#melodise | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovejosephquinn · 1 year

Note

Imagine making dinner with Joseph listening to Queen, dancing around the kitchen together and “Bohemian Rhapsody” starts to play. Head-banging together, Joseph using the spatula as a microphone and throwing pasta up in the air as fake confetti. The kitchen is a mess but you’re beaming as you watch him- this is it. This is your “I finally made it moment.”

The last notes of the song die down from your speaker and the lyrics to a new song begin to play instantly. You both recognise it within the first few seconds.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide no escape from reality…

Joes ears prick up at the sound of Queen and his whole body starts to move erratically towards you, snatching the towel out of your grasp and pulling you from the sink from where you’d just washed your hands.

“I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.” Joe puts on his best Freddie Mercury voice as he melodises into your ear, his arms wrapped around you in a force so heavy that you can’t help but melt inside his touch.

“Anyway the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to me…” he continues and you decide to swing yourself around to meet his eye. “To meeee.” You finish and as the song continues its slow starting pace, the sound of the piano notes blasting through the speaker see’s him mimicking them, clicking his tongue to the beat. You can’t help but smile and sigh contently watching your boyfriend feel the music. With that, Joe’s lips meet yours in a significantly warm kiss, parting slightly to close as much space between you as possible. You’re swaying side to side in unison, foreheads pressed together as the song starts to build up, its all quite romantic.

The pans boiling water is ready to have it’s content poured into it now but you’re currently stood in the middle of your kitchen being spun around and dancing stupidly to the sounds of Bohemian Rhapsody building up and up, getting to the best part, it’d be ridiculous to quit now. The highest Galileo he can manage almost damages Joe’s vocal chords but he completely insists straight away that was his queue to sing.

You take it in turns throwing the words back and fourth at one another.

I’m just a poor boy nobody loves me.

He’s just a poor boy from a poor family, spare him his life from this monstrosity.

Easy come easy go, will you let me go?

Bismillah no! We will not let you go!

Joe screeches “let him go!” repetitively and you now face each other in what looks like it could be a dual, he grabs the nearest kitchen appliance, wrapping his hand around the spatula and begins to wave it around in the air like a conductor for an orchestra. You’re trying to continue singing, but the way he’s got you in a trance, laughing so hard and so quickly at his actions.

You decide to join him, grabbing a hold of a whisk and putting it to your mouth like a microphone as the last part before the moment you’ve both been waiting for commences.

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me…

For me…

For MEEE!

You break down like a couple of rockstars, head banging the best you both can muster. Joe’s air guitar keeps the stitches of laughter in your stomach going. Yelling the lyrics into your microphones once more, just plainly singing along. Joe grabs the bag of pasta that’s sat on the countertop waiting to be used, instead he proceeds to grab a handful and release it into the air as confetti would fall to the crowd at a concert.

“Oh baby, can’t do this to me baby! Just gotta get out; just gotta get right out of here!” You move closer to one another, relinquishing the area you’d just been using to dance like mad people to join at each others side once more.

Joe takes the whisk out of your hand and doesn’t even look where he puts the objects, just releasing them out of his clutch to grab them once more as the song slows and comes to a close.

Your foreheads pressed together again as you sing the last parts square in each others faces. The vaping water from the pan sets the scene for you both from the overly boiled water.

Any way the wind blows…

Your heart could burst, butterflies were roaming around the entirety of your body. You feel pumped and so god damn happy that you’ve shared this one slight moment with him. The way he can go from romantic to completely silly with you in a matter of seconds was one of the many reasons why you loved Joe so much. His flare for dramatics shone on in a way that was so dear to you and it was clear that you had reached the one goal you’d set in your life; to be loved back just as much.

#my asks #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fluff #chocolate button eyes #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn smut #joe quinn x reader #joe quinn fluff #joe quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x fem!reader #joseph quinn fanfiction

191 notes · View notes

invisiblethinking · 1 month

Text

4/15/24

sometimes there are no extra thoughts and nothing much to be said. i feel like this happens often. it is like a song that melodisizes itself through a series of movements and conundrums. don't speak too soon, or you may loose a piece of yourself (or better yet, create a piece for someone else). does any of this make sense? i wish there were more words sometimes, but often there is just nothing. nothing. nothing. oh, what IS there to do?

0 notes

salisburyhare · 6 months

Text

GOD OF THE SEA

Longlisted in the Page & Blackmore Competition, 2021

“September 6th—We have seen the sea in its calmest and in its fury, and we must acknowledge the wonderful works of God, for what man can set a boundary to this expanse of water?”

Excerpt from the 1809 diary of John King, one of the first Christian missionaries to New Zealand.

You come from over the waters like a new and living promise. You are the word made flesh—you are the mouth made man. Gulls squall their rubbery language and the ocean glitters like rippling scales. You think back to being five, acting out Moses parting the waters to a cohort of ruddy relatives. Your mother, buckled and bristling in her new sage-green dress, pulling out a swathe of blue silk and billowing it in the air, letting it catch and bulge like liquid. This will do for the water, she had said. This will part nicely.

A silver fish flickers beneath the waves and you picture it multiplying, becoming a school, a bestiary—a moving feast. You will feed every strange mouth in this new land, you think—you will bring the words that will make them clean: Lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

This will do for his staff, said your Mother, and dislodged an axe from the shed. She put it into your hands and your memory is faulty, it was so long ago, but you swear the wood writhed, serpentine, between your palms.

On the tenth day at sea the cook dies and is given a water burial: we therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body. Your voice wraps around the deck like a thick black snake and the cook drops like a stone or a man in a noose. The sky overhead is blue and heavy with charging lightening, backlight-glowing. In your diary you have started counting the numbers of dead among the sheep and pigs. On the back page now you make a slow, black mark for the numbers of dead men. You could hope that the mark remains solitary. You could hope that no one else will die. You could.

You stay awake long after the others have retreated into the darkness below deck. You watch the sky shake out like shining foil, glittering like the sea if all the salt turned into light. If the cook is resurrected in his body you picture him shaking back to life like some pale deep-sea creature, blind-eyed and albino from the darkness, lungs full of salt so he glows from within.

On the twenty-seventh day a plague of locusts descends upon the ship. They are thick-bodied, thudding into the wooden mast like a head beaten again and again upon dry earth. A day of clouds and blackness, you think. There is a crack in the boards above you—you look up and the sky is bristling with bodies like shrunken angels. They are four-winged—shelled and skeletal, terrible with eyes. In the heat’s delirium you hear them saying in their voice of many voices a mighty army comes, such as never was in ancient times nor ever will be in ages to come.

Someone brings a dead locust below deck and its iridescence seems to take light like a black nebula, like a hole or a pit in the sky. You hold out your hand for it. You are struck by the sickening thought that you could touch it to your lips like a burning ember, leave your mouth a nest of singing scabs, melodising repentance. The thought makes you laugh. The laugh makes you hurt.

These will do for the Egyptians, says the voice of your Mother, and in your mind she raises her arms to the sky as above her it blackens with thousands of shivering bodies.

Some weeks after this you cross the line of the equator, and one of the sailors dresses up as Old Neptune, the God of the sea. He glints in the sunlight, and in the years to come your memory will colour him in swathes of cardinal and purple, whirling around the passengers like a frenzied dervish. He laughs belly-deep and the long shadows of seabirds flicker his face in and out of sunlight.

The sailors he heals with his hands. The emigrants—dirty, weary, teeth aching—he christens with salt water. He glitters in the sun like Egyptian chariots swallowed by the Red Sea, still drifting in the black deep in all their finery, bejewelled and perfectly preserved. You wonder if their white eyes look up to the shapes of circling sharks and mistake them for descending angels.

Later that night you stand in the darkness watching Saint Elmo’s Fire flicker in the sky above you. You are an educated man—you know that colour and glory are themselves children of science, which is a creation of God. You know something explicable happens in the air above; something measurable.

But still—you feel salt crusting dry on your forehead like a mirror of the stars overhead, and you think what man, small as a toy on black water and dwarfed infinitely, would not look to the cosmic brain above and forget where it ends and he begins?

You are nearing the end of your journey. You know this means you are nearing the beginning of your journey. A great white cloud like a cotton curtain coils along the skin of the sea, Mount Egmont tipping above it like a crystalline promise. You are put in mind of speaking pillars, rippling columns, impossible vastness. From this cloud comes not a sublime voice, but the rubbery twanging of new birds: a Babel of their songs.

You are standing at the prow and you feel the insistent press of children at the backs of your knees as they flock to see their new land. You rest your hands on their heads and see again your mother, smiling down at you from her green height, a yellow bowl like a concave sun held between her hands.

This will do for God, she had said, balancing it on the windowsill where it pooled with sunlight like a bowl full of fire.

#longlibrary

0 notes

maroua1234 · 1 year

Text

MID AUGUST

Mid August Gloriously blue sky The sound of the waves melodise my ears Endeavouring to ravish the souriness of life A bright blue butterfly stopped next to me Omening life’s beauty Suddenly I’ve seen you from my beach hut Pondered to enjoy you But something on me reversed I’ve never been afraid of love But after knowing you I’m terrified of it. WordPress

View On WordPress

#Blog #bloggers #blogging #Lifestyle #poem #poems #poetry #wordpress #wordpress writer #writer #writing

1 note · View note

loopyarts · 2 years

Photo

So, I got into a game called fuga melodises of steel on the switch, which is apart of the tail bronx series; fell in love with the lore and world and decided to draw Teruteru as a brown tuxedo cat inspired by the world of cat people and dog people for fun.

I might do the others in dr2 and some from other dr games if I have ideas for them, I might make an au comic if I feel like it maybe.

#teruteru hanamura #teruteru #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #fuga melodies of steel #furry art #anthro #au of the tail bronx series

18 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

heiress - 3

pairing: bucky barnes x oc!reader

a/n: this is part three of a four part series based on a song lyrics sent to me by an amazing anon with a reader based on my favourite oc brought to you by me listening to turning page from sleeping at last so i decided to add a quote. hope you enjoy xx

“letters strewn across your bedroom floor. such beautiful words but you can’t remember who they’re for“

“if i had only felt the warmth within your touch. if i had only seen how you smile when you blush or how you curl your lip when you concentrate enough i would have known what i was living for all along”

previous chapter

She entered her past as she stepped into the right wing room. She remembered this room, she remembered it way to well from the shelves on the walls and the book cabinets to the burning smell it still somehow held even after all these years. Her eyes gazed from side to side until they turned purple and ghosts of her memories started to take form. Her eyes widened as she stepped back, trying to run away from the room until two hands grabbed her arms into place forcing her towards the chair where he was, long hair hitting his jaw, strapped like a wild animal. She struggled against the two men, trying to free herself from their hold, yet it didn’t budge, they kept holding her into place as if she was being punished.

- Wipe him again. - one of the men in a lab coat said in a thick Russian accent as the chair lowered down towards an electric head lock. His screams inundated her mind like daggers. Her breath quickened as she started to move her arms to try and get freed for them, to try and help them.

- STOP! PLEASE! - she yelled out, begged as she continued to try and free herself from the two men holding her arms until she fell on her knees. An agony filled scream passed through her lips, overpowering his own screams as a wave of white glow expanded from her to the corners of the room.

- Y/N! - her head was tucked into her legs as someone held her shoulders. Her breathe came out into fast, short paced puffs as he lifted her head to see Bucky standing in front of her holding her arms. What scared her wasn’t him but what surrounded her as she looked around to see everything that laid across the room was gone, the walls itself interrupting from being walls into being made of white glow, her eyes completely white.

- Get away from me. - she pushed away from Bucky, unsure of what she had done, unsure of what she had seen. - I don’t wanna hurt you, I don’t wanna hurt you again.

- Look at me. - he ignored her pushing him away, walking up to her again and lowering himself down to her level. His blue eyes met her completely white ones as he wondered what to do. He didn’t know what to do. - Breathe, okay?

- Okay. - she felt the air enter and exit her lungs slowly as she stared into his blue eyes, so calm.

- GET AWAY FROM HER! - a red glow pushed him away from Y/N to reveal Wanda and Sam who had come to her rescue the moment they heard her scream. She rushed from the door to her friend, holding her hands in hers while Sam went to check on Bucky. - What’s wrong? What did he do? I can’t read his mind.

- He didn’t do anything. I ... I lost control. - Y/N looked down at her hands and at the room which was slowly returning to its normality, with the objects slowly returning. - I don’t know what happened. I walked in and ... it just exploded.

- Guys, we found it. - Monica spoke over the intercom. Y/N’s eyes lingered over to where Wanda had effortlessly thrown Bucky too, an apologetic look, yet she couldn’t understand his look. It was curious almost too curious as if he was looking for clues in her face. Wanda protectively draped her arm over her back, pushing her away from the room which was still haunted by a white-like glow.

She knew that memory, the one she had been stuck in. It was a much too familiar memory of several times she had been punished by watching them ... by watching them hurt him. Madame B was many things but she was a smart woman, a smart woman who carefully plucked out every fear her girls had and used them against them if any stepped the line. Bucky had been one fear too easy to spot, having seen Y/N step up to a guard who had harmed him even after the much taller man had thrown her to a ground. It was a haunted memory for her. - they would always hold her and make her watch as they hurt him. She still remembered his screaming, blood curdling, pain filled screams. Seeing it again, being in that room and have him come to her was just too much.

Yelena and the rest of the team had been left in the dark about everything that had happened. It was best that way; she did not need more people worrying about things she should’ve already figured out. However, Agatha was right and that she knew. Whatever the soul stone had given her was easily uncontrollable if she was in a messy state. If someone had answers it had to be Agatha yet she had learned that dealing with her was a monkey’s paw.

Bucky on the other hand couldn’t stop looking at her. The more he did, the less foggy the memories became from the very time he had seen her to the last time he did. All he could fixate however was on a broken promise he had made her the last time he had seen her. I will find you, I promise. Such pretty words, such a beautiful promise, almost worthy of being in a poem but the truth is, he hadn’t been looking for her. He had memories of her in patches, memories of what he had felt for her and now she was there. He wondered if she remembered him, if she knew who he was. If she remembered ... maybe she didn’t. After all HYDRA and the Red Room had a particular talent at destroying memories with a swift ability. He watched as she listened to Monica explain what they had found and what not, her hair escaping the grip of her ponytail held up by a red piece of fabric tied in a small bow.

- Promise me you’ll remember I love you. - his own ghost voice melodised into his hearing along with the sound of rain against window panes. It wasn’t raining and he wasn’t speaking. - Because they’ll make me forget and you have to remember. You have to remember so you can remind me.

- You won’t forget it. - he could hear her voice as he looked at her but Y/N wasn’t even looking at him. He wondered when she had told him that, he wondered if he had reassured her, he wondered if she remembered when he had told him that. There was so much he still didn’t know but it came in waves, it came in waves explaining what it was. Wanda, however, was staring at him, head slightly cocked to the side in a menacing manner. He looked at the Sokovian woman, trying to read her but he couldn’t. Her mood was a simple as someone keeping her eye on him.

The small plane landed just outside the hex; Yelena jumping from the harbour onto the wilderness the first, followed by Alexei and Monica who were excited enough to study the new notebook but Y/N lingered behind. Flashes of what had just happened rushing through her mind as she stared at the blank wall of the small plane and then back to her hands which were trembling.

- Matter manipulation is messy, isn’t it, dear? - a voice shook her from her own mind. Looking around there was no one but her. She put her hand over her holster, ready to shoot at nowhere.

- What are you doing? - she turned around to see Wanda approaching the jet, having broken apart from the group to check on Y/N. - We need to talk. It’s about Bucky.

- What about Bucky? - she climbed out of the jet to met Wanda.

- I can’t read him anymore. - she sighed. - Did you maybe by accident expanded your “shield” to him too?

- This is not Twilight, Wanda. I cannot expand whatever it is I have.

- Well, I don’t trust him. - she shrugged. - What happened in the Red Room?

- Oh, it was nothing. - she lied, it was something but she did not want to worry Wanda. She didn’t want to worry anyone, she just wanted to get into the hex and go to sleep and that’s just what she did.

She forwent the meeting, last thing she needed was to hear about the Winter Soldier. If there was someone who knew more about the Winter Soldier than the person himself was her and that knowledge was tainted with memories that she wished to relieve yet forget. Laying against her bed she starred at the white ceiling of her bedroom, raising her fingers to play around with the white mist that surrounded them at her will. Element manipulation, that’s what she did. That’s what her file said, that’s what SWORD told her yet element manipulation wouldn’t have made a full room’s objects disappear. Whatever it was, whatever HYDRA and her father had put in her she didn’t know. She always seemed to be the last to know of things that concerned her. Bringing her hand down, she rolled in bed to lay on her side, watching her door with sleepy eyes, hoping she could go to sleep. Of course the universe had different plans as once she felt herself waver between to conscious and unconscious world, she heard a knock against her door. Groaning, she got up from the warmth of her bed and padded towards the door, opening it to slightly to see Bucky standing there.

- Sergeant Barnes, everything okay? - she leaned against the side of her door, staring him up and down.

- Yes, I just wanted to give back the letters Monica Rambeau gave to me. I assume you and your team will be able to decode them better than me ... I guess. - he handed her the stack of letters worn out by time and his own hands. Her eyes moved up from the letters to his eyes, looking for any type of game he could be playing with her. - I guess with you being Pierce’s daughter and all ... maybe he commented with you.

- Ah ... - she forced a smile upon her lips as she took the letters. - You know, I haven’t spoken with my father since I was 10.

- I didn’t me ...

- He didn’t really try to reach out to me either. - she interrupted him. - The only person he has reached out while in prison has been Fury. I don’t even think he would know what I look like.

- I didn’t mean to offend you.

- You didn’t. - she sighed, hand pushing her own hair back. - I wish I could apologise better for what he did to you but I really wouldn’t know how I’d do it.

- I wouldn’t want you to apologise.

- You don’t even know how many apologies I actually owe you. - she looked down to her feet before looking at him. - ... because of my father, I mean.

- Well... if anything there helps. - he put his hands on his pockets. - Or if you know who they’re for ... let me know.

She stood against her door as he left right after that sentence, watching him disappear in the long hallway probably to return to his bedroom. It didn’t really matter, really, she told herself. Yet part of her knew Bucky was much more observant than she could ever be so if there was nothing she could find in those letters. Nevertheless, the most curious side of her nature only wanted to know what is, so she did. She sat down in her bed and grabbed the first letter, pushing it from the envelope onto the comforter. She recognised his handwriting, a bit more messy, probably rushed in ran out ink. He probably had stole one of the sign in sheets old pens which barely worked.

Y/N faltered, refusing to focus on his writing, on his words to her. She knew they were dated after she had ran away from the Red Room and she didn’t want to read his words to her after she had abandoned him. It was too much yet the more her eyes read the date, the more courage she got. Might as well get her heart broken and move on with her life.

Dear Daisy,

today I remembered you and it is probably silly to be writing it down mostly because I don’t expect you to ever read it but if I write it down at least I can remember you again if they make me forget. I remembered the first time I ever saw you yet mentioning it now feels weird as I don’t even know if you knew I had seen you. You had a black bodysuit I am almost certain and black ballerina shoes dancing up to some monotonous music with your hair pushed back with some old red fabric in a small bow. It just came to me staring at that piano myself, maybe as long as that piano exists I won’t forget you yet I don’t know if it will hurt less to remember you or to forget you. All I know is, the moment they send me out I will find you. I promise I will find you.

Well, the two of them were good at broken promises, she thought to herself. Maybe he had reminded himself to find her and chose not to after assessing her actions, maybe he didn’t even remember she existed or what her voice was. She hoped the later was true. She wouldn’t know what to say, what to do if he remembered her. Years ago she used to picture it in her naive mind; running to him, hugging and kissing like in a picture perfect rom com. Now she just wouldn’t know what to say other than beg on her knees for his forgiveness. Not that she deserved it. At least she had that in common with her father, both owed James Barnes an apology which could never be accepted.

Y/N shoved whatever was left of those letters under her bed, hoping to bury them in the same place she buried all her worries. What use was going back to the past? It hadn’t been kind to her then, it wouldn’t be kind now so there was really no use in dwelling in what could’ve been. In what she could’ve been. Childish whims. She let her thoughts simmer, lull her into sleep until she was back into that place, that room which had made her into what she was now. She looked down, dressed in the issued black shirt and leggings, small gun in hand. She looked to the side, Madam B. standing near her in her impecable blue suit with a wood board under her arm.

- It’s just this one and you are gonna win. - she gave her a smile but it wasn’t warm, it was cold, too cold. - Just shot the target, darling.

- What if I fail? - she looked at the person tied to the chair, bag over the head.

- You can’t fail. - the assistant pulled the bag from over the target to reveal Bucky. She took a step behind, faltering as her grip loosened over the gun she was holding. - Shoot him.

- I can’t.

- Shoot him.

- I can’t ... I won’t.

- Fine, then I’ll do it. - she grabbed the gun from her and rose it up to Bucky’s head. She tried to run, to try and put herself in front of her but she was stuck, she was stuck ... and then bang.

She rose from her bed in terror, sweating, breathes coming in and out as fast as they could as she looked around to see the walls of her bedroom. She was safe, she was safe, she was not there. He was safe. Looking down at her hands, the shivering had become and this time it bothered her. She looked weak, frail ... just like her father had described her before, like SWORD and HYDRA described her. Y/N jumped off her bed, running away from her bed to try and find the bathroom or the kitchen ... somewhere she could wash her shivering hands, somewhere she could drown her face in cold water just somewhere. She rushed through the kitchen doors and to the sink, turning on the water before putting her hands under the running water.

- Y/N? Are you okay? - she had rushed so fast into the kitchen she hadn’t even noticed someone else was already there. She turned her head from the sink to look at Bucky but what she saw made her put her hand in front her mouth. He was there, long hair ... with a wound shot on his forehead. She turned her head back to sink, watching her reflection in the sink, her eyes glowing white. - Y/N?

She looked over her should back to him, that look ... what he looked like was gone. He had short hair, healthy skin, no wounds but she had seen it, she had seen it. Bucky noticed the discomfort in her face, taking a step back once he noticed his arm was on full display along with its scars. Sometimes he forgot about how he looked, about how he could freak people out.

- Sergeant Barnes, I’m so sorry ... I didn’t mean to scare you.

- Are you okay? - he wanted to reach out to her, be comforting but he barely looked like a comforting man. - You look shaken up.

- Yeah, I just ... bad dream really. Quite childish.

- It’s not childish. I get them all my time, my therapist say it’s normal.

- I have no reason to have them. - she leaned against the counter. - Why are you here? Midnight snack?

- Just had to think about some stuff and Sam snores. - he joked around, smiling once he saw her lip curl slightly upwards. - I have a question for you. You read those letters, right?

- One of them. Why?

- Do you think she might have loved me?

- Pardon?

- I will reword it. Did you love me?

taglist: @lookiamtrying

56 notes · View notes

thehoax · 4 years

Text

the violins throughout, the tiny ding before “a name dropping sleaze” mimic the sound of metal (something heavy) dropping. the clever wordplay on “wordsworth” when the last chorus evolves into the ever saddening bridge... the terms of endearment “my muse” “my beloved” “my calamitous love” to fabricate the grief, the romance of it all. when the music stands still for a millisecond after the line “i haven’t moved in years” and then melodises into the way taylor says “and i want you right here” in the most sombre, yearning lilt of voice possible, all hail the lakes.

#this is my only big brain post #folklore #the lakes #amber rambles #maybe pinning this?

134 notes · View notes

muzeez · 4 years

Text

4th April 2020

1:18am

The World Needs You Now

youtube

I've always written songs, without the aid of instruments or anything. Mostly, I make a conscious effort, to sit down with a pen and my notepad and it's just words with no melody. Occasionally though, I could be out and about with no pen and paper or intention of writing and suddenly a harmony and verse/chorus will start whirring round my mind. At that point I'll find somewhere private if I can and record it with my phone. There's been many of times when I've been at work and I'll tell my colleagues I'm going to the toilet. Instead, I'll be sat on the toilet seat with my phone right up to my mouth, hurriedly whisper singing as much as I can, to come back to later.

When I make the conscious effort to sit down and write a song (I aim for one per day), there's no melody yet. It's just words on paper, saying what I feel and want to express in that moment. It might be that someone has annoyed me that day and the lyrics are an expression of the things I wished I'd the guts to say to their face. Because I know it's just me, a pen and blank paper, I don't hold back.

It might be just blatant venomous raw anger, with nothing contrived about it. I'm just writing outrageous insults down. To get it off my chest. Like the one above.

Other times, there's something else happening. Something a little more poetic and less sweary. It might be an expression of love, confusion or an attempt to understand something in my mind.

'The World Needs You Now' is one of the songs that began with me sitting down and writing words on paper, with no melody.

It was a Saturday, and I'd gone to work that day my usual self. Feeling good, feeling love, being friendly and upbeat but as with most days, it seemed people were just being horrible to me, like they were irritated by me.

I spent all afternoon, getting ignored, people looking through me, people being abrupt, sneering, ignorant, cold, alienating. I got the general feeling like I was just a piece of shit to them. Customers as well as colleagues.

I mean, it's like that just about everyday but this particular day I was feeling extremely sensitive to it and when I got home I got it off my chest on paper.

I couple of days later, I came back to it and started to melodise it. I was adding lyrics and the meaning of the song was evolving. It was no longer just about me and how I felt that Saturday afternoon. It was also about how people are with eachother and how people are towards the world, the climate. The ignorance, the selfishness, the spiteful meaness and the disdain and lack of compassion that people have toward nature, animals, their complacency about climate change. I felt like I was channeling Greta Thunberg.

Anyway, I put the song on the back burner. Then came the arrival of Covid-19, first in Wuhan and as I watched the news I watched it grow and grow, hitting Italy, hitting Spain. Then there were the first single digit cases here in the UK, then those numbers started to grow and grow and the fear and urgency was also growing. Then two weeks ago we were forced to lock up shop, as Britain went into lockdown.

So now I'm in self-isolation, with all this time on my hands. I went back to the song 'The World Needs You Now' and I saw that I could draw an extra layer of meaning and also irony.

One minute, there's the imminent threat of climate change and environmental activists such as Greta Thunberg demanding that people sit up and realise that time is running out and if people don't change their behaviours and their attitudes the world as we know is going to end. The next minute, the whole world changes their behaviour. Planes are grounded, cars are of the road, alot of profit making businesses large and small are shut, the whole world stops. Not because of the urgent warnings from the environmental activists but because of Covid-19, a new virus that is spreading like wildfire, killing thousands. On the one hand Coronavirus is a global catastrophe, on the other, it's possibly a saviour.

I wanted to put music to the song and I found a playstore app where I could use hiphop samples to put a bit of beat and sound behind my voice. It took me hours and hours and hours to just do the first part of the song. Cutting, copying and pasting sound loops and dragging them to the right spots. It was so difficult and laborious doing it on my small phone screen and I couldn't seem to get the tracks in sync with eachother.

With the part of the song I'd managed to make sound feasible, I downloaded youtube video editor and after browsing my phone for carefully chosen images, I started to synch the images with the music. That was also a tedious task, putting the images in order and changing the duration of each individual image to match the narrative of the song.

1 note · View note