I wonder what brought on this topic...and at this hour...
Will I ever learn?
Most likely I won't....
Suddenly, as I should have been going to bed, I felt like giving spontaneous writing a go. So here I sit now, typing away instead of catching valuable hours of sleep...
OK, so I made up a system for myself. I'll put my iPod on shuffle and write whatever comes to mind during a song. I'll let the music be my sole inspiration (it should be noted that I pay no attention whatsoever to the lyrics, just the music and melody etc.). I'll do this for the 5 first tracks my iPod randomly chooses, and each song will be a new "story".
Band - Song (playtime) <-- this is how I'll title my "stories"
Also, because of the time limit I banned any use of dictionaries etc. so I can't promise good quality stuff... Not that I think this system would create any epic stories anyway, but lack of proper wording, vocabulary and TIME might cause a lot of strangeness, so keep this in mind and be prepared for whatever!
And, here I go!
Moran - Stage Gazer (4:02)
Swirling, it is all swirling around me.
A mess of colours.
We move way too fast on the highway. I'm sure of it.
Afraid we will crash.
The lights illuminating the dark road mix in with the dark greens, blues and greys of the landscape.
My head is spinning. I should never have tried that drug, I knew something was off with it... but at the time it had seemed like a good idea.
In the middle of it all I realize I'm actually not outside. I'm in a club, dancing. The lights are flashing.
It's hot and sweaty, my clothes cling to my body. I bump into someone and loose my footing.
Falling to the floor I hit my head. No one notices...
People trample all over me. It hurts.
Kent - Ansgar & Evelyn (4:17)
Bubbles. Bubbles. Are they made of soap the little girl ponders. They float in the air, lightly, higher and higher. Where did they come from, she wonders.
She turns her head slowly, trying to locate the source of the mysterious bubbles. But, she cannot. They just seem to appear out of thin air. Then rise to the heights, until they disappear from her sight again. She reaches out a small, pale hand to touch the soapy surface of a bubble floating close to her short, wavy hair. It felt warm, and slippery. Weird.
Why would a bubble made of soap be warm? The small girl was quite astonished by this fact. Dumbstruck even. Then, working her mind to its limits, she decided the bubbles couldn't be made of soap, but some mysterious substance. Though what it was, she couldn't tell.
The Rasmus - Raggatip (3:23)
"Chill, just take it easy" that's what she says, smiling towards me lazily. I wish I could be as carefree as her. Looking at her part of me is truly envious, it seems like she has no care in the world. Completely oblivious to what others might think of her. It must be wonderful.
The pressure of today's society is really killing me. I have to please, serve and meet everyone with a smile. I'm slowly losing my sanity. That's why it's so refreshing to see her. She's wearing clothes way too big for her, and they are way too colourful to ever be considered the norm. I wish I had the courage to be me, but as things are now, I'm suffocated by society. But how I wish to be a free spirit...
Vargasången (3:08) <-- from Astrid Lindgren's "Ronia the Robber's Daughter"
In the long grass on a meadow far north the fairies are dancing.
Around and around goes their dance.
A lonely rabbit watches them in amazement as they move graciously in the damp grass, the droplets of dew glistening in the first rays of morning sunlight.
The small creatures laugh and dance, trying to lure lost wanderers to dance with them - till death - but tonight no one has spotted them. The malicious creatures couldn't be less bothered though, cheerful beings as they are by nature they take things as they come, dancing away. Enjoying themselves. There is also a day tomorrow.
Marilyn Manson - 15 (4:21)
Dull, muffled sounds can be heard each time the camel lowers its cloven hoofs down on the compact sand of the vast desert. Slowly it walks forward, at a set pace, almost invisible towards the brownish sand.
The camel is tired, it has walked for days. It's almost out of water. And, all it can see is sand.
Despair fills the camels mind. Ironic, that it, a camel, should get lost in the desert.
No oasis in sight, not for nearly two weeks.
How it longs for water. Cool, transparent liquid to quench its tiring thirst.
How long can it keep walking?
Not even the camel itself knows.
But it is determined not to give up, not yet.
And, I'm finished!
Some of the songs were much easier to write to than others, but these are the kind of images that popped into my head as I listened. It was fun, but somehow very creatively draining. I'm not physically tired, but my mind feels rather empty, in a weird way.
Even as I look at my "stories" now I can't really process what I have written, so I better head of to bed and have a more proper look at this tomorrow. Who knows, maybe I'll have some revelations while rereading all this, or perhaps I won't...
