The Shred Room II (with extra youth)

June wrote: Actually, random question: have you guys ever written love songs for a girl and did it work?

No, I have not. I hardly even talk to anyone in person, let alone write songs for people.

James wrote: June wrote: Actually, random question: have you guys ever written love songs for a girl and did it work? No. Far too clichéd. Although I sort of did once with a girl online and she liked it (she was obsessed by me, so whatever I wrote she would have enjoyed ) but well... I now hate it even though it's not especially clichéd.

Sort of? How does that work?

June wrote: Mmm... I'm also thinking it's cliché. I wonder why people still do that then? Cheese sells?

Because most people are weird.

He, you know what bums me about Ron Asheton?

Edited by June - January 07 2009 at 16:57

My love poem wasn't cheesy when I wrote it... it wasn't:

I love you darling...

Or anything like that.

In fact, it didn't even mention the word love, if memory serves.  I'll have to find it.

Oh crap, I just found it...


Me you/mind you (together as one)

----Me you (?)----

I need you to interlock your thoughts
your body, your skin, your lips,
with me.
Will you accept me?
I want you to interlock your mind,
your life, your presence, your past,
with me.
Will you accept me?

----Mind you----

You are constantly being pushed to the front of my mind...
A wall surrounds you, stops you leaving.
(If you wanted to do so)
It sooths you, it protects you...
It values your presence and love for its owner.
He is thankful and grateful.

He loves you.

----Me you (two)----

Everything used to be misty and clouded,
and now,
it's clearer and more decisive than ever.

No longer lost,
no longer clinging to the precipice,
my hands are searching for your hands.

Will you lift me up?

Fay Lee Err... go now!
You were never loved by me.
You only ever brought me harm,
...making me choose depression...
over living...
On the brink, I felt for land,
I found rubble, but I struggled,
I almost...
(Fell)t this is the right thing,
falling, ever deeper.
Struggling on, down and up.

----Me you (three/free)----

I found up!
Beyond that rubble, there was hope,
...gripping the land, I lifted up...
And you were that hope.
You are still that hope.

Your smile greeted me at the top,
grabbing my hands (as asked).
I had been lifted.
Spiritually.
Literally.
I was safe now.
Fay Lee Err's brother had also left me.

Fee Err.

Gone, hoping to be forgotten.

Without your hands, I'd be dead...

Geck0 - 17 March 2006.



Edited by James - January 07 2009 at 16:58

The interlocking thing... reminds me of Donne a little.

A prayer?

Not as I think it, no but I do understand what you mean.

I have read very little poetry, by the way, so I am not familiar with John Donne.  I have my own rather tedious style.

I think I may take a few bits out of the above poem actually.

TGM: Orb wrote: MovingPictures07 wrote: June wrote: Mmm... I'm also thinking it's cliché. I wonder why people still do that then? Cheese sells? Because most people are weird. I think when you get any half-decent writer, it's not that enormously cliché. Besides, it's emotion, if you write to describe other emotions, or ideas, it only seems natural to do the same for love.

James wrote: A prayer? Not as I think it, no but I do understand what you mean. I have read very little poetry, by the way, so I am not familiar with John Donne.  I have my own rather tedious style. I think I may take a few bits out of the above poem actually.

This one is based on a few ideas... one a poem by Hammill and one a poem by William Oldys.  Oh and King Crimson, obviously.

In Absentia (Fly/Tea - not Aspic)

There sat my mug of freshly made tea;
on the coffee table; cooling down.
I was relaxing with King Crimson,
settling down into the sofa; bliss!
"The Talking Drum".
It required more volume;
more intensity.
Remote control; volume up.
I settle back down again.

It was getting more intense,
I was in my own world here.

Some Frippian whines;
David Cross violin and
wonderful Bruford drumming.
Wetton's bass setting the pace,
Muir's percussion just intense.

It was like a dream sequence.
A higher state of consciousness.

The climax, the ending.
I'm ready for Larks' Tongues... part 2.

I quickly remember my tea;
it's getting cold, it needs drinking.

I sip a bit..., good, not too hot.

A few sips later...

A coughing fit.
Eyes watering; body shaking.

I finally stop, spitting something out.

A fly.
It had got into my tea.
Still alive after its ordeal.

Larks' Tongues In Aspic.
Why not a fly in aspic?

Now it was just a Musca domestica;
In Absentia.

Geck0 - 18 July 2005.