KeiyKeiy
03-04-2008, 12:11 PM
((I need to store this somewhere, cause my account is suspended on the actual comp and firefox keeps crashing and s***t like that... So, while it's on, R&R, I guess! ^^ I just typed it up cause I need to get that feeling off my chest. I really should do my Law assignment, but the guitar...it's looking at me... T.T I'm an addict, I need help xD Oh, and I'm reasonably thick-skinned, so go ahead with the biting criticism!))
His guitar...
Is trying to get him to play. It's propped up on the chair; one, hollow eye at the centre of its being stares at him, imploring him, begging him to pick it up and to pour his sorry life out in incoherent, improvised sentences accompanied by the soft thrumming of metal and plastic strings. It's odd how one measly piece of carved wood can exert so much influence.
On one hand he knows he has to study. It's his future. The whole world in which he lives is based on one thing; how much you learn. How much better than others you can become at what you do. Striving, always striving for perfection...
And the guitar can only take him so far. For just as one man's pleasure is another's disgust, one man's song is another's mindless, earsplitting cacophony. And the boy has no wish to inflict cacophony on others. He will keep his musical musings to himself.
Once again, he looks over his shoulder. The guitar is still sitting there. Soft, gleaming black curves, interrupted so harshly by a thin, yellow and green band of gay mexican border pattern. How he hates that pattern. It disturbs the whole unity of the instrument; seems to imply that this is merely a cheap, thirty-quid Carlos with badly tuned strings and an owner who works part-time at McDonalds.
Which it is, to be honest.
But no matter. It works its spell, the boy gets up, takes it in one hand, balances it on his knee like a well-loved girlfriend. And begins to strum, oh-so-softly, terrified that his mother will slam the door open and fix him with that stare, the stare which says
"You ass, wasting your life on a piece of wood."
And he knows that the teen angst will go away some day, and he knows he'll be sorry when the time comes to leave school, but there's no stopping now.
"Hallellujah, hallellujah,
Hallellujah, hallellu-
Uuuu, llijah."
((Hallellujah by Jeff Buckley! Teh awsomeness! Yay!!! I'm gonna put it on now... if I have the CD at all... lemme check...))
His guitar...
Is trying to get him to play. It's propped up on the chair; one, hollow eye at the centre of its being stares at him, imploring him, begging him to pick it up and to pour his sorry life out in incoherent, improvised sentences accompanied by the soft thrumming of metal and plastic strings. It's odd how one measly piece of carved wood can exert so much influence.
On one hand he knows he has to study. It's his future. The whole world in which he lives is based on one thing; how much you learn. How much better than others you can become at what you do. Striving, always striving for perfection...
And the guitar can only take him so far. For just as one man's pleasure is another's disgust, one man's song is another's mindless, earsplitting cacophony. And the boy has no wish to inflict cacophony on others. He will keep his musical musings to himself.
Once again, he looks over his shoulder. The guitar is still sitting there. Soft, gleaming black curves, interrupted so harshly by a thin, yellow and green band of gay mexican border pattern. How he hates that pattern. It disturbs the whole unity of the instrument; seems to imply that this is merely a cheap, thirty-quid Carlos with badly tuned strings and an owner who works part-time at McDonalds.
Which it is, to be honest.
But no matter. It works its spell, the boy gets up, takes it in one hand, balances it on his knee like a well-loved girlfriend. And begins to strum, oh-so-softly, terrified that his mother will slam the door open and fix him with that stare, the stare which says
"You ass, wasting your life on a piece of wood."
And he knows that the teen angst will go away some day, and he knows he'll be sorry when the time comes to leave school, but there's no stopping now.
"Hallellujah, hallellujah,
Hallellujah, hallellu-
Uuuu, llijah."
((Hallellujah by Jeff Buckley! Teh awsomeness! Yay!!! I'm gonna put it on now... if I have the CD at all... lemme check...))