Parts 1&2

1. 

And ‘seeing’ God again.

With no fear at all, nestling deeper, black plastic around his face. Rain dropping at night.

He twisted his side, with the black of the metal shielding whatever light. A slight quiver, from the corner of his, he did not mind.

“Some sort of country this is.” he had written it on a napkin, acting like a contracted form.

His biggest mistake had been something he had not realised- the truth being his dolls.

To me, his power at most.

Not ever looking at his bible, and getting lost- his stories were running away and getting married.

Similar, too similar to mine.

-

A day away from hope, the situation he had been in. His transcript and all, he knew he had told a lie, but it did not matter to him.

A doll house, playing to be popular, heard and forgotten- my biggest fear is his life.

Every time I had written, I wrote the opposite as well- my fears are bigger than it too.

Or at least that is what is telling me to write.

That man sleeping, he had no idea of any of that, with no pressure at all.

-

He had lived another truth of another person.

-

And with no truth of his narration.

-

Left at night, with no way, and he knew the instability had mattered to someone else.

I had been mistaken, it was stability.

-

He had been the true gift, as of me,

Not ever as fragile.

-

Leaving us another gift, leaving another sort of home, devoid of any warmth.

We had both left home.

-

Both in deep fear, with us,

The biggest difference was the feeling in our stomach.

-

And another difference, it may have been selfish of me.

-

Her coming home, and leaving the farm. All he had been able to do, short fragments, both unaware and aware of the fate oncoming.

His life's work, another line, of her achieving love,

Drawn out and impressively large.

Full of twists and turns.

With another man, a bunch of them, and they all have stories as well.

Their sort of country, never mattered in the beginning, nor the end.

And with their mail,

Straight to the west of Hollywood.

To the house of the director, and the producer.

-

And another part of Hollywood.

-

A hum, and a record store across the block.

Waiting, their eyes left and right, chin slightly upturned.

Waiting for the stars and the night.

For the magic of a whole other reason.

-

The night had come, as always.

-

Their stomachs felt it again, and he looked left and right only once, walking across the street,

Feeling his heart flutter, now running across the street.

-

In his mind, tinfoil and all, the assortment of feelings and format- capitals and letters.

He was close to reaching the point I had, and-

-

A word salad, and he leaned on the concrete with another friend.

Finishing up, feeling his float, and his future secured-

And he pulled out another bottle-

Whatever he had dreamed of and promised,

He, and nobody on earth, unless they were all together-

This sort of happiness,

Was a harmony and a mechanism somewhere else-

And, his powers were still there,

Running away, taking a pill,

And running somewhere else.

**********************************************

2. 

Raising his finger up, feeling it satisfies something- raising two fingers.

A quartet, and his head spinning-

He put his elbow on the control panel, hearing, seeing it through lace windows.

More and more people, just to access the air around him-

He had no control over what he was doing, only the thought of it.

-

Waking up and drinking whatever, he looked to his book or whatnot-

And his troubles never evaded him, morphing and constructing-

Whatever destroyed him- and what did not, however he looked at it,

Not that inescapable- not compared to most.

And although- he very much enjoyed that company, quitting to label himself as a composer-

And his thoughts, whatever vessel he was-

He had just admitted it through ‘these’ sessions, with it all leading up to it.

What's it all about?

-

He was always very aware- stepping into the next session, getting a peer at something new and old.

-

And for his next song- it was titled-

“Reckless driving.” a composed song reminding him of a child who had died beside him in elementary. Although- he had no idea in the first second it would conclude the later album- “Reckless driving.” a title track- one to begin the album.

-

And he listened to the chaotic sound he created- one that lasted 40 minutes.

With many… many choruses- many effects- many solos and one overlapping idea of destroying itself.

Without a doubt the loudest he had ever done.

-

And nothing was wrong with that- he impressed himself,

Forever living with that song.

But,

It had not been to a level.

-

This, had been the only thing lively in his life, with him blocking, not feeling anything else he had done.

And, he decided to test his vessel, his higher power, off a whim,

Making one more track to satisfy someone else.

“Reckless driving” with the same title. He had decided to try it again, that emotional peak-

But, it had fallen to something higher- maybe his own keys.

And-

An emotionally detached piece,

Like he had been miles away,

Not even a force he could describe- vague and almost unfinished-

It had been the truth-

He had not failed, and it just-

*****

On the final day of recordings, he had a lot more in him,

And for that song, he cut the vocal recordings,

Leaving it as is.

-

And it released in May of 1963.

-

He had been detached from his brilliance.

Though his faults had been intentional.

Everything had felt right.

-

The end.