TBP#1: Broadripple is Burning

This first selection from The Basilisk project was composed to the song "Broadripple is Burning" By Margot and the Nuclear So and So's. I encourage you to listen to the song as well as enjoy the story I've written below. There are a few different versions of the song, the one I listened to was from the Daytripper sessions. You can find the song on youtube, and their own website is here.
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When Tyler arrived at the farm house, Markus was occupying a few stairs in the yard. Dust caked his face, save for two symmetrical trails from the corners of his eyes to his chin. He was camouflaged against the dirt-colored, unharvested grain waving in the field behind him. The stairs he occupied had been put up two summers back, and his father had planned a shed to attach to them, but caught a bullet before he could start on it.

A dozen yards from Markus was an idling armored car. Men with guns and masks marched purposefully from the house to the car and back again. Each man carried an armful of goods to be stowed in the back of the intimidating vehicle. One of them raised a rifle when he noticed Tyler’s approach.

“Don’t fuckin’ move.” He more suggested than ordered in a gravelly, sleep-deprived voice.

Tyler’s hands went up. “No trouble, just talkin’ to my friend here.” He explained, motioning to Markus.

The gunman kept the rifle trained but took a few steps back, leaning back on the grill of the armored car.

“We heard they hit your family, so I came over quick as I could. What happened?” Tyler said, planting himself on the stairs next to Markus.

“Everything I thought I had has gone to shit.” Markus slurred. He reached down next to his leg and grabbed a paper bag wrapped bottle, took a swig without a wince, and continued.

“They’re the gang that shot m’dad, too. They jus’ drove up this mornin’ and told me to give ‘em the keys and stay out of the way, or they’d shoot me down and take everything anyway.”

“What’s that?” Tyler motioned at the bottle.

“It’s not important.” Markus took another swig and passed the bottle over. Judging by his tone, Tyler wasn’t even sure he’d heard the question.

“Where’s your Mom?” Tyler questioned

“Prob’ly sick off huffin’ glue somewhere in town. Since dad died she ain’t been of any use, you know that.”

“Sister?”

“Katie lit outta town last week, hitchhiking. Got picked up by some truck headed north. Might be dead now for all I know. With any luck she’s somewhere better’n here.”

Tyler took a tug on the bottle and choked on the rancid liquor inside. He passed the bottle back and asked:

“So what’re you gonna do?”

Markus stood and smiled.

“Doesn’t matter. Anything I get, they’ll just take from me. Think I’ll just wander a while, see the sights.”

He shuffled unsteadily to the dilapidated fence, swung one leg over and looked back across his shoulder at his friend.

“Hell, I’m a free man now.”

With that he finished crossing into that dirty wheat field and disappeared into their swaying stalks, singing a wandering song.

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There you have it, post number ten. (approach with trepidation)

Damn.

Remember that guy from last week's post? The goofy guy who's getting married? Well, new information has surfaced that his marriage may have been arranged. Do you know what that means?


I am an asshole.


In other news, I read this book called "Love is a mixtape" by Rob Sheffield. It's totally badass if you're into music, or love. And if you're not into music or love:
GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY BLOG.

Anyway, he mentioned how this girl once told him that all boys are either Beatles boys or Stones boys. You can love them both, but only one of them is yours forever. It was appropriate for the era. For the record, between the two of these, I'm a Stones boy, but I'm not a huge fan of either, to be honest.

I just love it when people are so into music for such a long time that they get this "big picture" kind of unique viewpoint about certain things. One that I've observed is the following, I just haven't figured out a romantic way to say it like she did above. 


There are three bands. One of these bands you love. One of these bands you like. One of these bands you could do without. These bands are Stone Temple Pilots, Soundgarden and Pearl Jam. For me, they correspond to the categories in the order I put them, but it's different for everyone. I work with another guy who freaking loves Pearl Jam, but doesn't care for STP. 


I plan on sharing these various musical "Big Picture" ideas with you from time to time.

Poem time:
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Damn.


The damned mill around in slow
sad
circles
blowing smoke rings


here the brass plays constantly


you can walk by
their pit
and smell the gunsmoke
from pistols that
have long since
rusted away


The spurs don't jingle anymore
and there's no
barley and oak
to taste


The frontier is settled
and so they mill
carving circles in the ground
with their restlessness
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There you have it, post number six. (approach with trepidation) 

Knuckles

I've been thinking about musical prejudice and just how damaging it can be. A recent example from my life is the band Cold War Kids. When I first heart the name, I instantly dismissed them as emo garbage just because of their name. I never even listened to their music! It wasn't until much later that I happened to be listening to a Pandora station I'd put together and this really simple but powerful piano-accompanied bluesy-voiced song came on. I was instantly taken with it, so I looked to see what it was: Hospital Beds by Cold War Kids. I was fairly shocked, and decided to look into them some more.


The problem stems from the fact that there is SO MUCH music out there that you often have to wade through a sea of total crap before you find something that you like, and that crap makes patterns in your head. You tend to extrapolate based on those patterns and sometimes miss out on things that you might have otherwise enjoyed.


A prejudice of mine is against acoustic singer-songwriter types. I really don't like Jack Johnson, and I tend to find the genre, in general, to be generic in theme and melody. Most of the time it just doesn't do it for me. But there are artists that fit into this genre that I absolutely love too. Most of the time it depends on the circumstances behind the discovery. You have to be in the right frame of mind. So step outside of your comfort zone. Find someone who's musical tastes you respect, and have them suggest some bands or songs in a genre that you generally dislike. You'll probably be pleasantly surprised. Who knows, maybe you'll add Bluegrass, Gangster Rap, Country-Western and Metalcore to your regular rotation, because I assure you there is great great music in all of these genres, sometimes you just have to wade through some of the bad stuff to find it.


Here's a poem that has NOTHING to do with that whatsoever. 


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Knuckles
They found him huddled,
hugging his knees,
in the bathroom
under the towel rack.
Awake but unresponsive.
No obvious trauma,
but it was clear
that all was not well.
So the ambulance came
and took him away,
not quite catatonic,
to his hospital bed,
where he slept very much
and ate very little.
When they asked him what happened
he asked for a marker
and drew big arrows
on the backs of his hands
pointing up at his knuckles.
His doctors made those grave faces
they're so practiced at 
and said this boy is very sick
but we can find nothing wrong with him.
They poked and they prodded
and asked a great deal of questions
which he did not answer.
He explained to them at different times
under different circumstances
how some people see life as a journey,
or a wheel that they spin
and stare at, wide-eyed
to see what happens to them.
Some see life as a chore,
something they have to 
wake up every day and do
and he'd like to go back to bed now
because he's very tired.
I heard one day he jumped out the window.
He was chatting with some kid
who just had his tonsils out,
a captive audience.
He said one day he woke up
and just didn't want to do it anymore,
but it turns out you can't
just lay down and die.
So he ran and jumped out the window,
with both fists out
in front of his face,
superman-style.
Those arrows were still pointing at his knuckles.
I think it's so he'd know
which way he was going.
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There you have it, post number two. (approach with trepidation)