The singing voices faded to a sigh.
"I don't know where to go from here," I said to the last Horseman. He continued straddling his white bicycle, and I continued looking foolish - holding a plate of pie while(more) talking to Death.
He pointed to my feet. "You've got those now. Try a journey. That's what God would advise, I'm sure."
"Journey...that was the word that short woman with the sheep used. She said 'can't journey without shoes.' Oh...no, God was in my story the whole time, and I didn't even know it?" I nearly dropped my pie in disbelief.
Death rested his chin in his hand again. "She's quite a shepherd, you have to admit."
"Didn't see him here." Death smiled, revealing a flicker of white teeth. "The song is over. Time to go."
"I'd...like to say something, before I do."
"The floor is yours. Literally, you created this world."
And then I turned to you. Yes, you, at home, reading and wondering what sort of madwoman I am.
'Thank you for coming with me on this...Apocalypse. My own personal one. I can't begin to tell you...but no, you already know. You're a storyteller too. And you have Demons and Diseases, just like me. Thank you. Your readings and writings have meant so much to me.
Thank you, Atlas and Freya. You know just who you are.'
"Ok, Death, I'm ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Which way is the exit?" I took a tentative bite of pie. Cherry. Not bad, if a little disconcerting considering...well, you know.
"Follow your boots. Recommended by God, delivered by Death. Can't get more couture than that."
I started into the twilight trees. Behind me, I heard jaws dislocating.
Across the smoky room, his eyes lock with mine. In a tavern on a Friday night, people surround me with drunken noise. I’m perched up against the sidewall, dutifully out of the way—a simple onlooker. I take a sip of my Guinness and begin to observe. My friend has drunkenly(more) made her way to a man who has his arm draped over her shoulders, passively making her territorial mark for the evening. Across the shadowy room, I see others sway to the music. Some sing along with one another while others pursue banter that is only to be heard in bits and pieces over the muffled amplifier.
Why does everyone seem so absorbed in one other while I, in the most cliché of clichés, can only focus on the man playing his guitar? Could he really be looking at me? No, no. Musicians engage the audience, he is simply looking at me, but not actually seeing me. Me—the girl who is overlooked by many and seen by fewer less than few. As he strums his last few chords…”Lover, you should’ve come over. Cause it’s not too late.”
His ending breath of lyrics as his guitar solo concludes.
"I'm really not. Honestly, this dude expects me to fall head over heels for him because he pelted rocks at my window at one in the morning and crooned these awful sappy songs at me. I'm just, he(more) won't take the hint! At first I felt bad about turning him down, but now he's just being a nuisance!"
"...you know, if you keep that up you're going to dent the table. But man, he sounds like a total pain to deal with."
"I know, right? He's just so convinced he can *~change my mind~* and honestly? Honestly? That isn't going to happen. I don't care if he's a decent guy anymore, I just want him out of my life!"
"Do you want me to get rid of him for you? I could be your lesbian lover and valiantly defend your honor."
"Hah, that'd be nice, but no. I really should just deal with this on my own. I just gotta suck it up, tell it straight, and get on with my life. I'm not going to let this stalker-dude go on thinking this is an okay thing, because it isn't. It very much is NOT AN OKAY THING. And if I have to spell it out for him in bright neon lights, I will."
"My dad knows a guy, I could at least help you with half that sign."
"Really? Man, your dad sure knows a lot of people."
"...I think I might actually take you up on that. Heaven knows this guy can't comprehend anything that requires picking up on social cues."
Jake looked around at his friends. They were all starting to lose the beat. Everythig was going out of control. The opposing band, The Necromancers, were dominating their music, and they were surrounded. It wouldn't be long before their music was ended.
Jake took a deep breath. The electric guitar in his hands was heavy and unfamiliar, but it had the power they needed. He still wasn't sure he could handle it - he wanted his acoustic back - but it was too late for that. His pack hand was shaking, but he stepped away from the rythym and stepped forward, right into the opposing guitarist's "doll".
The long sword pointed at his throat was intimidating. He saw it slowly move down towards his guitar and knew it was now or never. He felt the beat of the drummer shoot out in waves under his feet, trying and failing to destabilize the guitarist's knight. Could feel the wind of the singer's words blowing past him. And then there was a spotlight on him as the back up vocals reached a crescendo.
He let it rip. His fingers flew across the strings, and his pick was a blur, up and down and up and down. The flames lept with a roar, and the sword shot away as the knight doll was engulfed. The notes climbed higher, and so did the flames, until they were so bright the spotlight meant nothing. He bent the last note as high as he could, let the sound stop, and everything was silent and cold as the flames disappeared.
The knight was nothing but ash and warped metal. Behind him, cheers. And he stepped forward, flames leaping forth once more, ready to end the song. (less)
The vision enchanted me as much as the sound. My family gathered on a porch on the island listening to my uncle Tito play his acoustic. Its wood felt orange as the sound reverberated through it. Around the hole into the chamber was a dark ring, some sort of celtic knot tying(more) it together, channelling string vibrations into the empty wood chamber and then out into the empty, open world.
Behind Tito, an red-yellow sunset danced across the ocean and its islands. His fingers twisted up down and across the strings with blue electricity. He would screw up his left foot periodically so only the tip of his toe touched the ground and the foot writhed as if it were trying to throw its energy up to his hands.
freight train freight train goin so fast
freight train freight train goin so fast
please dont tell em what train im on
so they wont know what route ive gone
All the while I watched his hands. They were magic, reincarnating into the air, casting a spell through my eyes and ears to my entranced mind. The sound was sweet and sorrowful like the last bite of your mom's cooking before you leave home.
"In folk songs, folks make up words, but they all the same" Tito spoke out between verses.
freight train freight train bury me deep
open my soul and let me sleep
stars above and world below
Lord i pray that this train don't slow
He finished with an acoustic solo, sliding those nubs he called fingers up and down that steel singing out into empty minds a medicine for any ill they been facing. Good music is like good sleep; dreams are plentiful, beautiful, and you don't remember any of it.
I keep having this idea in my mind. It plays itself over and over. It plays itself like a mini short film, only 30 seconds long. I'm in a bar, one of those swanky Irish bars, where the bartender already knows your drink and whether your gonna have sex that(more) night or not. I am wearing a black bustier, with my midriff showing. (of course in this reoccurring thought I have the body of a Greek goddess) I am on stage with some dude and we are gonna be playing for the incredibly drunk but enthusiastic crowd. He is vocals and I am the guitarist. I have a tattoo. Its a fantastic inscription written in Hebrew letters placed right on my shoulder blade. Mad sexy. The dude nods to me and I nod back. My eyes close and I start strumming Venice Queen, by Red Hot Chili Peppers. I don't even have to look at my left hand I'm so good. I just smile at crowd, a smile that says yeah I knew this shit from birth. I came out of my mama's womb with fingers that moved like lighting. I sway my body with the music, cause I can play and move at the same time. The drunks go crazy and the vocals dude keeps looking back at me, wondering where all this talent was hidden. At some point my guitar catches on fire and I keep playing.
Truth is I just started taking lessons and I'm getting pretty damn good with Ode to Joy and For He's a Jolly Good Fellow. I dropped my pick in the big hole today, but I didn't let that stop me. People like me are born to play guitar. My fingers are faster than lighting and I fished that pick right out. (less)
and followed, and followed; I leaned forward -- that solitary note had curled itself around me, and was tugging at my edges, beckoning; promising a story.
As the silence lengthened, the stronger that note had wrapped itself around me, squeezing me. This couldn't be it, could it? I sat on the edge of my seat, as though my getting closer to the guitar would somehow coax another note out of it.
Then -- creeping out of the silence, a string of notes arose, steadily announcing the introduction of the piece.
I let go of the breath I did not realize I was holding, and slid back into my chair, letting the music sweep over me.(less)
sitting at the window when
the sunlight pierced my eyes
the boredom screaming from the street side
the traffic, in my mind.
(more) but now
this everlasting Sunday song
is coursing through my veins
it cuts my legs off at my knees
and strips me of my gains
When To you
this poem dedicates
itself and runs away
the guitar solo Sunday song
is a lonesome cabaret.(less)
Gilbert likes to pretend that he can play guitar, but Lovino’s sure he’s never held a real guitar in his life. He just remembers rolling his eyes when the man decided to do air guitar solos in the kitchen after drinking a few beers, complete with obnoxious sound effects.(more) Only retreating to his room when Ludwig came home after work and just hung his head and sighed at him.
Lovino had been sighing at him for 30 minutes and the bastard hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he’d been laughing at him. He’d found the vodka that night and he can’t really remember now.
It got worse though.
Gilbert got Guitar Hero.
Now he really thought he could play guitar. He started wearing old band t-shirts and torn jeans. Lovino wanted to laugh again, because shit it was pathetic, but the look worked on him. Really worked on him.
And it wasn’t long before they were roleplaying the scene in bed. Gilbert the hot rock star and Lovino the obsessive fan. He wasn’t sure he liked that part, but it had been the only way Gilbert had agreed to it, and the man liked anything where someone was worshiping him.
Lovino just wanted those studded bracelets to leave all sorts of marks.
But Gilbert had ended up talking non-stop about his ‘guitar skills’, even as Lovino had sucked him off. And even going so far as to bring the controller to bed.
Gilbert’s rock star dreams ended with Lovino throwing the fake guitar at him and screaming he was a loser that only played the fucking flute.(less)
I don't know why, but I think the guitar solo is the best part of a song. When all the intruments do their last note, and then we hear this magic silence. It's not even a second long, but if you take your time and pay attention, you'll hear(more) it. All the calm vibrations getting more and more silent, and on the other hand, the guitar's ones getting more and more present, when suddenly, it happens. A moment of pure musical extase, when the guitar shows it's whole potential. The guitarist putting all his concentration on the strings, his fingers moving rapidly and instinctively. We can see the reflection of the six long strings in his eyes. The crowd is almost silent, enjoying the moment. Then, we hear again that short silence, when all we can hear are the guitar's vibrations getting more and more discreet. The drummer puts his hands up, and hit the snare. The magic of the guitar solo is ended, but a new miracle is happening.
Suddenly, all the instruments gets together. They are more loud than ever. The singer sings with more emotion than ever. The crowd is screaming. Again, we can feel the pure musical extase.(less)
Never play a guitar solo for Moonlight Sonata at an avid punk concert. Things go all sorts of wrong. James came to me before he went on, said he was planning on doing something special. I told him it better not be one of those punk suicides. That had(more) been the trend around that time. He said no, but turned out it was. The hall became so silent when he played. No yelling, no jumping. It was something human for a second. But when he finished it only took one guy to yell "What the fuck?!" and the whole crowd charged. Nasty sight. I barley survived myself. But that wasn't the worst hit I saw. The worst was a little later. Never ever play punk for a ballet class. They will shit you up in ways you didn't think possible. Girls and boys all. Now that was nasty.(less)
Jeff lifted his foot a little and the Taurus eased back to seventy two. He kept his eyes straight ahead, knuckles white on the wheel.
(more) "So we're not talking about this then? Just racing to get home, then what?" Julie searched his face for any sign of what was going on under the dirty cap Jeff wore every day. "She didn't mean anything alright? My mom's just...straight forward."
Jeff's eyes closed tightly for half a second. It wasn't so much that she asked about his twin brother, it's that image. All the faces turning to stare, to judge. Julie's family just waiting to see what Jeff had to say about Josh the inmate. The murderer.
Five years, it shouldn't bother him so much anymore. But when someone so close to you, genetically and physically, is capable of such...evil. People look at you differently. They watch and evaluate every move, every word, every decision. They need to know if that evil lives in you too.
Jeff realized Pink Floyd's Time was playing just as the guitar solo kicked in. He smiled before he could stop it. Josh loved this song. That thought was not helpful and Jeff quickly changed the station.
Jeff glanced over, she was still staring at him. "What is it you want me to say, huh? I'm sorry for storming out, slamming the door. You just...you don't know what it's like, the weight of all those eyes. I can't handle it."
"How can I help you handle it? What can I do?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I think maybe...I just need to get away for a bit."
He hadn't seen Josh in so long, maybe that would help. Maybe he could explain it again, why he did it. How. And what it felt like.(less)
People sit around and wait for the train. Wait for the show to begin, or wait for the party to start. Some guy at the party, usually a guy, will have his guitar with him. Eventually he starts strumming, just playing a few chords before he pulls out all the stops and(more) starts a real spontaneous jam session all by himself. Sometimes I resent this guy for all of his talent he just carries around with him on this big piece of wood with strings. Sometimes at the train station, while I'm waiting to get to the next stop I hear this music and I'm transported into another world -- A place where I have no thoughts or concerns and I only want to hear music. The places I go to in my dreams, listening to everything and nothing, and only hearing the guitar soloist strumming away. He hears nothing but the beats in his head, the chords from his finger tips and the notes from his lips.. We all gasp and gaze, but at the end of the day its just him. The man and his guitar. Playing all alone on the platform surrounded by people; or in the middle of a crowded room, standing alone.