time-out-for-rhythm

Alia wanted to see the full picture I made my icon from so I finished him. The entire thing was just a foray into ‘how the heck do your arms work’ tbh. 

Anyways, here’s 3/5 spiders. 

  • Bluebird-- Acapella
  • Elizabeth Smart
  • Bluebird- Single
Play

when I was first writing Bluebird (in the shower) it was very different and far more upbeat than it turned out once I added the piano, so today I decided to record the song in it’s original a capella jazz tempo

this is very different than anything else I’ve done, and some of the rhythm is a little off, but I hope you enjoy this version! :)

download here if you wish!

2

ive got one eye youve got one eye bla bla bla as in /x/
the slow realization that putting them together doesnt really work when both eye shapes are different

youtube

Danmakufu - Raiko’s Rhythm Rumble!

A.K.A. Yes, I turned Danmakufu into a rhythm game~

This was a fun little idea I’ve had in my mind for a long time and I just now decided to try to make it.  But it was HARD…  I have a newly found respect for people who program rhythm games.  In the end I couldn’t perfectly sync the game to the music like I wanted, but I managed.

Observe Raiko’s drum beat pattern and repeat it before time runs out!  Your rhythm is not enforced like in most rhythm games, so it’s more like a glorified Simon Says match.  Still, I recommend following the beat as best you can to make it easier to keep up.  How many rounds can you last?

Spellcard portrait art by Robotic Overlord: http://robotic-overlord.tumblr.com/

Download here: http://www.bulletforge.org/u/ajs/p/raikos-rhythm-rumble

A Place in a Heart

You said I was a symphony of thoughts
but every piece was out of time
running rhythm with melodies
to make a blob of unrecognizable noise

I am searching for something now
A place in a heart
A room with a view

Forget everything
and move away

I can’t find confidence in the mirror
Or company of good friends
I am on a ledge alone
Afraid that someone will come
And push me off

Someone else is out there waiting
for how long is knowledge my mind doesn’t hold
with how bad the end was last time
I can’t say if I will ever find them.

Put your music player on shuffle and post the first 10 songs without skipping. Tag 10 people at the end.

tagged by starfieldsky !! thank u love doing this meme (though i havent updated my ipod’s music in a year haha h)

  1. Fantine’s Death- Les Miserables 25th Ann
  2. Break Out Break Out- All Time Low
  3. She’s got the rhythm- The Summer Set
  4. Gold Mage- Homestuck
  5. She Takes Me High (Acoustic)- We the Kings
  6. Homesick (Acoustic)- A Day to Remember
  7. Rat a Tat- Fall Out Boy
  8. Charlie Brown- Coldplay
  9. I’m Low on Gas and You need a Jacket- Pierce the Veil
  10. On Your Side- A Rocket to the Moon

tagging sentencedtoship, oreosbesitos, hemaera, glassys-here, garchornp

✘ ; second mouth

"So, we’re working on rapping this time around," Soojung’s instructor muses, nodding slowly. "Interesting."

He pauses for a moment, seemingly to gather his thoughts, before continuing. “Did you know that most idol rappers write their own raps?” he asks. “Even AO. Or, they help with writing them, at least. Even for idols, everyone has their own flow, and it’s easier to perform something customized to your own rhythm.”

"You don’t need to write your own rap for the performance, but I think your rapping will improve greatly if you take some time to figure out your own flow and rhythm. Don’t worry- I’m not going to throw you in a rap battle or anything." He laughs. "There’s a coffee shop near here that has poetry readings every Tuesday night. I want to take you and a few other trainees over there to see what it’s like. Then, I want you to write a poem to read at the next one. Got it?"

a nod. a smile. a thank you.

tuesday came much slower than she expected.

—— ♚

the bell above the door dinged as she, six other trainees, and their coach entered. it was much toastier inside than it was outside, where the air had almost been difficult to breathe, but soojung kept her hands tucked into her coat’s pockets. she made her way to the counter.

“a large latte, please,” she said to the surly-looking server. her head was pounding and her mouth felt dry. last night, after downing new pills and an extra-strong vodka gimlet, she had fallen asleep in a tangled pile of herself midway through a midnight showing of A Nightmare on Elm Street and had woken up to a still-sunless scene forty-five minutes later.

there have been worse nights.

despite the shaky start, soojung had actually managed to have a very productive morning. she’d headed to the building and arrived for breakfast, and didn’t slip up once during her morning classes. as lame as it sounded, she kept finding herself looking forward to sunset, to leaving for the promised coffee shop after dinner and listening to poetry.

“thanks,” she said to the barista as she grabbed her latte. the barista snorted in response. soojung sat down at one of the tables in the corner, which had only three legs and shook whenever she placed her cup on its surface.

“hey,” greeted the trainee who took the seat across from her.

“hi.” she smiled quietly. soojung looked around so she wouldn’t have to engage in conversation. the coffee shop was surprisingly full; people cozily leaning over their lattes, scribbling things into notebooks or mingling, eyes turned to the stage, waiting for a start.

she combed her hand through her blonde hair. 

a man no younger than thirty walked up on stage to take the mic.

          ”letters to my body,” he began.

                              “dear lips, potential will never kiss you back.
                              dear brain, stop following in heart’s footsteps.

                                                                                                                                                      …

                              dear liver, i’m sorry about the vodka.
                              dear kidneys, i’m sorry about the brandy.
                              dear fingers, let go.
                              dear lungs, exhaling her name will not bring her back.
                              dear rib cage, where the fuck were you when heart was broken?
                              dear wrists, you never thank me for leaving you alone. …”

and it amazed her how quiet it could be.

—— ♚

the tuesday after that came much quicker, and things were exactly the same except soojung was standing on stage with her deep red cashmere sweater and her very blonde hair and the words she’d been writing all week in her head. 

she wasn’t thinking much about it, if it was good, or not—art wasn’t made to explain something to people, after all; art was made to make things people could explain to themselves. 

so, her brown eyes blinked unhindered by the bright spotlight and the single mic and the eyes on her, and when she spoke her voice didn’t quiver or shake or thunder.

she was speaking, and there wasn’t much else to it.

          “second mouth,” she started.

                              “other lips      whispering      between my legs.
                              what they called black hole,
                              not-thing
                              is really packed full of secrets.      a rebel mouth

                              testifying from the underside.      careful
                              not to let it      speak too loudly.      only hum
                              demure      in polite company—never laugh

                              or spit on the sidewalk      or complain
                              lest we both be dragged      under the wheels of
                              one of those.      or worse      coddled

                              smiled at      as at a lapdog acting wolf.
                              or worse      called ugly,      a cruel joke. or—
                              there are always      worse things.

                              too many messengers      shot. but then
                              who wouldn’t fear      an eyeless face
                              whose ghost stories      always      come true?”

and it amazed her how nervous the quiet could make her.

Open Letter Poem to the Silent White Majority

Ivory keys beware
Of sharps and flats
And jazz trilled out
In scats-
Watch out when you “do dat”
And “who dat”
And pipe up and down
That trumpet.
Be carful when you funk,
Hip-hop, turn, dip,
And drop,
When you spit rhymes
And bust beats
In rhythm and time
When you
Talkin out the side of your neck
Spinning it this way and that-
Remember:
They’re not just black to your face,
They’re black behind your back.
How can you jam and jive
With a beatbox track but
Get tongue tied
When what you don’t see
As national tragedy
Is misrepresented and attacked
And setting ablaze
Voices filtered through fury-
Makin this haze get more blurry
Cause sound falls deaf
Against a bullshit grand jury
And the silence speaks volumes
Because it’s “not your problem”
So you don’t have to worry,
But rage starts to boil
Because we don’t have to be sorry-
It’s you! with tight lips
And fingers so quick
On the keyboard but
not quick enough to point
Out injustice when it’s just us,
And you- hiding out
when shots are fired
And there’s blood in the streets,
Cause it was all fun and games but now
Suddenly nobody wants to be black.
I hope you sing so hard you can’t breathe.

World Poetry Day


in intervals it is coming toward us
specific moments slightly askew

there are so many reasons why the heart will flutter

measuring out the time it takes to
make a rhythm that moves a breath

there are too many days cast off as if
they are only random

these are all that can be gathered here
these sounds that make words that are

spelled out with alphabets that are
burned into the essence of who we are

we are this holy freedom yet to be, still
crawling up the mountain of hope before us

still hoping that this mountain will last
forever, so we add a day, then subtract

the infinite & listen tour hearts, listen to our hearts

#WorldPoetryDay #RazorPoem #NoFilter (at 1st Street Bridge)

Children need to be active. When they are immobile that’s when they become cranky, moody and impatient. They need at least an hour of free play, and in this generation of parents being “over achievers” forcing small four year olds to read and to be in honors, this “active time” may get pushed out of the daily rhythm of life. I am hoping we remember to honor our children’s time to be little, as it is only a few precious years. #letchildrenplay #betterlatethanearly #kidsneedtoplay #makeitblissful #parentingph #smartparentingph #family #thethoughtfullife