On October the 24th 2010 I shared an amazing day with some amazing people and this is what i have to show for it...
"Get the brief.... get high.... do the brief"
Thursday 25 November 2010
Resurrection
After Leaving this blog to rot away at the bottom of my tab list for so long i have decided to re-ignite its flame and write some more pieces for it.... Reading back on the first thing i posted i realized how much of a release it was from writing rhymes all the time. Don't get me wrong, rhymes are my craft and i love it but sometimes the task of fitting words together like a jigsaw to create my picture is a daunting task in comparison to painting a more vivid picture with just my pen and paper. You would think after all of that i would have a piece of writing to put in here but i don't so I'm going to leave it with this.
On October the 24th 2010 I shared an amazing day with some amazing people and this is what i have to show for it...
"Get the brief.... get high.... do the brief"
On October the 24th 2010 I shared an amazing day with some amazing people and this is what i have to show for it...
"Get the brief.... get high.... do the brief"
Monday 1 February 2010
The start or the finished "The Boy", I have yet to decide...
The Boy awakes from his slumber, his tired eyes parched in the morning warmth. His throat is tight as he yawns and the dust swarm sleeps, soon to be awakened by the pull of a curtain. Sun rays ignite the particles as the boy lashes at the fabric. The piercing light breathes new life and the dust clouds roll and turn like the ocean in a hurricane. He places his near moist feet on the faded carpet, regretting his half-conscious decision instantly, as he always does. His soles graced with a dead skin sock which he will wear until the shower relieves him of the burden. His garments are the corpses of a post-offensive battle scene. Which to choose; Sergeant blue-tee or First Private white-tee who has served him in battle many a time. The trusty private will do, The Boy slings on his armour and starts a drunkard like shuffle to the stairs. The Boy never feels safe walking down those stairs because no matter how bright the day, he can never see whats at the bottom. A chorus of creeks rings through the hall as each step is taken, this old wood choir is an all to familiar sound to the Boy. What if the carpet was quick sand? what if when his foot touched ground floor he was swallowed up? How would life be looking up from underneath? These questions are all to familiar to the Boy. His callus riddled hand scrapes on the painted white as it spins on the last section of banister, the u-turn he always takes at the start of each day.
The writing is unrefined and probably sloppy in many places but i wasn't to bothered about that when i was writing.... have pity
The Boy awakes from his slumber, his tired eyes parched in the morning warmth. His throat is tight as he yawns and the dust swarm sleeps, soon to be awakened by the pull of a curtain. Sun rays ignite the particles as the boy lashes at the fabric. The piercing light breathes new life and the dust clouds roll and turn like the ocean in a hurricane. He places his near moist feet on the faded carpet, regretting his half-conscious decision instantly, as he always does. His soles graced with a dead skin sock which he will wear until the shower relieves him of the burden. His garments are the corpses of a post-offensive battle scene. Which to choose; Sergeant blue-tee or First Private white-tee who has served him in battle many a time. The trusty private will do, The Boy slings on his armour and starts a drunkard like shuffle to the stairs. The Boy never feels safe walking down those stairs because no matter how bright the day, he can never see whats at the bottom. A chorus of creeks rings through the hall as each step is taken, this old wood choir is an all to familiar sound to the Boy. What if the carpet was quick sand? what if when his foot touched ground floor he was swallowed up? How would life be looking up from underneath? These questions are all to familiar to the Boy. His callus riddled hand scrapes on the painted white as it spins on the last section of banister, the u-turn he always takes at the start of each day.
The writing is unrefined and probably sloppy in many places but i wasn't to bothered about that when i was writing.... have pity
Just so you know...
I don't really read blogs that much so i don't have much idea as to how i should go about writing my own. I created this for people to read what i write,I am an MC/Rapper and i enjoy writing pieces other than rhymes. I want to avoid this becoming an online diary for people to masturbate my ego on. I apologise in advance for bad grammar and punctuation, i guess i didn't pay enough attention in class.... I'll probably change what this says everytime i read it...
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