Original Song Write

"Ignorant To Reality"

Song Composer: Meagan Elliott

Once upon a time, one lonely little night
Something sparked between us

It left me wondering who I was
Words just gently flew, simply back and forth
It looked like a never ending connection
Now I see you were just kidding about all your promises

This thing was breaking down, we barely ever speak
I did not understand
It hid in the corner until the last possible second
It was waiting patiently to be found
Until it hit me like a brick
But lucky for you, it was already too late

Now it rains in the morning
And it rains in the night
Everything is wrong
I was there when it struck us?
Maybe I was just ignorant to reality

This is not just about one little thing
For this thing is just not that simple
I thought it was just in my heart
But it was actually playing games in my brain
It spun me in circles and I lost track of where I was
Sad how easy you get lost in those colors

Here's to silence that cuts through my core
You played your game and had your fun
Now I'm here with the sense so low
I'm alone
I thought I knew for a moment
Now I just don't know anymore

Now it rains in the morning
And it rains in the night
Everything is wrong
I was there when it struck us?
Maybe I was just ignorant to reality

Oh, oh
Just back up, just back up
You won't get away with this easily
I see you still trying to play your games
You better be careful

Or I guess you don't know me that well

Now it rains in the morning
And it rains in the night
Everything is wrong
I was there when it struck us?
Maybe I was just ignorant to reality

Ohhh…

Wake me when I’m dead

I’m ignorant to reality

Short Story Two Writing

Why Didn't He Know?

     It all came to him as a shock. His body was still calming down from convulsive stiffness. He stared around the room, looking for something, anything, to give him answers to the questions that viciously scrambled through his head. But, the room was empty except for his bed, dresser, and night stand. It has been only five hours since he found out; to him, it feels like an entire month has passed by at an indescribably, painfully slow pace. Everything around him, the imminent passing of cars, the birds chirping outside his window, the ever-so-often creak in the walls, slowed down; the sounds lulled out, but the sound appeared to come out as a screeching drag of emotion. It hurt his ears. The room was moving, making his head hurt as well. He tried to sit up off the floor that he had recently thrown himself upon, but everything sped up instantly; he almost vomited right there upon himself and he had to lie back down.

      Another hour passed. He still was incapable of comprehending any aspect of everything that he had just discovered. Why did this happen to him? How could this happen to him? Why? How? Why? How? His insides screamed, he cringed with pain. Curled up on his side now, he looked down at the rug. It was soft, gentle to the touch, no intentions of impending harm against him. It reminded him of her; he saw her bright smile, her eyes looking into his. Why? How? They just started flowing out of him and he lost full control of himself. His face became drenched with salty tears, his vision blurred, and he hugged his knees closer to his chest now.

     He needed to hold her tight in his arms again. He needed to know that this was just a loss reality for a short moment. He needed to know that this was simply a dream, that he needed to wake up soon to see her glowing face looking back at his. The longing pain to wake up made his body ache all over. He tried with everlasting strength to wake himself up. Nothing was working, nothing was helping. He began to panic, shake with fear; he called out her name, cried for her help. He needed for her to come.

     Nothing. She was not coming back. In actuality, she was never really there.

     Finally, he was able to sit up without excruciating nausea. He peered out the whole in the window blinds; it was dark outside. The one street lamp flickered dimly. The light was almost out, dead. The light was almost in need of repair. Then again, so was he. He reflected over this tragedy he thinks to call his life. He had loved her more than anything; he knew in his mind and in his heart there would no love like that one ever again in his life. He knew he was incapable of loving like that again. He had given her everything he had to offer. He took away her worries and pain. He shed upon her an unconditional love like he had never experienced before. He life was his and he made sure she knew his feelings every time he got the chance to tell her. He knew she knew it for all it really was, but he had a compulsion to tell her anyways. He was stupid to ever think she felt the same way.

      He got up and dragged his feet to the bathroom. He flipped the light switch, blinding himself for a short period of time. As his eyes adjusted, he stared into the mirror. His reflection was skewed, almost non-existent. This fact made him well up inside. His stomach dropped quicker than light passing through a cord. Right now, he was so lost. His shoulders began to shrug further and further until he fell to the cold, bare tile floor. He lied there for a while longer.

      The sound of a ringing telephone pierced his ears. He shot up at the instant thought that it was her. He quickly crawled out of the bathroom and found the phone at the last possible ring. It was not her, just a telemarketer. He raged in fury, throwing the phone at the wall. The phone smashed to several pieces as it hit the floor. He was done crying over this girl who did him wrong.

      Angrily, he found a duffel bag and shoved all the clothes he could into the bag. He grabbed his old acoustic guitar from the back of his closet. It was covered in dust and looked so worn it made him angrier. He had given up his one love at the time to be with her. She made him put that guitar away. Now that she was gone, he was taking it back out. He threw on his shoes and with his limited amount of items, stormed out the front door.

      At the sidewalk, he turned left. That left would take him away, away to somewhere better. Taking a right would only bring him right back to her. He did not know where he was going. He did not know where he expected to end up. When he finally got there, he would just know. Things would speak to him again, tell him he is where he should really be. Again, he reflected over his past. He was mad and sad and still filled with raging emotions. The only difference was he was able to control those emotions and channel them into what he desired. Before, he had lost sight of his true life, what he was meant to be and meant to do. He had given her everything and she had given nothing in return. She ripped his heart out and left it in the dirt to slowly die. But, he got there before all hope was lost and retrieved what was rightfully his. His heart, life, soul, being no longer belonged to her. She had won nothing, but lost all. He had not lost a thing, but conquered all. He was angered that he did not know, that he did not see what was right in front of him. But, he could not change the past; this would only help him shape his future in the opposite direction. He was stronger now and she could no longer hurt him. She left him out for dead and this would be the last time she let him down.

Short Story Two Lyrics

"I Should Have Known It"

Artist: Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

Composers: Tom Petty and Mike Campbell

Album: Mojo

I shoulda known it
I shoulda seen
Leave it to you
To treat me mean

Every promise was just a runaround
I shoulda known it
Yeah you're gonna let me down
Well it's over now you see
It's the last time you're gonna hurt me

I shoulda known it
Hard to believe
It was all right there
In front of me

Sold down the river
Left for dead
Yeah you're puttin' ideas
In another man's head

And it's over now you see
It's the last time you're gonna hurt me
Thanks for nothin'
Yeah thanks a lot

Go ahead baby
Take all I got
And it's over now ya see
It's the last time you're gonna hurt me
It's the last time you're gonna hurt me

 

 

Album Review

Artist: Neil Young

Album: Le Noise

     Neil Young is unlike any other artist. He is thoroughly exciting and most definitely unpredictable. The amount of music that comes out of this single man is terrific, indescribable. Many people could view him as someone who is too far in one direction, much of a brilliant simpleton. Young is the definition of a loner when it comes to music; whatever comes into his head is what he writes down on his sheet music. His most prominent pieces of music are songs written about things that deeply piss Young off. Generally, favorite themes are revisited in album after album, including those of marriage and the plot of family. Young is constantly reinventing himself, never doing anything more than once. With his thirty-fourth studio album, released in the year 2010, “Le Noise” is a piece of art, crafted in probably one of Young's most masterly manners yet.

     Young is known for his radical use of music. He has many different types of projects under his belt, some of which include electronic songs, protest albums, and documentaries. Most recognizable of this prolific artist is his consistent guitar and vocals, no matter the project may be. He is easily recognizable, whether the audience consists of die-hard fans or curious prospectors. To produce his latest album, Young took a new approach and teamed up with record producer Daniel Lanois. At first glance the pun is not detectable; look closer and you will see. Daniel Lanois is most noted for his layering of music in the albums he produces by adding extra sounds, which usually do not consist of musical sounds; just plainly sounds. For this reason, came the name of Young's recent album, “Le Noise.”

     “Le Noise” definitely produces a new sound for Young. It has a dense atmosphere, not commonly heard in music. It is mature, thrilling, core biting. The combination of his sweet and sour guitar chords work for this album in a way they would not work for any other project. The message is deep and dark and compares in a similar manner to the White Stripes album “Get Behind Me Satan”; both are very ambiguous, as shown through the lyrics “some will go to Hell's inferno/for screwing up their life in freedom land” in “Angry World.” The album has a repetitive nature to it and a somewhat preachy theme. This experimental artist reaches his desired relevant music. Although the album is mostly electric, there are a few aoustic songs that add to the overall message; the hazy feeling in “Peaceful Valley Boulevard” and no effects in “Love and War.” This was very much a demo CD put on the shelves; it is just Young and his guitar, raw and open.

     The presentation of Young's newest album is so simple that it appears to be new music types and sounds, but it really is not. As you listen, the music makes you swear to yourself that it is more than one man and one guitar, that is contains many more sounds and effects when simply it is just Young and his guitar, no added justifications. That is what makes this album so interesting and cool stylistically. It is a clarifying dialogue for Young. He does not care about what other people think of him; his only concern is how somethings sounds with his personal fundamental music. His gentle and worn vocals work coherently with the emotional tone of his music. It is a statement made by one man who has so far said much to be put in words.

Short Story Writing

Turned Blue

     I told it I was lost in a dark hole; no one can hear me and I can not even hear myself. The place is lifeless; I do not see anything around me except black emptiness. I told it the place was beginning to scare me because I could not find the exit sign, a door that led out of this place. I asked it if I was ever going to get out, get away from this one memory. That memory flashed in front of me in an a manner so insidious and imminent. Every time it popped up, I jumped, and it seemed to silently laugh at me, pulling me deeper into a feeling of devilish fear.

     Everything is very confusing from where I stand. I keep asking it questions but it never replies; it only chuckles maliciously. His face is part of that memory. It's the only vivid thing out of the whole memory; everything else is vague, blurry. I think he was angry with me, but I can not be sure of it. His eyes were red with fury and it was like he was under a trance of some sort.

     Again, I ask it what was wrong with the man, but nothing.

     I think I was on the ground because he loomed over me, like a skyscraper over a city. He yelled and whispered and I tried to listen attentively, but I could not hear; I was focused on something else, a sharp shooting pain sent right through my body like a knife in the heart.

     Again, I ask it what the man was saying, but nothing. I asked why I felt a pain, but nothing.

     My hair is mangled, full of leaves and dirt. The perfect curls are gone and it makes me very sad; I had gotten so many compliments on my hair that day and now they will no longer think I am pretty. He doesn't have nice hair like me. Even though it is dark, I can still see his hair, it's gray. But, before, it was not that color.

     Again, I ask it how this has happened, but nothing.

     Extreme loneliness creeps up on me. All I have is that memory and all I want is for it to go away. So many parts are missing and I can not figure it out. Was I put in this place to find these missing pieces? Is someone looking for them? Who could it be? It laughs loudly at me now, laughing at my thoughts. It can hear me thinking. Why won't it answer my questions? Why is this all so funny to it? It continues to laugh as my questions pass in front of me through the dark hole frantically. I start to feel something wet on me and my vision blurs. Streams of salty water are falling down upon me, but I can not seem to find where they are coming from. I think my body is numb because I can not feel anything. In fact, nothing is moving.

     Again, I ask it why I can not move, but nothing. I ask what is going on, but nothing.

     “You,”, I scream. “You, filthy little girl. How could you lie to me? Now everything is messed up. This is not how it was supposed to turn out. I hope you know you made me do it.”

     Once a beautiful, vibrant girl, she lies in the woods on the cold ground. But, she would never again notice how cold the floor is.

     I frantically pace back and forth in front of her. I'm sweating bullets but it is 23 degrees outside. I can not explain what happened that night. Everything happened so fast. My hands are frozen in a layer of warm red liquid. My head hurts and I can feel the blood dripping down my cheek.

     As usual, she had come over earlier that night. She acted normal, as if I did not know her dirty little secret. But I had found out and I was furious. I heard her voice and her arms wrapped around me in a hug. That is when I lost it. My pulse was racing. As soon as I had lost it, I was back to normal, as normal as I find myself to be. The carpet was soiled, glass was everywhere, the walls spun like a carousal. It was over; everything was over and I sighed with relief. Now, no one would know what we had.

     “Silly little girl.”

     I shot up from what little sleep I had gotten. It finally answered me.

     “You know that face very well. Remember. Pull that night out of the back of your mind. Come on, you know everything that you have done.”

     I listened. I started to shake with anxiety and fear. I could not find where the voice was coming from. But, it did not matter, I had to remember, just like it told me.

     It was dark and I thought really hard this time. His face appeared in front of me. I knew him. I loved him. But, he lied to me. I was young and naive, but to me, it did not matter. It was just a number that kept us apart now that he knew, now that I knew. Before, I thought he knew because he was different. That night when I went over, his hair was not brown anymore; it was gray. I was so blinded by my fake life I was living, I did not even recognize the change.

     I was so confused. Why had things suddenly changed that night between us that night.

     “You know what you did to him. It is your fault. He did not lie to you, you lied to him. Remember?”

But, I did not lie to him. I thought he knew who I was. I thought he lied to me because he was not the person I found him to be before.

     I could not think anymore. I fell deeper into the dark hole.

    “You need to remember. Think, and think harder than before.”

     I hear it again. It is trying to help me; at least I think it is.

     I see the same picture again. I am on the ground; he is standing over me. He keeps talking about a flower. It was so beautiful and lively. But, it was deceitful and complex and now everything has changed now that he knows the flower's story. I can see that white orchid in his hands. Those are my favorite flowers. This one, however, is destroyed. The man is mad and upset about it. Had he known the true identity of the orchid, he would not be here now.

     Again, I ask it what the flower has done; it is just a flower. I ask why he destroyed the flower. Nothing but a silent whisper.

     I plead this time. I need to know. It answers.

     “It is not just a white orchid, child. This man was in love with a girl he should never had loved. She was blinded by a haze of desire. She lied to him, but she did not even know she was lying; to her, it was reality. So did he. They saw each other as people of different identities. To him, she was a grown woman with great ambitions. To her, he was her prince charming who swept her off her feet when they met at a high school football game. Put it together, girl.”

     I began to picture it again. What reality was real? The young girl's reality or the older man's reality? I feared I would never figure it out. I wondered, but, why was I here? What did any of this have to do with me? Why was it showing me this picture and why am I in this dark hole watching it?

It laughed at these thoughts I had.

     “Silly girl.”

     I could not move or scream. I wanted to squirm myself away from here and as hard as I tried, I could not call for help. But, then, it started to hit and it hit me hard. I realized that I had everything to do with this picture I saw over and over again. I began to realize that I was that white orchid turned blue. Then, it all slipped away from me and soon, I slipped away with it.

Short Story Lyrics

"Blue Orchid"

Artist: The White Stripes

Album: Get Behind Me Satin

You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid turned it blue

Something better than nothing
Something better than nothing, it's giving up
We all need to do something
Try to keep the truth from showing up

How dare you
How old are you now, anyway?
How dare you
How old are you now, anyway?

You're given a flower
But I guess there's just no pleasing you
Your lip tastes sour
But you think that it's just me teasing you

You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid turned it blue

Get behind me
Get behind me now, anyway
Get behind me
Get behind me now, anyway

You got a reaction
You got a reaction, didn't you?
You took a white orchid
You took a white orchid turned it blue

Song Analysis Two Writing

      Musically speaking, the 1970’s were marked by an explosion of artists and shining creativity with poetry of song and storytelling with instruments. It became a time of breakout artists, as it was the first time in history that record labels made money for producing music. They forged their names on their own work and their own project. Money was being transferred and bands and artists were coming out of the wood-work like no one had ever seen before. Fueled by drugs, haste, and pain, a particular band came together as “a marquee combo with true superpowers”, as so put by Rolling Stones, and forever became a rare thing in super groups. This band played with a virtuosity of blues like never heard before that was fueled with the affliction and longing present in Southern Rock and Blues. Men that had just become exiles from their previously disbanded bands were united under the title of Derek and the Dominos. Within a six week period, during the late summer of 1970, they recorded the album so famously named Layla and Other Assorted Drugs, which is now one of “rock's greatest broken promises” (Rolling Stones). The true, belting treble-despair was real and the songwriter hit a sumptuous course of honesty and “an immortal lick” (Rolling Stones) with the songs produced on the album. One specific song spoke of Eric Clapton's built up agony over a woman who he so loved in vain. In the song “Layla”, Eric Clapton gives his account of this varied allusive narrative anchored by pleading apostrophe and crying imagery in words and guitar in order to provoke deep emotional sentiments belonging to a vain, secret love affair.

The name Layla is not just any name and is not just that of any girl. The name Layla itself stems from a book written by a Persian poet, Nizami. The book was so named Layla and Majnun; it told a story about a man who loved a woman with whom he could not be with due to her parents disapproval. Eric Clapton favored the story; he enjoyed and connected with the novel's theme of unattainable love. He alludes to the title and its story by symbolically naming his modern-day song “Layla”. However, the allusive story behind the song is that of an entirely different story from that of the novel. The name Layla represents Pattie Boyd, wife of Beatles George Harrison, with whom Eric Clapton was involved in a scandalous love affair. It is achingly sorry for Clapton, for Harrison had been his best friend at the time and he was profoundly in love with his wife. Clapton had made it clear about his love for Boyd, but she was uncertain if she wished to enter into such a thing. When the song went public, so did the love, and it made things clearer for Boyd and Clapton.

The emphasis and direction of the song is evident through the use of strong apostrophe. When the song was first written, the intention of the song was not to create a story for the audience to enjoy. The purpose of the song was to directly express the author's feelings for this particular woman. The song genuinely speaks to her. Clapton calls her by name all throughout the chorus, pleading with this woman he calls “Layla” (Chorus/Lines 5-7). He asks her questions and tells her about the things she is doing to him. Every single line contains the word “you” in it, or some form other than the indicative word. The use of apostrophe is the device used; without it, the song loses its meaning and purpose. The purpose of the song is to speak to this woman, to pledge his love for her. But, holding it all together is the usage of apostrophe. Clapton's direct and stern voice, alongside his pleading apostrophe, gives this song the much needed stability to serve its intended purpose.

Working to paint a picture of the emotions and sense behind this situation is the device of imagery. The imagery used is complex; it is the work of synethesia imagery, with overlapping senses appealing to sound, sight, and sense. The imagery overwhelms the listener, evoking varying emotions so deep and intense. The listener gets the experience of the thought-provoking imagery in the lyrics and the mastery and virtuosity of the guitar and piano, especially the exiting solos. Clapton paints the picture of man, presumably himself, crying and pleading for this woman that he loves in vain. He tells her “you've got me on my knees./I'm begging, darling please./darling won't you ease my worried mind.” (Stanza 2/ Lines 5-7) The audience pictures this poor man, just yearning for his loved one; sympathy and sadness is evoked in his words, which is his intent for the girl he is singing to. By falling in love with her, his life has been changed: “Like a fool, I fell in love with you,/Turned my whole world upside down.” (Stanza 3/Lines 10-11) His life is spiraling out of control; this is the last effort for this man to get what he desires. He knows what has happened is not right, but it is all at once. It creates this sense of paradox that is hard for him to deal with. The entire song lyrically is imagery; everything he sings to this girl evokes a picture or emotion. And to strengthen the lyrical imagery, the incorporation of guitar and piano paint an entirely different story that corresponds with Clapton's. Bringing in Duane Allman, who comes from a band that sings almost entirely of unrequited love, gives the song depth. Clapton is thought to be one of the best guitar players of his time; Allman may have been just as good, if not better. His guitar cries and aches as he plays. He plays notes that do not exist, as Clapton put it, which contents to the non-connection between Clapton and the girl. The notes that do not exist but are somehow played almost symbolically represent and correspond to the affair that should not exist, but somehow it does. In the end, Clapton plays his acoustic and Allman plays his electric and the two twining guitars, instrumentally, bring this song to a whole new level of meaning. They are totally different, but are coming together, again painting a symbolic picture of this affair. And to end the song, there is piano solo, which has come to known as one the most famous piano exits. The piano brings in another type of instrument story, as the sounds created for this song are softer and more delicate. The beginning of the song was strong and edgy, forceful, with the yelling, crying lyrics and guitars; the end is more geared toward softness. He does not want to completely push away this woman. He wants to give his authority to her, but to still, in way, say he comforts her and her delicate feelings with the ending piano solo. In another way, the beginning and end of the song contrast with a male and a female figure, strong and soft, as stereotypical as it is. To what it symbolically represents is unclear.

Eric Clapton achieved an emotional and mental challenge with writing the song “Layla.” He is well noted for his intense mastery of the guitar and songwriting. To write this song meant everything to him. It was a fight for a woman he loved, even when he knew doing so was breaking a bond that may be hard or impossible to repair. By sending this song out, he was announcing his love for this woman not just to her, but to the world. The use of language and instruments wove a story that was worthy of notification. The contrasting solos in instruments bring the emotions to a higher level if intensity. His pleading vocals cry out in vain that is unheard of. The twining of such musical mastery between vocals and instruments have left a lasting impression on the direct and indirect audience, which has grown to be worthy of its notoriety.

Works Cited

Fricke, David. “Eric Clapton's Tormented Peak.” Rolling Stones. Mar-Apr. 2011: 66. Print.