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About this blog

Lyrics written by Cat C.

Entries in this blog

El Monja Blanca

By Cat C,

Last year I studied a module at university called "transformative writing". Basically, you found inspiration in a piece of art, film, or literature and "transformed" it into an entirely new piece of writing. You could watch an episode of your favourite TV programme and write a spin-off screenplay. You could stare at the Mona Lisa for so long that you saw colours and turned it into poetry. For all intent and purpose it was fan fiction.

For my final project I decided to write this: El Monja Blanca ('The White Nun' in Spanish). It's based on one of my favourite music videos of all time, Lady Gaga's 'Alejandro'. The years I've spent pouring over every minor detail of the video came in handy, and with this poem I intended to created a sort of metaphor for her sexual exploits during the rise to fame. I hope you like it. If you haven't already, please check out the video beforehand because I didn't spend hours picking out around 1,000 visual details for nuthin':

El Monja Blanca

Behind shadowed lace of a sister’s veil,

Betwix'd her royal roses’ splintered thorns,

Rests crimson lips; atop a canvas pale,

Their bold façade to mask her tender form.

Dark priestess guides a coffin into dawn,

With soldiers’ svelte, flexing bodies sublime,

Her faith unknown, yet her kingdom divine.

Upon kindred palms sits a fractured heart,

A ruby martyr; pierced, and crudely sewn,

Its stapled shards reflect in silver arcs,

A reckless lover who bestows one’s own

upon sinners: bereft to be alone,

Her solace found under the gowns of God,

Her strength pertained in those forgot.

In vestal limbo, on a militant throne

She dwells a tortured mistress drowned in jet,

Her conscience bruised by heaven’s stones,

And recollection burned by sore regret,

Fresh tears admit what eyes forget:

Her naivety, long dead; scorned by mistrust,

And fair beauty abused by senseless lust.

Resigned to twisted darkness, void of hope,

With a handsome suitor claimed as prize,

His chest caressed by creeping smoke,

And revolver gold, between his thighs;

- such perfection, ‘thy holy status’ buys -

Yet in her vacant eyes, nightmares reflect:

The ruthless fame and heartless sex,

of a naked Idol, her vanity stripped,

Her condemnation served on rusted springs,

Obtaining punishment from strangers’ hips,

Her chalice spoiled by sordid kings:

Between baited lips, she bleeds her sins

of cruel romance; of true love’s decay,

As how the evil night devours the day,

for twisting bodies with complexions silk,

Their tender skin as cold as birch afresh

With bitter frost: yet in their stature built -

With their biting limbs they purge in flesh,

As they gasp, and writhe, in staged distress,

Their pleasure earned in trysts of pain,

A rare taste preserved; their hunger trained.

A rouge crucifix upon latex clothe,

Her stark contrast not to be begrudged,

In a cabaret of bearing the cross,

In united stance, and voracious touch;

She is offered for The Lord to judge,

Sedated by their monstrous thirst,

Her body numb to all their hurt,

in her habit torn by probing hands,

Her headdress warped by starving nails,

Vision compromised by angel's strands -

A halo spoiled, atop a tightened veil,

Devoured by men; fair skin for sale,

Damned to prostitute her rights to love,

The fame deems her unworthy of.

Carpe Noctem

By Cat C,

I've been neglecting my GDC blog. I've been working on a hundred different projects for uni, for myself, and for my future... but because they're not ready yet, here's a little number I knocked up in a couple of nights. I hope you all feel special. I do quite like this one (in all its straightforwardness).

About this song: Inspired by the weekend nightclub crowd. I've followed the story of two make-believe characters in a drunken tryst on the dance floor, trying to escape their mundane weekday realities.

Carpe Noctem

Young lady says she's average,

Chained up to the middle-ground,

Maybe she just can't hack it,

Life's given her the run-around

He talks the game like velvet,

Suspender skirt extraordinaire,

Sometimes he just can't help it,

But nothing hurts in underwear

They're neither what the other needs,

Oh, but it beats quietly...

[chorus]

Timid glances on the dance floor,

In fumbled darkness less is more,

They both know what they're in it for,

Pour le plaisir, pas pour l'amour*

Pretty baby laughs she's "had it!",

Bored and caged by nine-to-five,

But she's too good for that shit,

Fucking just to feel alive

The Sunday lad she's courting,

Drowns his nerves in aftershave,

Sips bitch-pops like they're bourbon,

His safe excuse to misbehave

They're neither what the other needs,

Oh, but it beats quietly...

[chorus]

Timid glances on the dance floor,

In fumbled darkness less is more,

They both know what they're in it for,

Pour le plaisir, pas pour l'amour

-----------------------------------------------------------

* For the thrill, not for love.

Thank you for reading. As always, likes are appreciated but comments shall receive my eternal gratitude. If you're French then please correct my foolish attempt at your language - I was looking for a rhyme, and knew that "amour" would work.

A couple of nights ago I found myself at an impromptu beach party at two in the morning, doing shots of rum out of a child's sippy cup, playing a loud game of dares around the campfire with my best friends. We're all either in or rapidly approaching our early twenties, but sober or not, there was still something hilarious about flashing a nearby fisherman, or pushing each other over in the sea; and talking about our wildest sexual escapades felt as exciting as it would've done if they were still something to brag about. To hell with maturity.

Nothing seemed to fit the mood better than a few of the old pop-punk classics I had hidden within the depths of my iPod. Inspired by this, I thought I'd make a big ol' playlist featuring all of the great songs from that era of music. Here it is. I wanted to post it here because (like my most recent status) I wouldn't mind any suggestions from you lot. We're all kind of bonded together with a love of pop-punk anyway, so who better to ask?

All I Want - The Offspring

All My Best Friends Are Metalheads - Less Than Jake

All The Small Things - Blink-182

Basket Case - Green Day

Beverly Hills - Weezer

Buck Rodgers - Feeder

Fat Lip - Sum 41

Feeling This - Blink-182

Flavour of the Week - American Hi-Fi

Girl All The Bad Guys Want - Bowling For Soup

Girls & Boys - Good Charlotte

Hit or Miss - New Found Glory

I Feel So - Box Car Racer

I'm Just A Girl - No Doubt

I'm Just A Kid - Simple Plan

In Too Deep - Sum 41

Just a Day - Feeder

The Kids Aren't Alright - The Offspring

Lifestyles of the Rich and the Famous - Good Charlotte

Longview - Green Day

The Middle - Jimmy Eat World

Minority - Green Day

Motivation - Sum 41

My Own Worst Enemy - Lit

Not The Same - Bodyjar

Ocean Avenue - Yellowcard

Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) - The Offspring

Punk Rock Superstar - Marcy Playground

The Rock Show - Blink-182

Smooth Criminal - Alien Ant Farm

Stacey's Mom - Fountains of Wayne

Teenage Dirtbag - Wheatus

Want You Bad - The Offspring

Welcome To Paradise - Green Day

What's My Age Again? - Blink-182

So yeah, let me know if I've missed anything. Feel free to use it yourselves.

My goal this year is to finally send my lyrics to publishers and record labels. After wading through a million pseudo "hit maker" websites, I've gathered that having a round-about knowledge of the musicians best suited to my style of writing would be extremely helpful. It gives the labels a direction to send the work in, and paints a fuller picture of the song. I've got my ideas of course, but as I've received so many comments and support here in the past, I was wondering if anyone would give me their opinion?

Here's a list of a few (rough) pieces. It'd be REALLY helpful if anyone would check them out, and tell me who they'd imagine performing them.

This Every Second

Peroxide

Sex Cells

Love Bursts From Guns

There are more in this blog if you're interested in looking at those, too. :)

Feel free to comment or PM or Twitter DM or Ask.FM or... use just about anything to give me your response if you're willing. :lol: Thanks!

The Marble Man

By Cat C,

It's little bit unusual for me to post anything but lyrics on this blog, but here we are. This is a sonnet I wrote a couple of months ago for a creative writing assignment at uni. The task was to "transform" an already published piece of writing, so I used a template of Shakespeare's sonnet 18 and introduced my own ideas to it. Gimme your thoughts, I'm aiming to do something like this on a bigger scale for this year's final project. :)

About this poem: Inspired by the flawless physique of Michelangelo's David. Written from the point of view of an infatuated lover, the sonnet reassures the man of their desires that although his mysterious nature sparks mistrust from jealous peers, by continuing to talk, their cruel words will immortalise his youth and beauty. (Included a few references to astrology.)

The Marble Man

To compare your mind to still winter skies,

Thou dost withhold more mystery and depth,

Wild sapphire stars reflect in pleasant eyes,

And broad autumnal storms are intercept’d.

Sometimes too black the gem of Oynx is stained,

‘To reflect thy heart’ weak men doth protest,

And that a soul so dark could ne’er be tamed,

Such as Saturn and his rings ne’er connect.

Thine infinite splendour of such physique,

Doth twist emerald eyes to brag untruths,

Yet thou shalt be preserved in tainted speak,

Through malignant minds an eternal youth.

With presence of lust, thou remain’th divine,

Unaltered by words, and untouched by time.

A Baptism of Music

By Cat C,

To commemorate one whole year since I had the pleasure of seeing Lady Gaga live on her Born This Way Ball tour, I thought I'd finally post this article I wrote about my experience. Due to life and other obstacles it's not completely finished, but because of the date and how much the show meant to me, I thought I'd post it anyway as a part one and complete part two when I'm ready (hopefully soon). Enjoy!

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A BAPTISM OF MUSIC by CATHY CHAPMAN

When the dull, yellow lights returned the castle to reality, and the thousands of scantily clad monsters crowding Manchester's MEN arena began to slowly disperse, I remained firmly in my seat with my head drooped on my boyfriend's shoulder; my soul still high on adrenaline but my body drained of all its previous energy. "I don't want to leave," were the only words I managed to string into a sentence, the rest of my vocabulary flashing around my brain like the Scheiße strobe light show two songs ago. I know to many people this may sound odd, or obsessive, but at that point in the night I wanted to strap myself to the armrests and remain glued in this moment and to my seat forever – an ironic statement considering it was the first time I'd properly sat on the damn thing since the beginning of the show, but true.

My boyfriend and I sat still together, connected in a mutual awe for a few quiet minutes. I spent this time observing the Born This Way Ball crowd that I’d been too eager to appreciate prior to the concert. Attractive, soft featured girls sported three piece suits and bow ties, boys with strong shoulders clattered down staircases in stilettos and electric blue wigs, middle-aged couples strolled back to their Audi’s with sticky Pepsi cans wound into their up-do's. It was shameless, and beautifully so. For the last couple of hours me, and all of these other freaks of nature had been united and I simply wasn’t ready for it all to end.

"My wish is that when you leave here," Lady Gaga had grinned an hour ago; wearing a buckled Armani creation and winning this magical request after ripping a Barbie's leg off like a wishbone after it was thrown on stage by an eager fan (a show ritual), "... each one of you will discover something new that you love about yourselves." The crowd screamed in adoration. Her response to this was to simply giggle like a 5 year-old playing Princess, and to exclaim "Wishhhh!" to complete the magic spell; tossing the plastic carcass back into the pit she came from. As I sat there at the end, people watching just to pass the time, I was too dazed to make her wish come true. What I did feel was completely the opposite; I'd found something new I loved about her - the untouchable, formidable, superstar - in the last two and a half hours of art pop insanity. This was her presence.

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If two years ago you told me that by the time I was nineteen I’d be throwing shapes at a Lady Gaga concert covered in mix of glitter and sweat, dressed like a cheap hooker, I would’ve cringed and refused to believe it to be true. Then, music to me was a riot of power chords sung by poets with sleeve tattoos – rock n’ roll bands I refused to believe brushed shoulders with pop, because this was music with depth, and it was led by the kind of raw, dedicated talent that the manufactured genre of pop of seemed to be completely absent of. Throughout my teenage years I held a firm – and now embarrassing – belief that pop music could be likened to a glass of glittery air: pretty, but ultimately transparent and utterly pointless.

I denied myself the simple joy of listening to a song just because it sounded good for a long time, I suppose believing that my mind would rot if it didn’t have more than one layer of meaning. Paramore was the reason I branched out into the pop world in an odd way – not because I’m a huge fan or that I find them typically pop, but hearing Hayley Williams screech out of my iPod lead me to the shocking realisation that I didn’t have another female singer in my music collection. I ended up finding rock women particularly unlikeable (despite essentially being one) so I branched out in the hope of finding a lady to aspire to. I’d grown sick of learning about life through male eyes.

After a few Kylie uploads and nights of jamming to Madonna and Whitney, I bought The Fame and The Fame Monster by Lady Gaga, suddenly remembering Just Dance and Alejandro - two songs I’d soberly refused to accept as catchy, yet falling over myself to play them at parties. After taking some time to properly listen to her albums without the distraction of booze or chit-chat, I fell head over heels in love. The unabashed, bubble-gum pop music in The Fame was mixed with an intelligent, tongue in cheek humour I didn’t expect, and The Fame Monster although short, was as dark as any metal masterpiece, and as seedy as a strip club in a bad neighbourhood. What I enjoyed the most about these opposites was that they were both distinctly feminine – finally educating me about the pitfalls of female sexuality, and alternatively, how to embrace my womanhood.

Next on my list was Born This Way. This was pop but not as I had ever perceived it – Lady Gaga was actually quoting artists I’d studied, referencing films I liked, presenting image and fashion in a way that I now understood was meant to accentuate her music; transforming her songs from chart toppers into multisensory performance art. I delved into her history as an artist in the same way I researched my favourite rock stars, and learned a lot about her struggles with addiction, originality, and especially self-confidence as an artist. In a matter of weeks this woman I assumed was a passive pop starlet, begging for attention, had become an inspiration, and most importantly, a new role model.

Nowadays, I’m buried so far in the Little Monster fan base that I couldn’t even claw my way out with a six inch set of Brooklyn nails (but it’s not as though I’d ever want to). Like a hard drug it was easy to surrender to my new addiction, and before I knew it, I was a changed woman bedazzling denim, with my fingers sorer than the night after my first guitar lesson. I – unsurprisingly – became dedicated to getting a ticket to the infamous Born This Way Ball. I planned my outfit months in advance, took a day off work to buy two £80 tickets in the pre-sale, pushed 100 studs into that Goddamned denim jacket until I felt like ripping the thing apart by my teeth… and arranged, then re-arranged my concert partner around 50 times over. Luckily, I got there in the end. I was the proud owner of my very first Lady Gaga ticket, and it was worth every fucking penny.

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The journey to Manchester arena itself was a smooth one. As smooth as it could get considering we were strangers to the city and had consumed a bottle of wine between us the train. We had the usual “where’s the nearest toilet?” confusion, got stuck inside a pub fence while searching for a cashpoint, and it took about an hour of walking around in the rain to find a decent bar to continue our boozy afternoon, but aside from that, it was quite uneventful.

Before the show, fully dressed up in my heavy-metal-hooker garb, I started to get surprisingly nervous. Wasn’t this feeling supposed to be excitement? I’d waited, planned, and stanned for over a year for this moment, and the idea of the Ball itself had manifested into everything I could ever want from a concert. Without letting on how I was feeling, I managed to calm these unexplainable nerves in the taxi, after the radio DJ announced he was playing Born This Way in commemoration of the concert. Everybody in the city seemed to be in on it – even the taxi driver’s daughter had camped out for the last couple of days to gain exclusive access to the “Monster Pit”. (A pit built into the stage available to GA ticket holders who turned up first and “dressed to ball”. A fitting treat for all of that dedication, in my opinion.)

Due to my nervousness and the fact that by this point, we were verging on drunk after day’s worth of drinking, meant that we were late enough to miss half of the opening act’s set – The Darkness! A band I’ve loved for years! – and that the queues for merchandise, toilets and drinks were huge. After navigating our way through all three of them, we entered the arena to discover that our seats were beyond amazing. The arena was so small that every seat in the house must’ve had a brilliant view. It felt great that we were all a part of something so unusually intimate for the Ball, which I knew was used to spanning across stadiums with crowds tripling the attendance of our night.

My boyfriend and I sat tight in our seats for what felt like an eternity. The advertisement for the Lady’s perfume, Fame, appeared on the big screens twice; causing me to almost trip into cardiac arrest, and signifying that she was next to take the stage. Compared to every other concert I’ve attended, the atmosphere in the arena from the moment we sat down to her introduction was incredible – there were that many full, enthusiastic Mexican waves that I lost count after five, and the continuous excited chants of “GA-GA, GA-GA, GA-GA!” echoing right up to the rafters from the front made me tingle in anticipation. Just as I leant to my boyfriend to ask for the time, the arena turned pitch black. The previously cute, excitable atmosphere and crowd turned into complete, unregulated, insanity, and without a second to waste, the beat and opening vocals of Born This Way’s Highway Unicorn pierced our adoring screams. My heart felt like it had flung itself up from my chest and into my head – from then until the end of the closing number, assuming the reigns of my mind as if my brain couldn’t handle the passion.

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The tickets may have been expensive, but you sure get what you pay for at a Lady Gaga concert. The first quarter of her show was laden with heavy-duty, yet surprisingly wearable props, adorned by the woman herself and in a spectacular way, her dancers. Her entrance was on horseback (hence the song, Highway Unicorn). Supported on the shoulders of her faithful dancers, Lady Gaga appeared with either leg astride a Chinese dragon-like mechanism; a roaring, jet-black unicorn, steaming at the mouth and rearing up in response to the eager monsters who were clawing as close as they could possibly get to their queen of the castle. Knocked half-senseless by adrenaline, it took me until her journey around the stage’s grand catwalk was almost completed to realise that the beast was in fact, a cleverly constructed assortment of shoulder pieces, hand-held anatomy, and headdresses, all bore by her strictly trained and talented dancers – up until that point I actually believed it to be a real horse.

In this first quarter, the technology used to individually represent each and every song was astounding. To come away from the show was to feel like you had just witnessed the height of pop performance art in the 21st century, for this aspect alone. Her castle stage – a spectacle itself, being the largest scenic construction to ever be built on a tour – transformed mechanically, like a doll’s house, to personalise each and every track. Out of nowhere came a circulating wardrobe presenting all her legendary outfits, a presidential desk, an sniping tower, and an ice rink to name a few. My personal favourite performance from this quarter was a dark, gothic number named Bloody Mary. Gaga floated out from the depths of her castle, like a sleek, alien ghost, haunting the crowd with the slow-paced, rhythmic lyrics and a blood-curdling scream to end. Visually and vocally, it was stunning.

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But, for Gaga to continue her show in this elegantly detached, robotic way wouldn’t be like her at all. When this section finished – the only thing signifying this was the change in her performance style, as each individual song still continued to be personalised through outfit changes and props – she leaned out one of the 1st floor castle windows, bathed in a singular spotlight, and beamed at the audience. The crowd went insane, as this was the first time we could fully see her face, and the first time she properly addressed us. The introduction was over, and now it was time to get into the glorious thick of it. “Hello… hello, Manchester!” she waved, grinning. “Has anybody seen my clothes? I can’t find them anywhere…”

And so began Act 2; the only mechanical aspect of this section of the show being the movement of the castle. Between verses and songs, Lady Gaga, chart topper and global superstar, opened up and really let loose with us. She laughed at the signs hand-made by the crowd, interacted with anyone she set her eyes on, invited packs of fans backstage (again, a ritual), and told anecdotes about her day, and playing Just Dance at the gay clubs in Manchester before Poker Face catapulted her into super-stardom. It was impossible not to fall in love with her. She embodied attractiveness, from her sexy, feminine figure, to her confidence and enthusiasm to perform. And, as odd as this may sound – despite how many thousands of fans there were, living for the moment and dancing their leather-clad arses off around me – I felt like she truly appreciated every one of us. Sure, I may seem like the kind of delusional super fan that just eats up the speeches about love, and acceptance, and how she adores us, her fans, more than anything else in the world, but I’m not stupid. And neither are fifty million other people. There’s something about her as a performer and as a person that feels genuine, and that’s because compared to everyone else she just is. You don’t get that from a lot of musicians these days – and that’s in any genre, not just pop.

The show continued in this way. She got us to sing and dance to the classic hits, this time skipping around a beautiful bedroom revealed from yet another castle transformation. After performing four or five numbers this way, she disappeared backstage and I heard the filthy, throbbing beat I have spent hours poring over in adoration. My favourite song, Heavy Metal Lover, was about to be performed. Out from a thick cloud of fog, Gaga appeared as one with a motorcycle – one big, bad, black American chopper – ridden by a beautiful dancer, gyrating up and down her legendary behind. I danced so hard that I actually think I smacked a girl behind me in the face. I lost myself. “Just go!” I remember my boyfriend yelling at the top of his lungs, the boom of his voice still only slightly cutting through the beat: “This is YOUR SONG! FUCKING DANCE!”

It was magical. After an explosive finish, the Lady detached herself from the motorcycle and took centre stage, collecting “presents” thrown at her by fans in the pit. Upon picking a few she liked to show off to the crowd (a black dido, a mannequin’s hand and the Barbie, finishing by wearing a fan’s handmade denim jacket and asking its creator to see her backstage), she began not the first, nor the last speech of the night about the integrity of her performance art. It’s a shame that these speeches with the same content are such a significant part of the show, but in a pop climate of Nicki Minaj and Katy Perry, I can understand why. To sum it up, here are five things that will be continuously drilled into your mind at a Lady Gaga concert: 1) Lady Gaga always sings live. 2) Lady Gaga writes her own music. 3) Lady Gaga will not waste your hard-earned money. 4) Lady Gaga loves her fans. 5) Lady Gaga will continue to do these things until the day she dies. Simple messages, yet often completely lost in the universe of manufactured pop.

“Oh!” The Lady suddenly exclaimed, standing up after her gifts were collected and heading to the parked Heavy Metal Lover motorcycle to the right of the castle. “It seems that my motorcycle has turned into a piano.” The crowd laughed as she straddled the hog, and tested the conveniently placed instrument with a familiar chord. It was in that moment that the ball seamlessly transitioned to Act 3; when the dancers, props and towering castle seemed to melt away – leaving this sold-out arena feeling like we were huddled around her piano in a dimly-lit blues bar, hanging on her every word as though she was a talented friend performing songs she’d written about our lives.

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So, that's the end of part one!

:) Thank you for reading. Hopefully I'll have chance to finish this off, because it was a very important experience for me and I'd love to keep it as a memory.

FEEDBACK WEEK!

By Cat C,

A couple of weeks ago, GreenDayBass (aka Adam) and I were having a conversation about the dry spells of comments & feedback we can sometimes experience after posting our writing on GDC - especially now with all of the Words I Might Have Ate / Blogs confusion. So, inspired by the desire to create a closer bonds within the writing community, we began to flesh out an idea called Feedback Week. We've made a list of some helpful writers, who for the duration of this week, will spend time giving insightful, interesting, and constructive feedback to everyone else on the list. Their reward for being so kind will be that they'll receive just as many comments from everyone else in return. :) To remind us, and if anyone else would like to get involved (we'd welcome it!), here are the rules about feedback:

1) Use your creativity to write detailed and insightful feedback. Give the kind of comments you'd be grateful to receive yourself.

2) Don't be afraid to make a critique, but please remember to be constructive instead of rude.

3) Feel free to ask the writer questions and/or discuss your opinions with the other commenters. The conversation doesn't have to end with your post.

4) Please consider that some writers/commenters aren't native English speakers.

THE LIST OF WRITERS:

Cat C

I'm trying to build up a portfolio of lyrics. Here are some examples. Feel free to pick any three pieces, and tell me what you think!

Comrade

It is the first chapter after the prologue of a book I'm writing, called Senses Prevail. It's intended as something of a modern attempt at Realism and Decadence, among other things, and follows a young man called Jack Williams as he seeks to validate and practically live out the hedonistic philosophies he formulated to keep him from being bored during his isolated, lonely childhood deprived of thrills.

Artificial Idiot

Specifically Ode to the Hopeless Romantic, the one that starts with "A poet's mind is like an addicts mind" and Dream-Like Plains.

Maria Gloria

I'd like feedback on my novel Snapshots of a Broken Mind. It follows a recently divorced Londoner, Austin, as he tries to piece his life back together after being diagnosed with borderline personality disorder.

GreenDayBass

It's basically just a love song about someone finding love again after being torn for years and years and years (well you get what I mean) who finds love again, with the same person.

¡Iva!

Dirntbag

This is the first love poem I have ever written and I hope you like it. Thanks

Cym

It basically addresses how the sounds of certain words just irk me, and taking that discomfort and running with the narrative. If that makes sense.

AnUptightJinx

This is a collection of lyrics I've written over the past year. The three I would like people to give me feedback on is three short songs; Madison, Hey Dear, and Smile, Jasmine, Smile. I'd love any feedback, besides the point that they're short lyrics.

With special thanks to CristhyneS for being a helpful commenter!

:)

This session will end on Friday 13th September, or as I've been dying to call it, Feedback Friday. :lol: We hope by posting this publicly we can get more people involved, and will very much appreciate any more helpful commenters who decide to give us some feedback this week as a result of this post. Thank you for reading - get going! :thumbsup:

Patron Saint

By Cat C,

About This Song: Here’s a little quickie appealing to my lyric fetish for religious imagery (of which you may hold Mr. Armstrong responsible). It’s a recent re-write of a song I wrote in 2010, about the breakdown of a relationship between God, or any other higher power, as belief alone fails to save you when you really need it.

Patron Saint

I grip the sheets tight last night, thinking of,

Your broken soul I can’t stop, dreaming of,

Our future’s wasted; just a torn out memory,

It’s a hard fight to repent, such a holy tragedy

It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way,

But it’s the first time you’ve turned away… away…

[Chorus]

Patron Saint where have you been, on the outside looking in,

Crying false goodbyes, while your mind is on the other side,

Oh motivation’s such a sin; the only one thing you’ll give in,

Making sense of why you, just throw away my goals again

Shut tight my eyes all last night, looking for,

That pointless rescue I’ve been, praying for,

Oh I’m just a preacher, of another worthless cause,

But to me you’re perfect and I, know that you’re worth it all

It’s not the first time I’ve felt this way,

But it’s the first time you’ve turned away… away…

[Chorus]

Patron Saint where have you been, on the outside looking in,

Crying false goodbyes, while your mind is on the other side,

Oh motivation’s such a sin; the only one thing you’ll give in,

Making sense of why you, just throw away my goals again

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Would love a bit of critique on this because I’m hoping to add a bridge to it in the future. It IS an actual song I wrote with music (for once), so although some line lengths look odd and syllable counts don’t add up, they all have their place in the song. If anyone’s willing, I’d love overall opinions of the words, whether or not the meaning is easy enough to follow, etc.

If you've made it this far, thanks a lot for reading!

This Every Second

By Cat C,

I’d like to formally introduce this song as the little bastard that has been shamelessly dancing around my consciousness for five, long, years. Meet the phantom title that has caused me so much God damned stress as a songwriter, that has plagued me as a lyricist, and puzzled me as a poet: here is “This Every Second”.
 


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It has been difficult – to say the least – to match those three words to a piece that I felt really did them justice. I realised not so long ago that the reason this task was so difficult was that I didn’t quite know what the title meant. I’d boiled it down to a deep, inhibited desire for a forbidden moment, but what that moment was or how it actually felt understandably confused me as a fifteen year-old, and made my attempts in creating it look, sound, and feel as hollow as my actual knowledge of being in love.
 
Fast forward to around October / November last year, and as a twenty year-old with (a little bit of) life experience behind me, a page of fresh, impulsive poetry and a dose of inspiration I managed to finally understand what “This Every Second” really meant. So, without further ado, here it is.

About This Song: We’re losers of The One That Got Away syndrome, connecting sentiment to long-lost romance; consuming ourselves with an inexplicable longing for worthless, and impulsive moments. They become our twists of fate, our escape, the glittering flashes of freedom we’ll never get to trip into again. Literally, this song is about a passionate, uninhabited, perfect sexual encounter, and wanting nothing more than to re-live it again, and again, for every agonizing second of your life.
 


This Every Second

You and I, we can't speak for shaking,


Feels like, my eager heart is breaking,


Careless, denim and cotton hit the floor,


Teach me how to feel, teach me to adore
 


Nameless, aching bodies without place,


Or time; simply addicts to another's taste,


Not "why", nor tainted whispers of regret,


Teach me how to touch, teach me to forget...
 


[Chorus]


Chase me, away from life,


Take me, just for tonight,


Waste me, like wasted time,


Placed me, into this lie



You and I, trip into love with every breath,


Of poison kisses, as smooth as cigarettes,


Strung out, on this romance we can't afford,


Teach me how to live, teach me to explore



So close, hold me tighter, watch me break,


Into pieces, each tender one for you to take,


Don't speak, this every second's ecstasy,


Teach me how to love, teach me to be free...



[Chorus]


Chase me, away from life,


Take me, just for tonight,


Waste me, like wasted time,


Placed me, into this lie
 


[bridge]

Blue daydreams melting into weeks,


For breathless words I yearn to speak,


Two voices hushed and bodies close,


This moment lost I want the most
 


A moment lost I want the most...
 


[Chorus]


Chase me, away from life,


Take me, just for tonight,


Waste me, like wasted time,


Placed me, into this lie



Chase me, away from life,


Take me, just for tonight,


Waste me, like wasted time,


Placed me, into this lie!



------------------------------------------------


Comments are greatly, greatly appreciated! :) Also, you may notice that this chorus is shared with a previous song I posted, called Hell For Leather. This is the original, despite posting HFL first. Suppose it shows how long I've been working on it!

So this is a little bit different to my usual blog posts, but it’s something I wanted to put on here in case anybody wants to listen / download it. There’s an acoustic cover of Lady Gaga’s Alejandro on YouTube that I have always admired, by an unsigned guitarist called Joshua Calles. It currently has over 58,000 views on YouTube alone and I bet that I’ve made up at least 50,000 of them!

Anyway, the acapella for the original track by Lady Gaga has recently leaked so I decided to mix both songs together for my own personal collection, and also to experiment a bit with Garage Band for the first time. Nothing fancy, but a few of my Little Monster friends & couple of GDC-ers liked it so thought I’d put it up here in case anyone wants to listen. It is a truly beautiful guitar interpretation by Calles (the solo at the end... wow).

Here it is:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEMWEeK7xEk&feature=youtu.be

Credit where credit is definitely due: I do not own any of this music, nor did I make the album cover. Here’s a link to the original instrumental and you can find the voice track on GagaMedia.net. The album art is on Coverlandia, all I did was add text and mix all the music together!

My next “proper” post will be finished soon, finally! It’s another lyric piece I’ve been working on for months called ‘This Every Second’. I’m really happy with it, as the title is something I’ve had floating around my writing since I was 15. Nothing I wrote felt like it really fit until now. It’s so satisfying to finally give it the justice it deserves!

That’s all for now. Enjoy! Or not, haha. :)

Your Last

By Cat C,

About This Song: This is a re-vamped version of a song I posted in my old lyric thread, called “The Last”. It is a simple, honest love song which I haven't layered in meanings, or metaphors, because the words just speak for themselves. The story is about not being your partner's first love, but falling for them so much, that you want to be their very last. Personally, it is a song I wrote about my own relationship a couple of years ago, and it still rings true today. There's nothing like the honesty of a love song every now and again to remind you of your feelings (if they needed reminding in the first place). Please enjoy, and remember to leave a comment – nobody either thinks just "good" or "bad" so tell me what your full thoughts are! Thanks!

Your Last

The stars are playing out tonight,

Like a diamond supernova's light,

And I'm blinded by the beauty of their shine

It's funny how they feel so far,

From the two of us here in the dark,

Yet they still light up the music in your eyes

[Chorus]

Oh, I know, that it wasn't me,

To first watch you sleep,

But I'll settle for that

'Cause I know, that I'm not your first

But I'll prove what I'm worth,

To be your last

From summertime and sapphire skies,

To rainclouds and electric nights,

Memories like these, they make me feel alive

I laugh and smile to reminisce,

Confessions and a stolen kiss,

And how much I used to miss you every night

[Chorus]

Oh, I know, that it wasn't me,

To first watch you sleep,

But I'll settle for that

'Cause I know, that I'm not your first

But I'll prove what I'm worth,

To be your last

To be your last…

The stars are playing out tonight,

Like a diamond supernova's light,

And I’m blinded by the beauty of their shine

Know that you to me mean everything,

And no matter what the future brings,

I just hope the hand you're holding will be mine

[Chorus]

Oh, I know, that it wasn't me,

To first watch you sleep,

But I'll settle for that

'Cause I know, that I'm not your first

But I'll prove what I'm worth,

To be your last

Hell for Leather

By Cat C,

About This Song: Written 05/11/2012. I'll keep this brief in case I spoil it: this song's early completion is utterly, unashamedly inspired by tonight's first listen to Lazy Bones. Keep that style in mind when you listen. I won't say more than that. Unrelatedly (I stress this!), this song is about when reckless fun trips into obsession, as a young couple struggles to cope with a mutual alcohol addiction. Enjoy, and please tell me your thoughts in the comments - good or bad! :)

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

Stereo Slut

By Cat C,

There are a few reasons why I haven't updated my GDC blog since the beginning of August; the main being that I was going to wait until I'd finished my magnum opus - Hell for Leather, nonetheless. Between meticulously planning that and flitting in and out of the house making the most of the summer, I wasn't able to think of anything substantial to post.

It wasn't until a couple of weeks ago during all the Oh Love video controversy that I got an idea I felt I just HAD to publish, substantial or not. Whether it was supportive or in disapproval, everybody seemed to have an opinion; a "hot" topic of conversation being the wonderful, scantily clad mistresses hanging around the edge of the practice space. So, without ruining the little "About The Song" prelude too much more, those lovely ladies are the inspiration behind these lyrics. They are the stereo sluts. This is by no means a magnum opus, but it's an extension of my own opinion of the video, and an expression I was absolutely compelled to make. Tell me your thoughts!

About The Song: A sarcastic message from the video girls, dressed in nothing but their underwear. This song is a mixture of my simplistic Sex Cells style, the denser Quiet Wars and my typical lyric structure. Comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated!

Stereo Slut

Let's be reckless in the back of a taxi seat,

I've got glitter in my pocket and a fake ID,

Leather on my hips oh what a stereo slut,

Sing a song of romance twisted into smut

Watch your eyes; keep 'em wide, don't tear them away from me,

Bite back lust, look alive, these pretty glances aren't for free!

[Chorus]

Model me an eye-sore and send it to the poor,

Part time rock star's ego-fix, part time dirty whore,

Film me in a red light for windows on the tube,

Bent over by your idol, for fifty seconds as a muse

Lingerie during the day as a nine-to-five,

Airheads with airplays keeping me alive,

The radio's a saviour in this age of trash,

Sell it to your wife as it costs your class

Watch your eyes; keep 'em wide, don't tear them away from me,

Bite back lust, look alive, these pretty glances aren't for free!

[Chorus]

Model me an eye-sore and send it to the poor,

Part time rock star's ego-fix, part time dirty whore,

Film me in a red light for windows on the tube,

Bent over by your idol, for fifty seconds as a muse

[bridge]

See me easy as you wish, profess he's just a hypocrite,

Judge me ugly as you cry, switch off the box and bleed your eyes,

Taste the filthy touch of lust; bitter as your new disgust,

That perfection's just a figment of, time obsessed with fiction love

Watch your eyes; keep 'em wide, don't tear them away from me,

Bite back lust, look alive, these pretty glances cost a treat!

[Chorus]

Model me an eye-sore and send it to the poor,

Part time rock star's ego-fix, part time dirty whore,

Film me in a red light for windows on the tube,

Bent over by your idol, for fifty seconds as a muse

Sex Cells

By Cat C,

Brand NEW song! I was inspired to include this as a response to my last new entry, Quiet Wars. 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!

Peroxide

By Cat C,

About this Song: These lyrics are about the intense exposure and brutality of the pop-stardom limelight, and how it inevitably transforms an artist who cares more about the art than the celebrity game. Written in May, 2012. Comments & criticisms are greatly appreciated! :)

Peroxide

Famous and dumb, at a promising age,

Money to blow, on shoes and cocaine,

Fishnets and wine, too drunk to drive,

Champagne's divine, to vomit outside

Glitter and lights, blind her to death,

Raybans to hide, a picture of health,

Perfectly poised, high fashion in Vogue,

Glint in her eye, the camera won't show

It's not impossible in pop to be sincere,

She'll sell you her soul for the price of your ear...

[Chorus]

“Worship the art, not the celebrity game,

Give me your love; I don’t want your name,

Spit on the critics, smash cameras and cry,

It’s the beauty of fame, and j’adore the lie!”

Peroxide blonde, with lipstick kisses,

Signs autographs, and then dismisses,

Drive-by smiles, in flash limousines,

Whisky on ice; The American dream

Lights her cigarette, with a fifty bill,

Pens a new hit, after a bottle of pills,

Upon mixing desks, she bleeds herself,

For another knot, on the Grammy shelf

She’ll eat your heart to prove you wrong,

Yet cursed by the blind who see just number one…

[Chorus]

“Worship the art, not the celebrity game,

Give me your love; I don’t want your name,

Spit on the critics, smash cameras and cry,

It’s the beauty of fame, and j’adore the lie!”

Baby, take a chance on me, I’ll break the mould and set you free,

Honey, you’re a solider too, we’re monsters born to be renewed,

Sweetie, don’t be scared of life, take bravery from my sacrifice,

So forget the money, fuck the charts, lend me your ear,

And I’ll play you my heart...

[Chorus]

“Worship the art, not the celebrity game,

Give me your love; I don’t want your name,

Spit on the critics, smash cameras and cry,

It’s the beauty of fame, and j’adore the lie!”

Quiet Wars

By Cat C,

This song is NEW as of today! :) I thought I'd mix some brand new pieces into the handful of older lyrics I'm moving from my writing thread to see if I can drum up a bit of new interest. What I'd really like from this blog is to catch the eye of new readers on the main page, and to hear their thoughts too. So, without further chat from me, here it is:

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, and 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

About the Song: This song is about the constrictions of organised religion when it comes to having the "wrong" kind of sexual desires, from adultery to homosexuality. Love Bursts from Guns is about lust, sex, identity, feeling trapped by your own beliefs, and eventually wanting to break free for just one night - as long as you can repent your sins the next morning.

Love Bursts from Guns

Let’s get heavy and go out tonight,

I’ll blitz my brain with shots and lights,

Until my head’s bleached with white noise,

It’s faster than a preacher, girls and boys

Burn bottled bridges to my past,

If it’s wrong to be a “new-age psychopath”,

I’ll sacrifice my mind, to save my body,

But if I didn’t believe we’d be in purgatory

[Chorus]

You can be my Jesus baby; you can be my God,

Just sit me on your crucifix and I’ll do anything you want,

You rip off my rosaries, and I’ll throw away your ring,

I promise I’ll repent if for just one night we lie in sin

Sweet mistress locks the doors and walls,

She makes fists in her ears until He calls,

But just another, touched with hell,

Her shattered soul lets sins compel

I’ll promise treasure, a liquid tempt,

But The Fear instils that needs repent,

With bloodshot eyes, she cries at best,

Of whispered whims, her tears confess

[Chorus]

You can be my Jesus baby; you can be my God,

Just sit me on your crucifix and I’ll do anything you want,

You rip off my rosaries, and I’ll throw away your ring,

I promise I’ll repent if for just one night we lie in sin

[bridge]

If only love… If only love could break my promise,

Of passion… Of passion in a leather bodice,

Oh Mary… Oh Mary, what’s enough to shake from it?

Long live skeletons… Let live skeletons from in my closet!

[Chorus]

You can be my Jesus baby; you can be my God,

Just sit me on your crucifix and I’ll do anything you want,

You rip off my rosaries, and I’ll throw away your ring,

I promise I’ll repent if for just one night we lie in sin!

I promise I'll repent if for just one night,

You lie with me.

Concrete Wasteland

By Cat C,

About the Song: I wrote Concrete Wasteland about being in love in the underground, amidst an atmosphere of booze, 80's pop and Texas Hold'em at midnight. It's about making trashy glamour out of nothing but romance and a bad neighbourhood in the middle of winter. Written in December, 2011. Comments and criticisms are greatly appreciated!

Concrete Wasteland

Too bitter babe, throw me the bottle?

Pour your mind, you're my Aristotle,

Trust me alright; I can take one drag,

Keep it to us, or my Dad'll get mad

You slap that bass; I'm born to dance,

Cheap white wine, fuels our romance,

Darling light up, and pass around,

We'll smoke our morals, to the ground

No job, exit zone, broken glass like tumbleweed,

Hot mob, leather coat, put it on and run this scene...

[Chorus]

Oh, it's no secret baby; I'm flat-out in love,

You taste just like SoCo, and I can't get enough,

Fuck the concrete wasteland, my hope bleeds in the stars,

So let's smash a shot together, and make love right on the bar!

Stacks of chips, let the roulette spin,

It's glamorous, but we don't win,

Hollow wallets, no bragging rights,

Smokes and booze, make it a night

I know it's tight, but fuck the change,

Buy records and, roar songs all day,

Gets too loud? We'll pay the fines

Hand-in-hand in unemployment lines

No job, exit zone, broken glass like tumbleweed,

Hot mob, leather coat, put it on and run this scene...

[Chorus]

Oh, it's no secret baby; I'm flat-out in love,

You taste just like SoCo, and I can't get enough,

Fuck the concrete wasteland, my hope bleeds in the stars,

So let's smash a shot together, and make love right on the bar!

[bridge]

On the floor in underwear, drunken punk, perfect hair,

Kiss my neck like no-one cares, in the moment, anywhere,

Winter tries to tie us down, crystal tiles, lace the town,

Whisper hardly make a sound, courtly king, in a dirty crown

[Chorus]

Oh, it's no secret baby; I'm flat-out in love,

You taste just like SoCo, and I can't get enough,

Fuck the concrete wasteland, my hope bleeds in the stars,

So let's smash a shot together, and make love right on the bar!