Malpractice = No Practice

[oneirophrenia]

GAH! I tried to work a little bit on the Solo Album That Will Not Die tonight but...no dice--I just couldn't get the creative juices flowing too well. Mainly because, alas, I just don't have time to focus much on it anymore. I need to get in the proper "zone" to work on this stuff, too, since it's an unbearably miserable album and...well, I'm just not unbearably miserable these days--so I need to get worked up so sexual with a good ol' Two Minutes Hate to really put me in the mood for writing stuff. And it's just not easy to get real pissed and vindictive and slathered in self-loathing and depression when: 1) you're feeling pretty damn good because it's Hallamoween Time and the Vicodin's keeping the aches n' pains down; and 2) you literally don't have time to stir up a proper tooth-grinding bout of misogyny.

Nonetheless, I have made a small amount of progress over the last few weeks. I've finally gotten most of the songs done and exported to Cubase for mixing, effecting, and whatnot. Soon as I'm done with three more tracks (and maybe a really short [<2:00:00 long] little interlude piece I started messing around with tonight and have become somewhat fond of), I'll just start working on them in Cubase, adding vocals, maybe a little Absynth stuff here and there. The saddest thing is, this goddamned project is at least 85% finished...and has been since the first week of school. I probably won't have the time to slice the remaining 15% out of me until December, though, which fucking BLOWS. But, at least, by then, I might be able to sucker in a few session musicians to add a few other touches on real piano and guitar to this beast to truly give it that Skinny-Puppy-raping-Clan-of-Xymox sound.

I did finish a rough cut of the lyrics for "Astrocytoma" the other day, though. They're pretty short because, well, the song is only 3:00 long:

Pressurepoint wakeup call right brain to left
anima to animus declares a valentine
beneath the sheets we writhe so slowly in a glial dream
soaked through in spinal fountain bliss
curled up in shade of skull sky lit below with sleeting dreams
we lie in lies
curled up in shapes our fallen star alreadu caught deep inside a bed of brain
where one day everything will tumble down
where everyday it's tumbling down
and swelling in its knot of scar
the fist within the precious thoughts
killing pressure wrapped in dull distraction

Idaknow. I don't think it's nasty enough yet. :) Any suggestions?

Comments

[hackess.livejournal.com]

You should ask my boyfriend. He had some pretty nasty things to write about me while I was "toying" with his heartstrings. ;)

[oneirophrenia.livejournal.com]

Heh. Send that fella along my way, then! If he was also obsessed with medical equipment, metaphors based in oncology and teratology (as well as mortuary science, naturally), then so much the better!

I've often been surprised that more artists--of all stripes: poets, musicians, painters, etc.--haven't found more sick'n'twisted inspiration in the failures and horrors of medicine. Hell, I only had to read half an anatomy text and I decided instantly I would rather be an English teacher instead of a doctor...but the sheer nastiness of all that can wrong with a person medically really stuck with me and polluted a lot of my writings over the years. The fact that I really have a thing for nurse's outfits and rubber gloves really didn't help that one bit, either. :)

Nazzzdy

[jdecay.livejournal.com]

If I had to make a recommendation to make it nastier, I'd say replace the words "bliss" and "valentine" with something different. Other than that, it's pretty cool. I like the lines "shade of skull sky" and "swelling in its knot of scar" for some reason.