The Power of Music.

"And that's when we will feel the totality of our imperfection."

So last night I went with one of my best friends and his family to a concert in St. Louis for my eighteenth birthday. The concert was The Civil Wars, who were opened by White Dress. It... kind of changed my life a little bit. This is some of the overflow of my soul after this experience, pretty much describing the scene, what happened. In a poetic way, of course, because I just can't help myself. Lol. I took a little bit of creative license, so some of the actual details of what happened weren't exactly like this, but this is overall factually accurate, and utterly emotionally accurate, at least for me.

White Dress.
Blue lights and a hushed atmosphere. Spotlight beams on a blonde headed girl releasing the blues from a creamy smooth guitar. As her lip curls in time to the music, the rain pours outside, giving the impression that the tears she is keeping in are being vented through the sky. Music floods the room from the bottom to top, stealing souls and filling the listeners with emotions both felt, and never. Lip quivering, the singer bares her soul into the hush, accompanied by the minor notes of her skilled and weary fingers. She smiles with her lips to the audience when they applaud her dark veracity, but even so the sadness lingers in her eyes.

The Civil Wars.
Silence; stillness. His guitar strap makes a small rustling sound as he pulls it over his head and adjusts it. A muffled squeak as she draws the microphone stand closer. He strums the first note; they breathe the first harmony. Almost visible in the smoky air, their voices are causing heaven to softly erupt in the heaviness. Chemicals mutely flow and electrify the space in between them. No one in the audience breathes out for fear that the delving melodies they breathed in will leave their souls barren again if they do. Caught in the sweeping moment, the singer twists her hands and sways her hips deeply, eyes closed. She seems to be handling the dusty light and the damp song with her fairy hands, pulling melodies, harmonies, and soaring depression out of the crevices of the mildewed brick walls. He closes his eyes, lips softly caressing every note he sings; the guitar relates the words he leaves unspoken. Sour notes create a grimy musical bliss that shakes the core of the audience. Tender redemption is offered for the once-hardened in the emotion of the chords. Once the last chord is played the strength will return, but until then the stiffness of those listeners is wilted away. The eyes of the singers meet and a smile is in them for the bond that is created at the intertwining of their voices. Tears and applause give validation to their purpose as their audience soaks up their bared souls in ecstasy. Quietly pattering rain lends atmosphere and gives each one present a pathway to the divine. Once the guitar has strummed its final chord and the singers have breathed their final harmony, silence and stillness reign again-- not only in the air, but in every spirit who has heard the heavens break open into this night.

Vanessa. ((

Crusades.

"There is no sense in playing games when you've done all that you can do."

Foggy breath streaming from his lips, he continues in his fervent prayers. With violent exhortation he raises his hands and his voice to plead with the Lord. The blade is lifted high, and he consecrates it. Slicing open his arms, the life inside of him spills to the dust, forming a thick, sticky mud that surrounds his feet and seeps slowly into the soil.
Blood will be noticed. 
The life inside me for the life inside another.
Weakening physically, yet spiritually only strengthening, he drops to his knees, crying out.
"Lord have mercy!"
The yell fills the air; it fills his ears; it fills his lungs.
"Lord have mercy!"
And the last drop of blood is spent.
And the Lord has mercy.

Vanessa. ((




Disclaimer: I don't actually believe that this is how the Lord gives mercy, or any such skewed doctrine. This is simply my creative interpretation of the idea of the Flagellants, and pieces of the crusades.

Synesthesia.

"Empty and opaque; give your pearls to the sea."


Swirling 
I grasp the rope 
trying to keep 
above the water 
I taste the blue 
of the waves; 
they crash 
one by one, 
four by four. 
sun fulfills the 
role. 
I hear the bright 
light filling my 
skin- 
flowing over, luxuriating the soul 
with melodies yet 
unknown. 
songs melt with 
amber molded through. 
All I know- 
puffed away by a 
breath of rain. 
shimmering haze is 
what is heard. 
the scent of 
multicolored raindrops 
inhaled. 
Or teardrops? 
Who can tell? 
Not I, the cloudful 
tempest. 
Broken love song 
fills my heart, 
overflowing the 
stars of promise. 
single tune 
rains from above. 
I am floating on 
a sea of clouds, 
lightly grasping 
the mournful sky. 
The wind swirls, 
trembling between 
wakeful and 
alone.


Vanessa. ((

Growing Pains.

"Sugarcanes in the easy morning. Weather vanes, my one and lonely."

This is not mine. I really wish I could say that it was. I'd give credit to the author but I have no idea who it is..

To begin,
We start negative
Our worries and our world
We screech about our
Plagues and 
Griefs
and firepit our tombs
Our graves are dug
We step slowly
Towards the end
On broken glass
Our journey
Pure blood
and pain
But amidst all that we
See as torture
The dying soul
We reach out upon our 
Palms a light
On which we 
Guide ourselves
It brings out
Hope and peace
And heat
We brain wash our
Bodies
And spend our
Money on liquid
Drink ourselves
To bitter perfection
This light we carry
Holds maybe bits
of soul
of heart
of mind
And it turns us to people
To the flesh and bone
We peel and break 
Off our shell
Tonight, this light
We run
Melt the glass to sand
Let it slip between our
Empty toes
Run through our 
Skin to the end
We believe
See all around the leaves
The fallen trees
The dead
We open our eyes
Turn colors
Words
Over in our mouths
Bite sour
Candy and listen
To the songs, the rustle
Of the Earth
Makes ears
We breathe 
And all around our charge 
Is positive
All around we shake 
Bounce 
Molecule
To molecule
Never stopping
We push
Against the negative
Rub
and rub
Wrong
and wrong
We dance
and bite
and shout
We become a force
As we
Crash and create
Light
Surreal
We disperse 
Shatter in the sky
Boom
Irresponsibly
Lightning
We become
Tonight
The sky will light
Shine for moments
Heat
Open to reveal.


Vanessa. ((

Believing is Seeing.

"If all our life is but a dream-- fantastic posing greed-- then we should feed our jewelry to the sea. For diamonds do appear to be just like broken glass to me."

When I open my eyes,
you'll be here,
I tell myself.
And I open my eyes,
and again--
I'm alone.

Seeing is not
believing,
when what you see
is the
falsity of life.
When what I see
are your eyes,
blue
and
wide,
looking into mine
with nothing more than a
dream
in which to collide.

When I open my eyes,
you'll be here,
I tell myself.
And I open my eyes,
and again--
I'm alone.

Giving in to the
tide
is not wise.
Neither is
giving in to your
heart.
If only dead fish
go
with
the
flow,
then what am I?
A dead fish,
I suppose...

When I open my eyes,
you'll be here,
I tell myself.
And I open my eyes,
and again--
I'm alone.

There are nights
that yield no sleep to my
meandering
thoughts
and my
dried-out
eyes.
No future;
I tell myself.
No future.
But in my
weary heart,
somehow,
eternal springs hope.
So I tell myself,
that when I open my eyes,
you'll be here.
But I open my eyes,
and again--
I'm alone.

Vanessa. ((

Creative Writing.

"Now I am floating away, lost in a silent ballet."

Okay so, in my Creative Writing class we have this awesome book that we do exercises from. I sort of liked the turn out from this assignment, so I thought I'd post it. It was a collage essay, where we had to write little paragraphs or sentences from different prompts, then put the whole thing together and see what came out. It was interesting to me. Some of the stuff has nothing to do with each other, well most of it doesn't, but somehow it all came together a little. So... Yeah. Here it is.

Covered in a cherry pattern, the toe separator is stretched and slightly worn from years of use and abuse. I never liked using it, but my sisters would always force me to sit still while the acrid smell of nail polish filled my nostrils, and my toenails were separated by cherries and adorned with gaudy liquid.

I cover my eyes as the tears flow violently. The most terrible sound I could ever imagine in my little world is coming true—my father is tearing apart my swing set. Sharp creaks and loud groans are emitted from the rusty metal. I throw myself on the ground, still sobbing, my clothes becoming damp from the dewy spring grass. “Dad! Stop it!” I scream, as I shake with the flow of my emotion. I don’t care that the old swing set is much too hazardous for me to continue to play on, or that we’re getting a new one. How could dad rip my swing set to pieces and take them to the junkyard? That’s my beloved swing set! He says it’s for the best. I don’t see how that could be possible.

Dying to yourself is the only way to have new life.

How much influence does where I come from and the choices I’ve made have on who I am today?

Walking down the starlit street, attempting to calm the racing of my heart, I made conversation with my friend that didn’t make any sense. My gaze moved nervously from the stars to the streetlights to the dark silhouettes of the suburbian houses. After what seemed like a lifetime we reached the corner, and as I turned it my breath was stolen from me by the sight of my favorite person. He smiled and I began to breathe again, but just barely. Throwing myself into his arms, breathing in deep the comforting smell of sweat and sweet deodorant, I sigh, and murmur, “I missed you.” He holds me tight, and returns the sentiment. We lie down in the middle of the road beside each other and hold hands, looking up at the stars. Not much conversation is held; not much is needed. What are our friends doing? We couldn’t care less. Their existence has faded into the background of the scene. After a while we know we should go. In his arms once more, I simply breathed, and I knew this moment would be etched forever in my memory. As we were walking away, I heard the sound that tore apart my world. A vehicle, racing down the hill, engine roaring. My father’s eyes met mine through the windshield. I knew that when I got home, he would say it was for the best, and he would rip my world apart. I hated him for it. He would say it was for the best, but at the time, I didn’t see how that could be possible.

God says, “The end will justify the pain it took to get us there.”

Vanessa. ((