admin November 19th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
I pick up the wrinkled cover of the album , the corners are slightly bent where someone tried to force it back into the shelf, but the LP is still fine. I pull the disc out of the sleeve and marvel at the sound of the plastic glove that encases the record. How different this is to a CD. You can look into the grooves of a record . Each hill and dale is an obstacle course for the needle to negotiate, jumping back and forth like a bucking bronco at a rodeo, but, each of these moves translates to a physical movement of the record player arm. Each of those is movements is within a magnetic field, and each of those is sent to an amplifier which then send these electrical signals to speakers- resonating back and forth in time with the needle which scrapes its way over the LP.
The LP sleeve is a colorful cacophony, in my hand it s as big as a dinner plate, you don t have to squint to read the lyrics, some albums open out to be double the size - or triple. AMAZING. When you get your brand new shiny record and pull it out of the sleeve, it has that just pressed at the factory vinyl plastic smell..hence the term vinyl . The pressing is so perfect that you can see your face reflected in the grooves. As you run your hand over it the grooves and bumps catch on the ridges in your fingers like plants that have little barbs on them. You put the sleeve down on top of the Stereogram speaker. A huge skyscraper of a thing that could well serve as a defensive position in the front line of a war, a very solid item indeed. The Fascia of the unit has a radio built in- with each radio station carefully marked for each state - of course the newer ones are missing and some of the names are completely unfamiliar. It s always great to visit the grandparents and know how things have changed and remember what it was like in the good old days.
admin November 18th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
Clock. Big round happy face sitting on the wall, each second the hand ticks around. the second hand drills into your ears. Gravity pulls down the hours, and then they fight all the way up to the top. Does time slow as the second hand rises and speed up as it falls.
Reach out to touch time, an invisible essence through your fingers. Sand, abrasively tugging at your skin. I imagine taking the clock off the wall and rolling it down a hill. Pushing it on, then seeing if time stands still- unlikely. Hours stare at me as I wait.
admin November 17th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
The beginning of Apocolypse Now sounds out through the theater. A slow rumble moves body parts as a phasey slowed down helicopter blade noise resonates- then the beginning of ‘The End’ by the Doors merges into it.
The Valhalla cinema circa 1992. The last film I saw there was ‘The Blues Brothers’. In the crazy darkness, people seeing the film for the fiftieth time utter immortal lines “dry white toast”- almost as religious an experience as speaking in tongues- Glossalia - to give it its correct term. A piece of dry white toast lands on my lap and looks up to me like an expectant puppy.
The searchlight swings back and forth, swinging like a side show ride, looking to pick up a criminal. the helicopter sweeps past. The air is assaulted and chopped into a thousand pieces by those vicious rotors. The tortured air is compressed and sent to my ear drums, waking me from a fitful sleep. I probably will lie here waiting for the next pass, ready, like a boxer to receive the next blow— brzowwww- it goes past again. The street momentarily incandescent radiant. I hope they catch him soon, so I can get back to the sleeping zone.
admin November 16th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
Blanket, pulling it up to my ears to keep out the cold. It’s so damn cold that my ears are tingling, my toes too, ‘cos the blanket’s too small. The sheet’s gone and I feel the rough weave of the blanket dragging over my skin. It feels like a hessian sack, making me scratch and itch.
Obviously this one’s seen a bit of use as it smells of body odour or something, there’s also a hint of perfume from a woman who slept here recently. That darn cold is so invasive now that I have to get up to get another one. I stumble to the light switch which reveals a dark little room with peeling paint in the corners. I open the cupboard and let my hands rest upon a newer smoother blanket. This one’s going first!
admin November 15th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
The sea is rearing up like an angry viper. waves spit venom, but each member of the crew is securely tied to the yacht. Each wearing a bright orange survival suit, so they will be a beacon in the sea should they fall overboard. The spray hits their faces like a thousand tiny darts. Eyes are aching with the pain, hands are so cold, that they throb with each heartbeat.
Why do this? Why compete?
Becasue it’s there! All working together, uniform as a swarm of ants - all set on the one purpose -WINNING -.
The rain is relentless, driving, Each mouthful of water is a saline solution, but there’s no relief here, this won’t replace any blood.
Arms are tired from reeling sails in and out, so exhausted, like they’ve been running forever to catch a passing train, but never could. Only a few more hours, then hearts will lift in jubilation. Their hearts will be butterflies on the wind, knowing they have won. Knowing they are the winning crew. Faces will swing from exhaustion to exhaltation, like a kaleidoscope changing colour. Champagne will be sweeter than honey on parched throats. Relief in every gulp. Holding the trophy aloft like a prized animal the have caught. See your face in its silver shining plating.
admin November 15th, 2007
Permit It’s made of crumbling paper, thick and rough, somewhere between office paper and cardboard. The front is adorned with an emblem - a shield of honour sitting upon a scroll containing the moto ‘tenez le droit’ - to protect and serve I think- or maybe I’m confused with the FBI. Some where back in 1974 someone had to roll this paper into a typewriter and strike keys they would have swung up and down like windscreen wipers, at that time producing clear black type. Now it’s slightly faded and smeared like a windscreen that needs a wash. I had been rifling about in some boxes in the store out the back when I found it, and I thought it was my meal ticket- a driving permit. It had expired about ten years prior, but I could see it being some use to me as a 17 year old underage pub goer. If I could just adjust the year of birth from 1922 to 1962 I could fool anyone.
I slid the disintegrating permit into the typewriter. After I had done a few practice rounds the paper clung to the rubber roller like a child to mother. I scored a perfect hit - over striking the 22 with 62. It looked a bit funny, like a waddling swan, but was sort of believable- who would look that close anyway- if you had the license that was all that matters.
I remember the first time I used it at the bottle shop skulking in looking around me expecting to be caught any moment. My heart pounding, my voice a tone higher than normal and my legs quivering. “A bottle of Smirnoff thanks”. That was our preferred ‘get you drunk” as quick as possible solution in those days. School dances everyone used to come into town and stay at our house. We had a huge old bakery out the back of the shop which we would equip with camp beds and sleeping bags , get drunk, dance like ants on a fire at the school dance and come home and collapse - or continue drinking.
The bakery had 20 foot walls, and some parts of the roof had dark stains where the roof leaked- one time ruining my model railway set.
For more Home Recording hints and tips remember to visit MyHomeRecordingStudio.com often.
Join the Object writing forum at ObjectWriting.com and write for ten minutes on ‘The word of the day’.
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admin November 15th, 2007
I felt less than human after the drinking binge. I can recall the drinks lined up on the bar, the shots of vodka, ice cold , but burning the back of my throat, the way that my tongue went flat and wanted to curl as the raw alcohol channelled its way across the pores of my taste senses.
I recall the blur of other drinks we indulged in, amber beers in tall glasses shaped like Marylin Monroe. The bar with it’s mirrored background making it seem there was a wall of alcohols that must be climbed. Equipped with the pickaxe of my wallet we made a fairly substantial attack on it, but the summit was never in danger.
Somehow, somehow I must have got into a taxi and found my way home, as, at this moment; 7 Am I feel less than human - it’s one of those surreal moments - where everything seems rosy, but lurking like a vicious guard dog at the back of my head is the consequence that will follow. My body prepares itself for drying out, a Sahara on the inside and in a couple of hours I will feel like a frog out of a pond croaking in the fierce midday sun.
For more Home Recording hints and tips remember to visit MyHomeRecordingStudio.com often.
Join the Object writing forum at ObjectWriting.com and write for ten minutes on ‘The word of the day’.
For Wealth Creation Strategies and 100 Free Ebooks on Making Money visit MyMillionaireBuddy.com
admin November 14th, 2007
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
Its a long thin passage that runs the entire length of the house. Brush against walls that are papier-mache thin. All built with his hands. This place was just a hall once, Albany Hall, The space demanded to be filled, but no infrastructure could be imposed so everything was temporary. A house of moving parts. There were no proper doors. Each door slid on runners, ball bearing wheels fighting against the channel as they make a scraping hollow sound. The handles of each door a sculpted metal half moon, cool to touch in the mornings.
There was a consolation of a real fire in the living room. This must have been part of the original hall - funny to think of it, this huge space with a fireplace at the end. The lounge was the end of the hallway and it too had a sliding door. I remember watching the News at ten which was preceded by The world at war one of my favorite childhood tv shows. Black and white images of tanks and planes would leap out of the television and explosions would fill the space. Not a great fan of war now, though still very interested in the struggle of world war 2.
The passage has only a few lights, it has its own gloom that seems to hang around near the roof like a captured cloud. Christmas night, 5 years old, wandering from my bedroom along the corridor with bleary eyes to find my mother wrapping presents in the kitchen, illumined brightly by a fluorescent light, the Cordon Blue, stove standing like an army staff sargeant ready to shout orders, even at midnight! Back along the gloomy corridor and back to sleep. Sometimes there were terrible shapes and forms hanging on the roof , demons probably, taunting me, scared , rolling up into a fetal position, pull the pillow over my head to make them go away.
admin November 13th, 2007
Save $70 on masterwriter Only $219 when you use discount # 9099. Win& Mac compatible.
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Started by milbuddy - Last post by milbuddy
I had to write up a little flow diagram the other day for the process I need to do to get a song/lyric from idea to completion. You might find it useful;
1-> Get an idea- any bit of inspiration or muse that passes by, maybe from your object writing?
2-> Write - using object writing- about the idea/concept/subject
3-> pick key words or themes and find rhymes - see Better Lyrics by Pat Pattison for more information. Follow this link to buy from amazon;
http://www.amazon.com/Writing-Better-Lyrics-Pat-Pattison/dp/1582970645?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1188269388&sr=8-1
4-> story board your song- what is the narrative s flow?
5-> Rewrite the main idea- using new lyrical/rhyming ideas
6-> Extract the rythmic idea from the song title … i.e. my favorite girl would be da, da da da, dum
7-> see what melodic ideas come from playing your phrases againast this rythm
8-> hit the ‘record’ button– see myhomerecordingstudio.com
admin November 13th, 2007
Soccer game, rough patchy green grass. Diving and sliding across it for ‘the cameras’ to impress others, grassy stains on my trousers and the smell of freshly mown lawn and lime. Jumpers piled atop each other as the goalposts , an array of un-missable colour. Running quickly with childhood abandon, breath rushing in and out, an air pump ventilating tiny body. You can run forever at this age. Thinking “I am George Best” , proudly wearing the Manchester United red shirt, the naked shirt unadorned and untarnished by a wall of advertising so necessary today.
In Australia we still play soccer, but, it is a secondary game, in UK it is in the blood, it IS the life of every boy. In Australia it’s this funny thing called ‘Cricket’. Holding a big lump of wood in hand and trying to make out a speck of a ball racing at you at speed and actually hit it with the lump of wood. The bat seems to weigh a thousand pounds and I feel like an Olympic weight lifter who is just about to hurdle a 200 Kilogram weight over my head, before realising the ball has gone way past me. Hearing the sound of the tennis ball resonating on the metal stumps means I am out again. My guard has been breached again. The next strangeness is ‘basket- ball’ The hollow pinging sound as the ball is bounced on burning sticky summer asphalt. This business with throwing it into the hoop; up it goes and the board rattles as the ball rebounds. Someone from the other team grabs it and is already half way down the court before I realise what’s going on. Where are my soccer skills now?
Australian rules football. Now we’re using a rugby shaped ball, but you have to bounce it, as you run - this is most bizarre, and you also kick the ball to other people, who leap into the air like unsupported ballerinas and catch the bal l- a so called ‘mark’ what a strange country this is.
For more Home Recording hints and tips remember to visit MyHomeRecordingStudio.com often.
Join the Object writing forum at ObjectWriting.com and write for ten minutes on ‘The word of the day’.
For Wealth Creation Strategies and 100 Free Ebooks on Making Money visit MyMillionaireBuddy.com
