Music and film are huge inspirations to me, so several weeks ago I decided to let my iTunes playlist do the writing for me. I picked three songs at random from three different genres and free wrote until the song finished. After a song finished I took a break and then moved onto the next track. I got some interesting results to say the least. I tried to vary the style and genre, and focus on the lyrics while putting pen to paper. Here is the fruit of my experiment:
The hills sparked, and then goaded the mountains into submission. They beat ‘em, they hugged ‘em. The dwarves mined gold and ore–gutting the shimmering tops, while the hilltops splayed and slashed their slaves into a frenzy. The chugged, they brimmed with blood. The walls were stained. Only a dead canary and flicker led the way to the heart of the range. Gas-lit and ready to burst the shackled thieves plodded to the heart waiting to cut it from the mound. They sniffled and shuffled their way to the beast’s soul. They cut at it, they tore at it, they pulled at its roots, and blasted the rock from its home. The mountain shrieked and screamed. The stumps of trees shuttered in fear. The shortened, mountain men continued to churn and bleed carrying the still beating heart of the monster within. The hills merely smiled as they consumed the stolen God. They blossomed and bloomed into smoke stacks. The automobiles created a cacophony of sound. A shear wall that forgot its origin. The city was a cesspool of violence and corruption. A place brimming with hatred. It was a sin city that sat upon a hill for all to see.
I heard quip and a noise–a drum slowly beating in the background–it gathered speed. It harmonized with the bass and the quick slaps of a guitar. It mixed perfectly with the rustle of the city’s leaves and the churning waters beneath the bridge. I crawled out from my hidey-hole, and was blinded by the sun. I was so close to the sun that I could almost taste it. My pupils contracted and I adjusted. My palms were dirty and my clothes were just mere rags, but the beautiful music called to me. I stood, and watched. Men on stilts paraded around dancing in synch, while others clapped and danced. People jammed and grooved in sweet, sweet motion with the wonderful sounds that poured from the instruments. They could not be seen, but they could be felt. The whole block was alive. The birds chased one another—darting to and fro from tree to tree. The light shone bright and my feet burned against the asphalt. I didn’t care. I was shimmying and shaking with the others. I was grinning from ear to ear as I danced with my neighbors. We were all grinning. Cars would pull up and people would get out and join on in, and soon there were hundreds of us just listening to the sweet summer melodies as they caressed our ears into euphoria.
His chucks hit the pavement with a dull thud. He electric slid his Chevette into tight little space between Main and Browne. They were red (the Chucks), the banana mobile was yellow (duh), and the street was “Browne.” A medley of colors that all concocted a stunning revelation that was only ‘stunning’ to the man. Maybe he’d write about it later? His aviators slipped a notch, so he grabbed a bridge and hightailed ‘em over to his spiffy polo. The ‘50s may be gone, but their fashionable sensibilities intermingled with seventies created an interesting 2012 lovechild. The door struck a bell as he held it for an elderly woman sketchin’ out some home and garden books. Aunties was the place to be for those hippin’ hoppin’ into the writing and reading scene. The desk clerk was friendly, but rude at the same time. Polite, but weary of a twenty-something with an interest in a little King horror. The bees knees were splayed out upon a silk cloaked table. He grabbed an HB (that’s what they called ‘em in the biz) and slowly began to scrutinize the unmentionables—bargain books. “Psshhh, might as well call ‘em throwaways.” He took a glance at the face with two hands and realize he was late (for a very important date!). He quickly checked out, and threw his newly acquired HB into the passenger seat of his plantain. He booked it to the park and waited. Waited for the beautiful blonde to strike a kiss with. Because, with her even, the most mundane was insane, and even the average seemed extraordinary. Today he was going to slip a little sex into her coffee.