The beauty of no expression by Melodia-J, literature
Literature
The beauty of no expression
A granite face turned upon me,
Stoic, immutable, fascinating,
The seas, calm and blue, I watch:
Beneath my skin, ripples run, shudder,
Below the surface, current yields no resonance.
There is no reflection of the sky.
Heartbeats of thunder, buried,
Beyond the horizon unheard,
A rushing gale engulfing an island,
Tearing rust and blood
from the bent bones of trees,
dumbing their whispers.
The soft light of death
Falls to the ground, silent,
Deposits a cold
So intense,
That the sea becomes land,
The landscape amorphous,
Empty,
Unfathomable.
A subtle thaw takes hold
An unindulgent disclosure,
As the rain, urgent and frustrated,
As the warm, f
me:
Everything in this chat box
looks like poetry
if you pause on each line
break
Friend:
they came and gave us a
refund and collected the pizzas
blergh
me:
beautiful
almost a haiku
I like the "Bleurgh" at the end
Friend:
you are making me
paranoid now!
me:
Paranoid?
How so
Friend:
you are turning my words
into poetry!
me:
Are your words
not poetry
my dear?
Behind busker and X-factor finalist Elias Hämäläinen stand a band of family and friends and an internationally appealing alternative rock sound.
A big deal has been made of the street music performed by X-Factor's "raspy-throated singer" among the press reels of the popular reality television competition, but mention of his band and their original music seems to have been brushed under the rug. Originally formed in 2003, Gusto consisted of brothers Markus and Elias Hämäläinen, bassist Kari Heininen and drummer Tuomas Laivaara. Lead Guitarist Mikko Heikkilä joined them later to complete the line-up and they
A host of Ha Has swarms like bees
They break, they break, they quake and cleave
In solemn pride and cobweb leaves
A host of Ha Has turns and grieves
Where fickle hopes and glory breeds
The strange, eloping, horny sneeze
To take toad's eyes and hoary deeds
A host of Ha Has swarms like bees
A host of Ha Has swarms like bees
They ache, they ache, they churn and need
Which in the old-time stubbled reeds
Turns Ha Has against money weeds
The breaking flies of money weeds
An old mistake gold-gilt with seed
The crumble-down of tumbled creed
Turns Ha Has against money weeds
They wait, they wait, they rush and bleed!
A host of Ha Has t
She takes to the stage poised like a mouse,
People will notice
She lets out the first few notes,
Waiting, holding in breath
And there's more,
Right where it should be
She's no mouse.
And she makes herself beautiful when she performs
And she makes herself loved when she sings.
She builds the atmosphere,
She lives the atmosphere, is the atmosphere,
It's written on her face.
Drawn into her expression,
She is the
Blues & greys,
Black hat,
Silver earring,
just a sliver.
Braid comes down,
A dagger
over
The beauty of no expression by Melodia-J, literature
Literature
The beauty of no expression
A granite face turned upon me,
Stoic, immutable, fascinating,
The seas, calm and blue, I watch:
Beneath my skin, ripples run, shudder,
Below the surface, current yields no resonance.
There is no reflection of the sky.
Heartbeats of thunder, buried,
Beyond the horizon unheard,
A rushing gale engulfing an island,
Tearing rust and blood
from the bent bones of trees,
dumbing their whispers.
The soft light of death
Falls to the ground, silent,
Deposits a cold
So intense,
That the sea becomes land,
The landscape amorphous,
Empty,
Unfathomable.
A subtle thaw takes hold
An unindulgent disclosure,
As the rain, urgent and frustrated,
As the warm, f
The man who grew backwards by Melodia-J, literature
Literature
The man who grew backwards
I saw his legs rising out of the pavement
melting backwards
already in their grey drain-pipe suit
He unrolled upwards, a sock being reversed, to reveal a splash of red
shirt
under his glossy tarmac blazer
His arms oozed out as play-doh would
his hands an accordion
of pink squirting from the grey-dough sleeves
I watched his fingers unfurl,
one by one
as petals, as inflating balloons
He gained a neck,
a camera lens,
popping quickly up from his scarlet-rim collar
His head wobbled into shape from a glass-blower's bud,
swirls of colour
rotating into place
His face, a vision of glorious dullness
rose into view
the mountain of h
The sea grasps a place in its hand
where teachers shepherd teenagers up and down the streets,
Cameras whir and
cubes of glass shine their spectrum of lights in the dusk,
The green-box trams surge along rails
ahead of spinning cyclists' wheels,
Dogs drag their owners onwards
and workers eat their fill of world of cuisine as,
The seagulls spin in circles with the pigeons
and proclaim their terrace-diving games,
Brick-clad spaces and halls of history
hold artists' drunken dreams and,
The evolution of technology hums and buzzes
caged in gleaming glass and steel.
How Quickly The Tide Turns III by Melodia-J, literature
Literature
How Quickly The Tide Turns III
"Somewhere along the line, I think I must have got sadness confused with love." she said, and sucked the last of her strawberry milkshake up the straw. There was a long silence as she stirred the pink bubbles in the bottom of her glass and a look of puzzlement stiffened on her companion's face.
She looked up at him through her mascara thickened lashes and registered the unspoken question, "What I mean is, so often when I've been in love, I've been sad. Things go wrong and now," she made one last attempt to suck shake from the bottom of the glass, "-now if someone makes me sad, it feels like I'm in love."
He nodded, still unsure if he unders
There was someone stalking the streets last night,
A dusk-cloaked santa swept across the country,
In one night,
The mood was lowered.
It seemed to be the same morning routine,
Donning rumpled jumpers onto bed-warm bodies,
When outside,
The heat was lowered.
There are people walking to work today,
Eyes cast groundward to deny the wind-ruffled change,
All around,
The flags are lowered.
If it were a real fly, it would fly away; this sterile environment is not the realm of flies. Yet this fly might take off simply because some instinct is telling it that it's just too good for this spot.
It is poised upon a wall in the kitchen of one of the finest apartments in Tokyo's 'Roppongi Peaks' skyscraper city. Its minutely detailed eyes are exposed to a view of a spacious kitchen graced with expansive bi-metallic surfaces. Steel is speckled and lined with bronze inlay, to simulate rust. Just as the fly does not buzz, the rust gleams. On the floor, the cracked concrete is seamless and smooth and th
The man who grew backwards by Melodia-J, literature
Literature
The man who grew backwards
I saw his legs rising out of the pavement
melting backwards
already in their grey drain-pipe suit
He unrolled upwards, a sock being reversed, to reveal a splash of red
shirt
under his glossy tarmac blazer
His arms oozed out as play-doh would
his hands an accordion
of pink squirting from the grey-dough sleeves
I watched his fingers unfurl,
one by one
as petals, as inflating balloons
He gained a neck,
a camera lens,
popping quickly up from his scarlet-rim collar
His head wobbled into shape from a glass-blower's bud,
swirls of colour
rotating into place
His face, a vision of glorious dullness
rose into view
the mountain of h
Here it is: Indie in Finland
I just did something that I've been meaning to do for a while, and started a blog where I can report on live events I attend. If it kicks off I might be able to get other people to guest blog about events that I couldn't make it to, too, but that's probably hoping for a bit much.
Posting on my sparsely populated DeviantArt page and Twitter feed probably won't get me much interest, and I'll just have to see how much goodwill I can gather from friends willing to spread the word. I think it will be a while before I get any attention outside of that: I'll have to be reporting on a band that someone searches for inf
I recently decided to help out in funding a Kickstarter arts project that was nearing it's failure deadline and close to fully funded.
It took me a long browse to find a project I wanted to support but the one I found was Wardenclyffe Gallery, a project asking for very little money to transfer their community to a new location. It's a community that includes artists, photographers, poets, musicians and theatre groups.
They are giving away some pretty sweet prizes for only low amounts of donations (e.g. $10 for the PDF of art and literature AND a digital music album, all produced by them).
They have only 3 DAYS LEFT to get the last bit of f
I hit the 50,000 word goal on my latest National Novel Writing Month project this morning.
I'm continuing to write, but now I can slow down and do some other things too. I just made a small sketch for the first time in weeks, felt good to release that urge at last!
Soon though I start full-time Finnish classes that will last for six months. I have a feeling the mental drain of speaking and learning a second language all day, every day, will tire me out quite a lot over the next few weeks. Better to get the learning and adjustment out of the way now. Actually, I've been waiting for this course for a year, so I am really happy to get on with