Hell For Leather

About This Song: This song's early completion is utterly, unashamedly inspired by my first listen to Green Day's Lazy Bones. Keep that style in mind when you read (I've added the song to the end of this to listen if you wish). Unrelatedly, this song is about when reckless fun trips into obsession, as a young couple struggles to cope with mutual addiction. Enjoy!

Hell for Leather

Let's trip into amber ecstasy,
Poison hearts with liquid vanity,
We're young enough to misbehave,
And bottled sins are what we crave

Actions blind to sober thoughts,
Become figments of a night forgot,
"Oh, one more shot before it's light?"
Apologising doesn't make it right

[Chorus]
Chase me, away from life,
Take me, just for tonight,
Waste me, like wasted time,
Placed me, into this lie

If only time meant more than this,
We toss and turn right after bliss,
With nightmares puncturing our sleep,
Of promises we failed to keep

We try in vain with bloodshot eyes,
To make a point out of this fight,
"I need one more before I sleep",
I swear I'll leave but I'm too weak

[Chorus]
Chase me, away from life,
Take me, just for tonight,
Waste me, like wasted time,
Placed me, into this lie

[Bridge]
Oh, once again I'm on my knees, and I'm prayin' for a way,
To make it through the night, and to battle through the day,
Oh babe, I'm begging please, don't just give yourself away,
I need your trust; apart we're fucked, to fill the empty space

[Chorus]
Chase me, away from life,
Take me, just for tonight,
Waste me, like wasted time,
Placed me, into this lie

Chase me, out of this fight,
Take me, into the night,
Waste me, for one last time
Break me, out of this lie

An Education of Terror

I’m too tired to be bored; I’m too bored to be tired… 

I shiver against the simple, yet authoritative drumbeat of Green Day’s new number, Lazy Bones, as the eerie thought of an unwanted passenger in the backseat of my Fiat Panda creeps into my mind. After two days dedicated to Saw marathons, and blasts of bullet-dodging and zombie-crushing on Resident Evil 6, I’m utterly on edge. 

And this silence is so deafening, it’s like picking at a sore… 

Billie Joe Armstrong’s voice rings softly through my speakers, calming my anxiousness. Lazy Bones truly is a great song, despite the rather obvious musical similarities to earlier tracks such as American Idiot’s Give Me Novacaine, and the anti-establishment charity single, Favorite Son. It definitely managed to take my mind off the fact that there might have been a pig-faced psychopath sitting behind the driver’s seat, I know that much. 

I never liked horror films, as a child. My mantra for such dislike being: “why would you ever want to put yourself through something that’s going to scare you?” I couldn’t fathom the morbid fascination with death, gore, or the supernatural. You are not going to learn a life lesson after withstanding The Exorcist, nor are you about to develop any impressive skills kicking back to watch Nightmare on Elm Street. My point being: you’re not going to get anything out of overcoming this fear, so why do you do it? 

For the thrill, was the most common answer, and nowadays I completely understand. After leaving an entire film genre completely untapped for seventeen years I am now undergoing an education of terror – if you will – beginning with the cult classics, and then delving deep into the sub-genres. I’ve been at it for a couple of pillow-shielding years now. 

I suppose this means I’m growing up, doesn’t it? I muse; carefully avoiding the flooded banks of the country road I’ve learned like the back of my hand, after countless trips back and forth from my boyfriend’s house (where I spend around 90% of my time). I thought about my current situation. I was legally driving a car that belongs to me, remembering tidbits of Saw III, with a half-smoked cigarette in the pocket of my jacket signifying the remnants of a 21st birthday party, and a blonde head of hair I certainly wasn’t born with. Although I don’t really feel like it, the signs of adulthood have crept upon me much like the masked villains of Saw I so feared. 

So… What is the point of this post? In all honesty I’ve been wracking my brains for a way to introduce a general “life update” and thought I’d cracked it on the drive home. The idea was that I’d write about my day, and then try to form some kind of conclusion relating to my current situation. I’ve grown up a lot since my last few posts, mentally and physically (I’m blonde now, just like I wanted!). I’m out of the place that was turning me into someone I despised, and am on the track to achieving what I really want out of life, which is to write for an audience who really wants to read it. That is all I really wanted to say. Really.

Oh, and I also wanted to plug a few posts that are going to appear up here soon, since it has been far too long since I updated this with anything substantial… 

Lyric Posts:

Stereo Slut – an ode to the music video girls, dressed in nothing but underwear. 

Hell for Leather – when reckless fun turns into obsession, as a young couple struggles to cope with mutual addiction. 

Your Last – a simple, honest love song. 

Written Posts: 

A Baptism of Music – my experience seeing Lady Gaga live in concert, beginning with how I fell in love with her music, and ending with the magical experience that is the Born This Way Ball. 

Each post is already complete apart from ‘Baptism’, which is almost done and is already 2000+ words and packed with pictures. The Born This Way Ball meant so much to me that I wanted to give it the justice it deserves, so definitely look out for that one – it’ll be a monster. (You actually won’t be able to miss it due to the number of shameless plugs I’m planning.)

So, that's it I suppose. Lucky my thoughtful journey home ended safely, with no pig-headed murderers in my immediate vicinity (that I'm aware of). Thank you for reading and I promise I'll update this with something worth checking out before Monday!

Sex Cells

Brand NEW song! I was inspired to include this as a response to my last new entry, Quiet Wars (below). Although I’m happy with the song as a whole, I felt that a lot of the meaning was lost in translation through double meanings and metaphors which, when writing for pop, shouldn’t be so difficult to decipher. This song is the opposite: blunt, to the point and bares the naked truth. I’d really love for anyone to tell me their thoughts in the comments section!

About this Song: Sex turns heads, and everybody knows it. It’s not permanent. Sexuality may catch your eye, yet love, connection and a future is what keeps you hooked. But, what if the only way your partner could honestly express themselves was through sex? Can the foundations of connection and love be built on a such temporary physical act? Is it enough, or does your partner need to tell you how they feel in perfect poetry? My answer is this song.

Sex Cells

Lips, zipped, like a courtroom safe,
Show me what I'll miss if I win that case,
Tied, down, whisper one-two-three,
It’s the last I'll hear until you liberate me

Talk is cheap but I'd pay for it rough,
He says what he needs in the language of touch

[Chorus]
Oh lover, it's alright with me,
To show me how you feel,
When we're in-between,
The sheets, because I know,
Those words aren't as easy,
As what you can show

Oh!

Grip, tight, on the cards you've dealt,
Lay me like that ace right on the felt,
Burn, stick, and he stays refined,
One last twist until he blows my mind

Talk is cheap but I'd pay for it rough,
He says what I needs in the language of touch

[Chorus]
Oh lover, it's alright with me,
To show me how you feel,
When we're in-between,
The sheets, because I know,
Those words aren't as easy,
As what you can show

Oh…

[Bridge]
Baby, sex might sell a magazine,
But a feature can’t fulfil my needs,
And maybe I’m a saint with words,
But I need a man to rule my world

I’d rather have you hold me close,
Feel your breath while nose-to-nose,
With just your touch I feel unique,
This is romance; don’t ever speak

[Chorus]
Oh lover, it’s alright with me,
To show me how you feel,
When we’re in-between,
The sheets, because I know,
Those words aren’t as easy,
As what you can show!

Quiet Wars

Here are the new lyrics I've been working on! Enjoy. Comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated!

About the Song: It's a stalemate of silence between two lovers as their relationship transitions into young adulthood. In short, they're afraid to argue to spoil the peace created when they were teenagers - bottling up their problems until at night when under the influence of alcohol they're struggling to speak at all. It's about finding the courage to break the Quiet War and realising their stupidity: that the most painful way to mature is to be immature about it.

Quiet Wars

We're soul mates in spring getting-off on the green,
Toying with the future bound by promise rings,
We're the summer of love twisted in sixty nines,
Unaware of the world, unaware of the time

Yet when daylight falls to 3:00am, ruled by eighties synth and bubbles,
To silence, we are condemned, suddenly voiceless of our troubles

[Chorus]
Where have all the hours gone, talking with our eyes bright?
Since when have you or I won our quiet wars at midnight?
We used to laugh, we used to cry, we could put the world to right,
I wonder why they've stuck so long, our quiet wars at midnight

We're a fairy tale romance with a bottle of sin,
Star crossed lovers pressed lips against skin,
We're a poem in Paris by an addict on the Seine,
Beautifying lies I've been brought up to believe

Yet when daylight falls to 3:00am, ruled by eighties synth and bubbles,
To silence, we are condemned, suddenly voiceless of our troubles

[Chorus]
Where have all the hours gone, talking with our eyes bright?
Since when have you or I won our quiet wars at midnight?
We used to laugh, we used to cry, we could put the world to right,
I wonder why they've stuck so long, our quiet wars at midnight

[Bridge]
Watch the blossom from the river wash away,
Trodden on, forgotten, waiting for another day,
Orion's in the sky why won't you point him out for me?
At eleven, for a second, distracted by astronomy

[Chorus]
Where have all the hours gone, talking with our eyes bright?
Since when have you or I won our quiet wars at midnight?
We used to laugh, we used to cry, we could put the world to right,
I wonder why they've stuck so long, our quiet wars at midnight

Where have all the hours gone, talking with our eyes bright?
Since when have you or I won our quiet wars at midnight?
Silent stalemates in the night, rather kiss than have a fight,
I wonder why they've stuck so long, our quiet wars at midnight

Standing In Line to See the Show Tonight

Two pints in the left one!

My heels are on fire. They’re pink, sore, and blistered. My eyes are bloodshot and drooping, my hair’s got a life of its own, I’m hungry and tired, I may have caught pneumonia, and my body feels like I’ve just endured Arnie Schwarzenegger’s Mr. Olympia training routine.

BUT, all of that was worth it.

I got home, and wrote that little paragraph on Monday about seeing the Red Hot Chili Peppers live. Despite being completely drenched by torrential rain on the walk in, sitting in soaked jeans and grinning through cold shivers for three hours, our moods were brighter than the spotlights. So what if I kicked a pint of Strongbow all over my bag, or nearly bludgeoned bystanders by dancing; we had an incredible day filled with laughter and excitement.

There were a few surprises in the setlist which deserve an honourable mention:

I Like Dirt – I’m not sure if this track is played live often, but for me it was a shock considering this was a big show, and the majority of the audience seemed to have gathered for the hits (boring people, I otherwise like to call them). We air-jammed and jumped around for the entire song… Much like the Chili’s themselves!

 

If You Have To Ask – Again, another old favourite! Blood Sugar Sex Magik helped introduce me to the band’s funk genius, and it kills me that a lot of the album tracks aren’t played live. The super fans in the crowd went crazy for it.

Soul To Squeeze – It’s hard to find decent live videos of this song online, let alone be lucky enough to actually experience it being played to you. This song holds so many memories for me that I STILL can’t believe the coincidence! It’s “our song”, and us being there together made it even more special.

Overall, the entire experience was magical. Kind of wish somebody had told me how difficult it was to get a Goddamn taxi in Sunderland beforehand but y’know, I was that tired, tipsy and high on adrenaline that I can’t even remember it properly. We got free drinks out of finding one in the end so that’s all that matters!

The Future Is Autumn

Five minutes, I mused, clicking the minute button in rapid succession to microwave my six-day-past-its-use-by-date Tesco Finest lasagne; concluding that if I added an extra three clicks then maybe this microwave would nuke all of the invisible, festering bacteria.

Behind me, equally as concentrated, my boyfriend furrowed his brow while struggling to find the perfect number of custard creams to accompany his fresh pint of steaming coffee. It was cute, I thought, that he’d emptied the biscuits onto a separate saucer instead of just snaffling them out of the packet with reckless abandon; our usual method of portion measure.

There were three of us in the kitchen at lunchtime. Half in, half out of the main cooking area stood my friend (who for privacy purposes I’ll call Ribs), tucking in to a plate of assorted chicken thighs and wings; 9% breadcrumbs, 91% liquefied lard. He looked about as unimpressed with his purchase as a fat kid with a salad, yet was gobbling it up anyway, occasionally pausing to shade my attempts at making my lasagne look slightly more edible.

“That looks… fucking disgusting,” he laughed as I poured the extra runny grease down the sink drain before serving. It was previously swimming around the plastic container and had somehow materialised during cooking. I grimaced, but continued.

“It smells alright,” I replied. “It’s Finest.”

“It smells horrible! I can smell it from over here!” My boyfriend exclaimed. Ribs laughed again.

“Shut up, no it doesn’t.”

I had no time to react before Ribs appeared by my side, furiously sniffing my lunch. It was at this point I was reminded of a leaflet I picked up from my future university campus on Friday (I start in September), titled “Eating Well on a Budget”, and aimed at students who are living in rented accommodation. Apparently, you can have a decent, energising diet by solely surviving on meals of beans on toast, jacket potatoes, and cereal. (The leaflet wasn’t stingy enough to disallow a heavy booze allowance, either.)

With that in mind, I think the three of us have been eating pretty well these past few weekends.

The months, weeks, and days I have left to check off my calendar until autumn are absolutely crawling by. Over the past few months, since late February to be exact, I’ve found myself warping into the exact kind of person I despise. The catalyst for this transformation being my job, but I’m not going to whine grotesquely about it for reasons you’ll have to read about in Self Loathing Modesty, below. This is only the internet, after all.

But, despite this change, I feel wrong in adding a new sentence to the end of that paragraph about how this period of my life has been incomparably shit, because that would be a lie. The reason I call my job a catalyst is because without it, I have no doubt that I’d be sitting here, pattering away on my keyboard happily, with my biggest worry being whether or not there’d be bacon in the fridge for breakfast. I owe so much thanks to my parents, my friends (Ribs and co), and my boyfriend, for ripping big, gaping chasms of light into what would’ve honestly been a scarily dark time in my life. So instead, what I am going to do is not dwell on it in words, but write about the future.

In autumn, I have a lot to look forward to. I’ve been accepted into university studying English Literature with Creative Writing, which I plan to tweak into specialising in “pop fiction” (a word I coined from pop culture and fiction writing). Finally, for the first time in my life, by choosing to stay up until dawn to write while the inspiration is hot, I’ll actually do better in the course – an idea which completely awes me. My boyfriend has been scouted to work as part of a band to support an up-and-coming artist in our area, and as I’m the resident taxi, hanging around during practices has led me to have a conversation with the artist, resulting in interest being shed on my lyrics and me being asked to write for not only the band, but the artist himself.

As I posted on Twitter, is there such a thing as alternative-pop-urban-R&B-funk-reggae? If not, we’re about to create it. Watch this space! (Did that sound corny?)

Musically, autumn will be immense. It’s no secret that my two all-time greatest idols are Lady Gaga and Green Day, but I’ve also been a huge fan of The Killers since the release of Hot Fuss when everybody thought they were indie and English. They’re releasing their new album, and so is Green Day, which is a humungous deal considering Green Day’s last gap between albums was a whopping four years. I’ve got tickets to see Lady Gaga at the Born This Way Ball at Manchester in September, which to say the least, I am FUCKING ECSTATIC about. My jacket I’m designing for the show is being studded, the patches ordered, and the design finalised. We couldn’t get standing tickets but I’ll be the one exception into the Monster Pit if it kills me – I’m either clawing my way there or being allowed a wristband the correct way, it doesn’t matter.

So, what was the point in this blog post? In all honestly, this was more of an exercise for me than anything worth brandishing on the internet. If you’ve made it up until this last paragraph I thank you, and also feel that you should count yourself lucky; there was a poem I got close to posting instead, but the fact that I may have needed to write a contract wavering all responsibility from myself if a reader was 20 feet or less away from either an Adele album or a chainsaw, slightly swayed my decision. My last posts here have been quite robotic, and separated from what I’ve really been feeling lately, so count this as an update, while I’ll count this as a reminder of what I have in store; that when these thick, black clouds finally roll away, I’ll have the most beautiful view in the world of the new island I can call home. 

Self Loathing Modesty

Where did this cultural trend of self-loathing modesty crawl out from? 

And more importantly, why is this never recognised as being vainer than self-confidence? 

What I’ve never understood about society is the constant need to wear our inner most insecurities on our sleeves. Oh, listen to me, I am terrified of commitment, my parents have never showed love for me, I’m addicted to prescription drugs and my lack of confidence is making me want to rip out my insides. Would you like me to go into explicit detail about how I’m emotionally scarred while you chew your lunch? 

Surely if we were that preoccupied with our insecurities, we wouldn’t be so ready to reveal them to other people. My head simply cannot compute why as a society, the fear of appearing arrogant is so much greater than expressing any amount of honest self-confidence. We’ve forced ourselves into an unneeded pit of misery which in fact, we’re digging deeper with every confession. 

My idols and my own experiences have taught me to believe that if you consistently lie positively about yourself, you trick your mind into actually turning it into the truth. Unfortunately, the same goes for constantly adding a hateful disclaimer to everything you do. I have no doubt that these surprisingly confident revelations of private matters are honest, but because they have been tricked into to being so through repetition, not because they were born attached to us. 

If anything, it is vainer to obsess so much about your “modest” appearance that you drive yourself into self-loathing, than it is to be happy about who you are. Isn’t it more arrogant to confess your inner and most personal fears to an acquaintance in order to attract the right kind of humble attention that it is to feel good about who you are, and not care what anybody else thinks of you? There are far too many people who I feel are suspiciously secure about their insecurities for me to believe that they didn’t want to seek anything other than an unpredictably deep conversation. 

I hate this depressing culture. Breathe some life into your personalities and start to speak highly of yourself. Who knows, even if it starts out as a lie it might just turn into the truth.