*hums*

[schmerica]

Spending the afternoon doing logic problems, thinking about writing fic, and listening to Johnny Cash. Yay.

Now I post lyrics for myself, for inspirational purposes:

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for dessert
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone
And there's nothing short of dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing
Then I headed down the street
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday

*****

Beside the singing mountain stream
Where the willows grew
Where the silver leaf of maple
Sparkled in the morning dew
I braided twigs of willows
Made a string of buckeye beads

But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh And blood
And you're the one I need.

I leaned against the bark of birch
And I breathed the honey dew
I saw a north-bound flock of geese
Against a sky of baby blue
Beside the lily pads
I carved a whistle from a reed

Mother Nature's quite a lady
But you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need.

A mockingbird sang just for me
And I thanked him for the Song
Then the sun went slowly down the West
I had to move along
These are some of the things
On which my mind and spirit feed;
But flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need
Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood
And you're the one I need.

So when the day was ended
I was still not satisfied
For I knew everything I touched
Would wither and would die
And love is all that would remain
And grow from all these seed
Flesh and blood needs flesh And blood
And you're the one I need.

Comments

[akite.livejournal.com]

I wrote a HCL story inspired by Sunday Morning Coming Down, uh, sometime last year. Don't remember exactly when, but it was posted to my journal and it's on my hard drive.

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Huh, that's really interesting -- I have trouble seeing the song for HCL; it just seems too thoughtful, I guess.

[akite.livejournal.com]

I set the story the morning after Billy left, you know when according to Pipe, Billy and Joe got into a knock down drag out fight because Joe fucked Billy up the ass.

Sunday Morning Coming Down
A. Kite (Feb. 2004)

The lump moves on a bed with sheets so old and gray that they look grimy. Joe Dick turns over and tries to open an eye. His head pounds so hard that opening that eye sends a shot of pain all the way through him. He closes the eye again and tries to take a deep breath before trying again. What the fuck did he do to himself last night?

The air in the room is stale. It smells of spilled beer, cigarette smoke, semen and blood. Blood? Joe sniffs the air again, and yes that's blood. He squeezes his eyes tight and tries to think. Fuck it, that isn't helping a bit. He puts a hand out to wake Billy, but his hand hits an empty mattress. The place beside him is long empty. Billy isn't there.

Joe groans and levers himself off the bed. Fuck, he needs a beer. He staggers around the room until he finds the beer. It's warm, but he drinks it down anyway. That one is either so good or so shitty, he pulls the last beer off the ring and pops it open too. He decides it's not so shitty and drinks it.

He belches and scratches and then digs around in his bag for a clean shirt. There isn't one. He finds the cleanest dirty shirt and pulls it on. Next the tattered green commando sweater that he finds on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he sees the blood on the sheets. Billy's blood. He puts on the sweater and stumbles down the hall and out the door. The smell in that room - he has to get away from it.

He stumbles down the steps and out onto the sidewalk. The sun is up, and it burns his eyes like welding torches. His shades are somewhere. Somewhere back in there. He's not going back to get them.

Joe walks down the sidewalk. He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to clear the smell from his nose - his lungs - his head. His breath plumes out in the cold air, and in that air there's the smell of someone frying bacon. One whiff of it, and Joe is puking in the gutter.

He stops retching and straightens up. He walks on, feeling more alone than he's ever felt in his life. He sees a playground. In spite of the cold, there's a man there. He's pushing a little girl on a swing. She's laughing. Her high-pitched squeal hurts Joe's ears. He wants to scream at her to shut up, but he doesn't. He moves on. Shambling down the sidewalk trying to come down - come down off the high that had cost him his best friend.

[dayse.livejournal.com]

Hi there! Just thought I'd let you know I friended you :)

[pearl-o.livejournal.com]

Hello! Um, welcome?