dreaming

The writer dreams, always. One's livelihood depends upon it. I stopped writing because I stopped dreaming about the things I felt were write-worthy subjects. Poetry, I walked with, merely out of sloth.

I thought it appropriate to make a list of things I dream about. The Lord is doing a lot in me.

I dream of freedom around my guitar.
I dream of decorating my beautiful, completely paid for, house.
I dream of hosting dinner parties/luncheons/breakfasts joyfully and without stress.
I dream of touring the world with my band.
I dream of recording at Abbey Road studios.
I dream of being worthy of La Blogotheque videos.
I dream of the discernment to see into people's hearts.
I dream of the day I'll be able to recite entire books of the Bible.
I dream of being a revered musician on the world scale.
I dream of speaking into people's lives, knowing my words are straight from the Father.
I dream of knowing loopholes in the legal system to know how to best advocate for someone who really needs that advocate.
I dream of being able to say "it's water under the bridge" and "it's water off a duck's back" and mean it in my life.
I dream of the crowd that sits cross-legged on the floor and hangs on every word I say.
I dream of singing on a public train with my band before passengers-turned-captivated audience.
I dream of the day I am entrusted with a child who did not come into the world through me, and am deemed ready to love them and keep them.
I dream of being that lovely, wrinkly old woman with every bit of wisdom and love oozing out of her.
I dream of knowing.
I dream of the house I can invite everyone over to, and the gift of hospitality to complement it.
I dream of writing [good] short stories again.
I dream of looking beyond myself, and not being limited to the shortness of my capabilities.
I dream of a better, more loving, more giving, wiser, kinder, version of myself for the people in my life.
I dream of old wood and tan leather arm chairs to adorn my house.
I dream of cheaper lomography film.

Dialogue Series: Flame Licker

http://www.myspace.com/jessicasantosa

A song about the freeing nature of the truth, and truth is fire. I wonder if I can take this fire and eat it, where it can burn, beautiful in my belly.

on display

1. Check out www.myspace.com/mcraftmusic

"I Got Nobody Waiting For Me" is beautiful and lonely. I am addicted to the banjo hook which articulates the very notes of a yearning soul. I want to put this on repeat and re-live the time I saw him live at Oxford Arts Factory. Truly magical. He was so natural and smooth a player.

I confess, my exposure to Martin Craft was through my ex-producer, who is related to him! He told me that Martin quit uni and earned a living working in the pubs before he made it big. It kind of scares me. Indie artists work their bums off before they can make their first passion their livelihood. Alas I trust God - he stoked the fire and will snuff it out if he wishes I cease my pursuit of this for Him.

2. I performed today in the Edward Ford building at USYD. A new song called "The War", it was about a really close friend of mine experiencing one of her first major bouts of spiritual battle. I will get it ready and record it at the studio once I've completed the arrangement. She really loved it when she heard it. Her smile and her response was all that really mattered to me.

After all this recording and writing, theory learning and practicing, I found myself anxious to perform again. After I put my guit down I remembered why I love it so much - I have permission to let it all out. It is a safe forum - a song, I mean. It allows the responder to enjoy, or be confused, or cry or just relax, while you get to have your outlet. It is my therapy and I am so happy I have been given the gift of songwriting to heal, learn, grow, stick it to the man, ponder, think...

A lyric sample:

I do not trust in my own bow
I prefer Yours
To impale my demons and foes
And ride on their corpses

Crucify the argument
We expressed in our heads
Gauge it out with Your bayonet
If it means that I'll stop the disbelief altogether...

transparency

The world is full of forums. This internet one, right here, the one you're reading, is appropriate for transparency, dependent on the number and type of people who actually visit this blog. This is hopefully not a foolish guess, but I'd say not many people come here. This is a result of little advertising of tryspiritfood which was purely intentional.

Stage Two of recording today. As we come closer to the finished product I am thrilled and excited. Mostly surprised at how many of the finer details I have paid no attention to...

Here is my table, if it could be that:

Obvious
- Practice each song with a metronome, perfectly, at least 3 times.
- Notate each syllable for the vocals so any sharps/flats may be accounted for
- Do some rough recordings and get them approved by producer

Not so obvious
- The beloved lead guitarist prefers all-nighter practice sessions as opposed to preparing for three weeks in advance. Conveniently, you did not know this, and he didn't think to tell you until two nights beforehand.
- You realise that your obsession with the first song you ever wrote symbolises an emancipation from the invalidation you felt from abuse, despite being heavily cloud metaphor'd, and this was why everybody you played it to, loved it.
- Your sound engineer is a miracle man and one of your closest friends.
- Your producer is an ISTJ - the complete opposite of you (an ENFP) - and is consequently, a strange wonder to work with.
- It's funny that when the EP is complete, it will have only your name written on the front cover, when you feel it was really the guys who made it happen.
- A de-brief over a beer or coffee or thai food or macca's is due after a four hour recording session.


Also:
Have regular coffees with God.
Don't fall for anyone while working on an EP project.

Masculinity (Part II)

hunt a deer
start a fire (from scratch)
build this bridge with bricks
repair broken buses
Dead Sea, swim
abseil the deepest, darkest range
hop-climb quickly, the mountain fades
eat the duck-billed platypus
feed the mother, of the snake
juggle babies
lift me, high

without harnesses
show me strength
Cheetah? but you run faster.

You hoist humanity in your palm.
I hope we make a way for you.
At your best, ask me,
I will walk with you in contented stance.

I may deny it presently,
But non may bring me more delight, than to
Hold your hand, mine underneath,
And kiss you, in close reach.

insomniac

Sleep?
Stay, writing A5 posters:
She will be the change she wants to see in the world -
She will overcome.

Post-folk midnight frolic
Obsessive, craving affirmation-
To remain in Love, I will love
To not wither, fire-tossed, burned

Cont.
The drawing of one's open palm, timely
The challenge to see the end, of
The tide which I will stand up against.
The richer, I will be, and thank you for
The inspiration I desperately needed.

Sleep. Please.
Do not stay, aroused mind, take rest. Please.
Lonely heart, take comfort in Love. Please.
Tomorrow is a new day, so sleep. Please.

The night is an old woman and you are her limbs; sleep---__---

Please!

error.

Where, o where was my error?
Was it an invisible headpiece, like an eye-poking fascinator?
Or an extension of my smaller arm, sneakily offending your side?

Why was one's interest lost?
Was I the secret drone, the mill of exciting apperitifs---
And concluded in monotonous groan?

Were my aesthetics too bland?
Should I have worn corsetry for your seduction?
Or more mascara to murder your eyes?

Perchance it was the shape of our pegs!
I have done the additions.
And I don't understand.
Roundness and depth with a home for your end,

Reveal the void,
Allow me to know why.