podcasts

There are so many dandelions to choose from.

Exiled to the edge of the pavement they stare
--in such a happy way.
It looks so easy.
Why haven't they floated away
yet? Why do I have to help?
They look so soft, so
quiet.
Trustworthy. I can trust them.
They look nice.
Feather faces & whitewashed
glass. Fragile like
glass.

The stems droop in bittersweet smiles.
They're endearing, mesmerizing.
Really, really
mesmerizing.
The wind is so sweet and nice and
quiet, so
quiet.

I could count...
one, two, three, four
five, six, seven billion opportunites, there are.

W,
I sit down at my desk (my little white desk, in the corner of my room), to write you a letter that sounds more like a poem than an angst-ridden & tear stained love letter. I love you (I love you. These things always sound better when said twice). I would call you "darling" on paper, but I really only call you that in my mind. I call you lots of things in my mind. I call you "Love" & "Darling" & "my boyfriend". One time I read something that said to avoid calling people those things. So I do.
Sometimes I miss you so much it hurts & I have some secrets:
i. I cry myself to sleep pretty consistently, almost every night.
ii. I never stop missing you.
iii. Loving you has forced me to stop hating myself so much.
iv. I still hate myself sometimes.
v. Sometimes I worry that you'll wake up & forget why you love me.

Dearest,
We've never met. I don't know you & you don't know me. I saw you crying outside a diner. If the general population is correct, we are 6 degrees apart. If this were a letter I were actually going to send & if this were a letter you were actually going to read then I would ask you what their name was. Who were you crying about? I don't specify gender because, well, you never really know. What did they do to you? Did they break your heart? You cry like someone with a broken heart (I would know). Broken hearted cries are always dripping with longing & shrouded in mystery. Questions. What is? & Who? & Why is? Broken hearted cries are the hardest to interpret. I remember broken hearted cries, muffled in pillows, sprinkled with sand. Left over from a summer romance that didn't turn out so perfect in the end. I remember broken hearted cries into the phone. Over because I said so (I don't think I'd ever broken anyone's heart before then). I remember broken hearted cries left over from the gay boy who would never love me back. I can't tell you everything is going to be okay (no one can) & I can't tell you that they'll realize they were wrong & come running back to you (they probably won't). But I can ask you, beg you, not to let these moments define you. As much as you once believed it, they are not your world. Shit happens & we all learn to deal with it (except, of course, for those who don't). Be that screaming or razor blades or track marks or caution tape, we all learn how to deal.
Love,
A Stranger.

Pretty mature lyrics. Stay away if you've got pure ears.

Bands have an interesting dynamic. Over the course of song creation, different instruments, minds, and influences come together, grapple, and generally do cool stuff. The bare essence of this process is typically found in what is known as the 'Jam Sesh'.

My friend Tommy is on guitar. I'm on bass. Our stuff is being tentatively grouped under the moniker of 'Birth Control'. Here's a raw recording. When I say raw, I mean raw.

--

Funny, when we fall apart, we let nobody see. We make excuses, walk away, and break down privately, in bathroom stalls and empty rooms that no one else can find; we listen to the logic of the voices in our minds.

I’m useless for what I cannot do. I’m worthless if I don’t do well. I’m stupid if I can’t find truth. I’m weak if I don’t go through hell.

You’re not going through hell if no one can tell.
You’re not going through hell if no one can tell.
You’re not going through hell if no one can tell.
You’re not going through hell if no one can tell.

Bitch.

(An English assignment. Based loosely on Allen Guinsberg's "Is About").
____________________

Heap   is   about  
                        individuality,  
                                                            reality,  

Instrumental. Riff at very end is from "I Think I Lost My Headache".

--

I am not going to rationalize or explain this.

Lyrics:

Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty
Sound of their breath fades with the light
I think about the loveless fascination
Under the Milky Way tonight

Lower the curtain down on Memphis
Lower the curtain down all right
I got no time for private consultation
Under the Milky Way tonight

Wish I knew what you were looking for
Might have known what you would find

And it's something quite peculiar
Something shimmering and white
Leads you here despite your destination
Under the Milky Way tonight

This is from a recent book project of mine on Little Women by Louisa May Alcott... Beth, the second youngest of four sisters at 13, has a terrible bout with scarlet fever at one point in the book and enters a state of painful delusion and sickness. She's a very musical character and the family very much misses having her play piano for them when they sing each night before going to sleep.

Fevers don’t share.
They hardly allow for breaths,
consciousness, patience to care!
& a musical soul is
no exception for this
in a state that admits
little
but the heat.

Title's a quote from a cool A Fine Frenzy Song. Qwertygirl'll know it.

You might recognise sampling from Hay Burner by Count Basie and Hello Seattle (Remix) by Owl City. You will probably not recognise the sample from Your Horoscope For Today by 'Weird Al' Yankovic, but it's in there.


Copyright © 2008 - either Bunmi Hazzan or Ganiyu Hazzan; I can't tell which. Sorry for ruining it, whoever you are.

[Thank you, Mr. Marley.]

Don't worry about a thing
‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright.
Singing, “don't worry about a thing
‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

Rise up this morning
smiled with the rising sun
three little birds
pitch by my doorstep
singing sweet songs
of melodies pure & true
saying, “this is my message to you…”

Singing, “don’t worry about a thing
‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”
Singing, “don’t worry about a thing
‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

On Monday, Jan. 18, we celebrate the birth of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. Listen and read one of his most famous speeches. (to read along as you listen, click read more and then click the play button.) React and write! Create a blog entry with the keyword King. Tell the world what you think of his writing, his power, his impact on the world today.

Links:

Martin Luther King Jr. delivered this speech on his opposition to the Vietnam War on April 4, 1967, exactly one year before his death. To read the piece while watching (listening) to the You Tube link, click on "Read More" first to open entire text. The podcast begins where marked. React and respond to his words: Create a blog and use the keyword: King.

I join you in this meeting because I am in deepest agreement with the aims and work of the organization which has brought us together: Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam. The recent statement of your executive committee are the sentiments of my own heart and I found myself in full accord when I read its opening lines: "A time comes when silence is betrayal." That time has come for us in relation to Vietnam.

The truth of these words is beyond doubt, but the mission to which they call us is a most difficult one. Even when pressed by the demands of inner truth, men do not easily assume the task of opposing their government's policy, especially in time of war. Nor does the human spirit move without great difficulty against all the apathy of conformist thought within one's own bosom and in the surrounding world. Moreover, when the issues at hand seem as perplexing as they often do in the case of this dreadful conflict, we are always on the verge of being mesmerized by uncertainty: but we must move on.

We hurt
so we medicate.

Our bones ache and our fingers bleed and our minds are nothing but tattered balls of yarn
so we medicate.
Nevermind the fact that this is
beautiful.
Our tattered minds are the only thing
holding the world together.

Our hearts develop cracks and tears from being thrown around too much over time
so we medicate.
We don't realize that all we
need
is someone to pick it up and dust it off and
give it back to us.

My voice cracks
and ripples.
Its grainy composition creeps through
my head
and my throat
and my chest
all the way through.
_______
No exaggeration on the voice, I actually sound like that right now.

Just me with all instruments

Finalized edited version with lyrics.

The attached is what I did with about an hour of my time. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with this piece, but I did think that it suited it. I didn't write the song- I'm not sure who did. It's old, a folk song, something the counselors sing at camp. The layering is a little off, but I still think it sounds pretty cool. Vocals are all me. Layered on top of each other so I sound like a lot of people. Nine I guess, because I did it in three rounds with three tracks on each round.
______________

My finger tips are freezing cold.
The air is changing- fall is here.

(Language alert -- gg)
(So. This is what happens when I play with Audacity instead of writing my Iliad essay. It's... odd, I suppose. The original wording is given, though the final copy did not stay entirely true to the first. Eh.

Riboflavin be with you.
-Neon)

Ehahahahahahaho…
scritch-scrun-scritch-scrun-scritch-scrun-CRANK
Hello, and welcome to the International Festival of –

This is just a rough cover of "Anyone Else But You" from the movie Juno that I did. I hope you guys enjoy it

Lyrics:
You're a part time lover and a full time friend
The monkey on your back is the latest trend
Don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

Here is the church and here is the steeple
We sure are cute for two ugly people
I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

We both have shiny happy fits of rage
You want more fans, I want more stage
I don't see what anyone can see, in anyone else
But you

There’s a funny thing that happens when you don’t care. You walk through the world like there’s no one there, and when you talk to yourself no one stares, as if sound cannot carry on this white waste of a land.

And thinking:

If the little things don’t matter, why care about the rest? What’s the point of perfect if someone else will be the best? What’s the use of practice if the whole godsdamn world is a test? I’m not breaking down; I just want you to understand:

This is just a little ditty i'm working on!!!

P.S. I cuc... I'm working on your song right now too!

It’s the six o’clock news on channel negative three,
your most trusted source this plane of infinity,
sponsored by SkyPass, saving your ass and booking first class
to any dimension you choose—
but first, the news.

It’s been a long and hot day for the folks in your head.
The sand is bleached white and the sky is burned red
and most of the grass you planted is dead, is dead, is dead, instead.
There’s a violin playing just out of your sight
and it’s driving you bonkers late in the night
and all that you want is to just find a light to shine, and see
the source of the song

Something that got stuck in my head.

(I originally wrote this as a poem, but decided it would be my first podcast after I had it pointed out that my poem was pretty much already a song. I listened to the song. I decided I liked the tune. I stole that too. So there, I guess.)

One summer day, as I walked down the street,
not a person in sight, but a poster I meet
it said hey there, boy, Where you going in life
if you just follow me, then I'll lead you right

Yes, that was part of the Declaration of Independence. Other than that.... I'm not really sure.

Credits: I used my voice for all the tracks, Anna's headphones to make sure the previous recordings didn't feed back in, and my guilt from being such an ass for motivation.