Need New Socks

Coughing up my creativity tonight, I feel pulled between places where my heart lies. Drawn to my music into a world of UTAS, paperwork in the pillions piles in my brain, always the nagging feeling that I’ve forgotten something, some sheet I didn’t sign, some unit code written incorrectly. Caught up in the confusion of conclusive cadences and not understanding why anyone but musical archaeologists would want to know about figured bass, I now and then forget the feeling rising up like the gorge in my throat to overwhelm me, that painfully good feeling that the music gives me, soles of my feet telling the earth, guts rising out through my voice. Coming close to sinking, swamped in someone else’s supposedly definitive music theories, my brain swings wildly the other way. Suddenly reckless I follow my pyrate friend to the pub and laugh and drink and steal his hat, but the music’s not grabbing me. I should be studying. Boy clicks his proverbial tongue but is happy to drink with me. I love him – sometimes it feels stable.

They say the first week is hectic but I’ve been here four weeks now and am in no less of a mess. Seems my enrolment changes every three days, Scummylink are hassling me, new job, new songs, moving in two weeks, and of course I am falling behind. What a time to have made a billion new friends who want to take me out drinking. What a time to have songs pushing at me from noisy potholes in my mind. What bad timing to discover deadly beautiful new bands who want to take me out dancing. I close my eyes and my brain doesn’t know where to look – wait, have I forgotten something again? Where are my keys? I thought I had more money this morning!

Late nights always felt so good; early mornings not so much. Gotta drag myself out of bed. Bad time to be falling in love. As I said, bad time to be loving new music. More hours in the day, kplzthx! The internet is confusing, how to make it my tool but not fall into the traps. Popular opinion on MySpace changes from day to day, sometimes it’s cool and sometimes not. I find it rather like a badly put-together Lego structure. I leave and follow my nose, my eyes get me distracted though and in trouble as bookshops are dangerous places. Painful reminder, photography, bitingly beautiful books. One passion put on hold to follow another dream. So many ideas, so little iMinutes. Finally the opportunities and the intelligence are mine, but I know what I wanna do, what I wanna pay ridiculous fees to be Educated Highly on. I Do know what I wanna do. I DO know what I wanna do. I do? Married to my music, god yes I’m in love, but the last girl was less high-maintenance… Photography bites its lip and goes to sit on the shelf. I buy something that makes me feel cold, a novel on the sale table. Ten bucks for the pleasure of owning someone’s words on paper with a pretty picture on the front. Dangerous places, bookshops. Three days later I get a chance to procrastinate a little by poking into the preliminary pages, and poetry taps me on the shoulder. Fuck. It’s like telling one lover you can’t go to their kick-arse show because someone you like better wants you to pay stupid cash for learning the most boring bits about them. Writing sits next to photography, shouting obscene, inspiring things at me from the corner. More distracting than the hole in my goddamnit I need new socks.


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x





All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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