and they probably were. So why then would I want to give employment to a couple of washed up minions? Ever since calling them The Cowboys From Hell, I’ve given a new life to all the things they could be. Maybe they’re not just mindless bruisers. Maybe they’re sadistic psychopaths. Maybe they’re deadly gangsters. Maybe, just maybe they’re into heavy metal music. Can you see these two juggernauts forming a band together and touring the world? How about fighting with chainsaws? Or doing what Tyson Hardy did in my latest novel Brawl Mart: carrying magical machineguns. Characters can only be one-dimensional if you give up on them so easily. In fact, as a lesson to all you authors out there, characters can only put out what you put into them. If I want Court Jackson and Austin Carlo to be legitimate badasses instead of mindless drones, I’m going to have to do something a little bit extra with them. Something like, you know, exercise my wild imagination. Court and Austin will find a home someday. I know it. If nothing else, they could be a professional wrestling tag team and the Wrestling Observer Newsletter can name both of them the Most Overrated Wrestlers of the Year. It’s a dubious award, but at least they’re getting noticed!

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

VIC MACKEY: You’re married. Is your wife pretty?

LAWYER: She’s beautiful.

VIC MACKEY: How about I take your wife out for a weekend in Vegas, ride her ass hard, and put her away wet.

LAWYER: What?!

VIC MACKEY: Well, that’s about the level of cooperation I can expect from my captain on anything.

-The Shield-

　

***POST-SCRIPT***

I don’t know if I’ve advertised my e-books on here just yet, but if I haven’t, I’m going to do it now. But before I do, I want to let you all know that my original Lulu.com paperback books “Red Blood, White Knuckles, Blue Heart” and “Foe vs. Blade” are no longer available to be purchased. I couldn’t justify selling obscure mixed-genre anthologies for ten or twenty dollars each. So instead, I have an account with Smash Words and I’m selling genre-specific e-books at 99 cents a pop. My penname is still Garrison Kelly and these are my e-book titles:

Brawl Mart (two-act urban fantasy novel): https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/399435

Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage (rock song lyrics collection):
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/369154

Dragon Machinegun (sci-fi, horror, and fantasy short story anthology):
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/353531

Remember, ladies and gentlemen: they’re 99 cents a piece. What are you waiting for? Happy reading!