A Sound Militia
I went into the anatomy lab with my group today to finish up some of the dissections we had started and even though Henrietta was less than cooperative, we managed to ID her biceps, triceps, and the most difficult of all: her suboccipital triangle, in about an hour and a half. At one point, it took four of us two tries to turn her over from her back to a face down position. Surprisingly, the whole thing ended up taking about half the time I thought it would so when I got home I had some extra time to record one of the demos I didn’t get a chance to yesterday. Then it was off to Sarah Wilson’s for some more storyboarding of what will hopefully be a most hilarious scene. Then coming back home, I found time to record the second demo I had talked about earlier.
I think I probably made up for the lack of productivity yesterday. In fact, right now I could post both of these demos but alas!, I will only release this one tonight for several reasons, not the least of which being I would like to wash out the audible bitterness I’m about to release with something lighter and more tasteful later in the week.
This is probably the meanest, dirtiest song I’ve ever completed and it carries those attributes in several ways. For one, I didn’t bother to clean up any of the clips. They only contain the slightest hints of any mixing. This is probably the sloppiest recording I’ve ever produced. It’s rough. Really rough. I find it more disgusting than the last demo I posted using my cheap voice recorder. This is one of those rare instances where I chose to go with quantity rather than quality when it came to the amount of instruments I wanted on the track. Then, what will be obvious after one listen through, I think the lyrics are… um…brutally honest. And if I were to be honest right now, they are really just leftovers from the Outwatch the Bear project.
This song was not supposed to exist.
By all of my predictions and prior inclinations, I wasn’t going to write any more songs like this for a long, long time. I didn’t think I could. I didn’t want to.
So why post it then? Why go through the trouble of recording a halfhearted version of this monster and then release it into the wild?
Well, the answer to those questions is of the same type that I imagine gave validation to the actions which produced the emotional response that triggered this song.
Because I can.
“Arrows, Aim, Release (The Wolves)”
I thought a thousand suns would purge the place
Where I’ve kept the most toxic sort of sentiment
For everyone who watched me as I grew
Then swung an axe and cut me down from right above the root.
But there’s a timeless quality about
The brown-eyed ghosts who come back to haunt me in this house
From where they congragate across the bay
Making love to their egos while I suffocate.
Friendship flows between the synapses of my mistakes.
It’s beautiful in the most repulsive kind of way.
One by one the zippers of the sheep came undone
And the wolves slid out from underneath
Breaking off the branches in their mouths
And running out with the souvenirs between their teeth.
And I wondered what the Shepherd felt and thought
As He watched these creatures He had called his flock
Tear apart this thing that bore him fruit
And then as grace sold herself off as a prostitute.
It’s not like I am fond of all my phantom limbs.
But God I’ve tried and I just can’t seem to forget.
So I line them up along a wooden fence
Taking aim and shooting arrows through the rotten cores
That they have placed like halos on their heads
As if to say that the world I love is theirs to whore.
And tiny birds throw dirt over the truth
That all their fires were started with a stolen match
While foreign urns continue their abuse with painted smiles
But on the inside they still harbor death.
And then there’s one who bites off more than she can chew
Then throws up blood but returns within a year or two.
I heard the children play across the interstate
To critical acclaim while dancing on the grave they dug for me.