There is not chastity enough in language
Without offence to utter them.
~Shakespeare (Twelfth Night)

~illyria-godking tagged me to feature somebody back in September and i've been horribly neglectful in not doing it, so to make up for it (sorta) here are two somebodies whose writing i enjoy:



empty sheets
cold
untouched.
the bed tousles them
they way you did my hair.
[link]

of course this is the right choice
i keep telling myself again
but really
deep down inside
i'm just
a
little
hesitant.
[link]

and



There is something almost soothing about the irrevocable quality of writing a letter with a pen. The farther you get, the more committed you are to keeping everything as is...
[link]

Old dark music box,
Worn from years of ancient tunes,
Winds into slow sleep.
[link]

i have so many songs in the works and none of them seem to want to be finished. One's been almost two years coming. Someone once compared my songwriting to childbirth:
I conceive the idea--plucked from the random musings of my mind, something i'm going through or something someone says.
the idea then gestates for a (long) while, allowing it to develop, exploring the direction it should take, stretching out tentatacles only to retract them or stumble across an entirely new thought.
then comes the labour, either naturally--i'll sit down at the piano and suddenly it all comes flowing out--or induced, when i finally decide that enough's enough and it has to happen now or not at all. Obviously i prefer the natural birth: even if noone else does, I can tell the difference.
the birth: the moment everything has fallen into place and it's sung and played for the first time in its entirety and i just know that this is it, this is how it was meant to be. The song gazes at me with its big, seemingly innocent eyes and i can rest happy with it snuggled in my mind and my throat and the air around me.

I had no idea i was going to write all that. now you're all going to think i'm some weirdo