I don't know how many people actually have read this, but if you do please feel free to provide feedback on any of the stories I post and you happen across.
I'm slowly falling in love with 16 Horsepower [folk rock band], the singer has the same strength of story as Will Christopher Baer [an influence the writer admits] and vocal power as Tom Waits [different sound mind you]. And of course it has that soothing dark sound that makes you want to curl up and put on some good slow jazz or blues. Definitely sets the mood for writing. You'll see if you decide to read further.
Oh and I tend to use the names of people that are laying around. So if your name appears that's mainly, because it fit and I thought it would work nicely. Plus the sound of your name is beautiful enough to use. If you don't see your name, don't hesitate, I'll probably use it in the near future. Without further delay.
Lonesome Dove
A hand glides across the piano ivories with the smoke curling upward from the cherry at the end of his cigarette, dancing to the melody with the grace of a balerina. The spot light focused on his bench cuts through the heavy cigar breaths and alcohol-friendly darkness. A man with his head angled towards the floor and a guitar in his lap joins the pianist twisting the melody into a menacing southern drawl telling the story of leaving behind a love in New Orleans, a love by the name of Snow. He remains hidden in the shadows as he walks up to the bar and pours him a glass of whiskey to drown the song in. His words float on the tops of smoke trails and everyone in the bar sits mesmerized at the beauty and eloquence with which he sings.
I've changed my name so many times, I no longer know who I am.
I left my wife and kids alone with my heart in New Orlean'
but I have so many friends to pour across the bottle.
His gun on his hip glistens as he approaches the pianist, but turns and goes around the light towards the door. He steps up onto the stairs and lifts his head up for the audience to see how the night has gnawed at it like a dog does a steak. The jagged lines scratched across his face distorting the handsome face beneath the scar tissue, but his eyes sank into his face, beneath the skin, telling the tale of weary nights running from a ghost.
I immerged from the shadows and the wind was blowing,
oh the wind was blowing, with freedom the wind was blowing,
and it heard my call when I took up my gun and fled.
I leaned against it and it caught me before my fall.
With the final words flowing and dying with the smoke, he lays the guitar he borrowed upon the bar and walked back into the black air that bites with canine feriocity. He pulled his calf-skin jacket collar up around his neck and hides his face in his shoulders. A tuft of dirty hair like greasy fur sticking out over the jacket as he passed closed shops and steam rising in the damp street. The smell of alcohol filling his nostrils and everyone in the bar still sat silent even though he was two blocks past. He never looks back, because that's how he runs away. His step is steady, but not quick. Under his jacket, he whispers.
I want to remember, I want it to snow.
I'm slowly falling in love with 16 Horsepower [folk rock band], the singer has the same strength of story as Will Christopher Baer [an influence the writer admits] and vocal power as Tom Waits [different sound mind you]. And of course it has that soothing dark sound that makes you want to curl up and put on some good slow jazz or blues. Definitely sets the mood for writing. You'll see if you decide to read further.
Oh and I tend to use the names of people that are laying around. So if your name appears that's mainly, because it fit and I thought it would work nicely. Plus the sound of your name is beautiful enough to use. If you don't see your name, don't hesitate, I'll probably use it in the near future. Without further delay.
Lonesome Dove
A hand glides across the piano ivories with the smoke curling upward from the cherry at the end of his cigarette, dancing to the melody with the grace of a balerina. The spot light focused on his bench cuts through the heavy cigar breaths and alcohol-friendly darkness. A man with his head angled towards the floor and a guitar in his lap joins the pianist twisting the melody into a menacing southern drawl telling the story of leaving behind a love in New Orleans, a love by the name of Snow. He remains hidden in the shadows as he walks up to the bar and pours him a glass of whiskey to drown the song in. His words float on the tops of smoke trails and everyone in the bar sits mesmerized at the beauty and eloquence with which he sings.
I've changed my name so many times, I no longer know who I am.
I left my wife and kids alone with my heart in New Orlean'
but I have so many friends to pour across the bottle.
His gun on his hip glistens as he approaches the pianist, but turns and goes around the light towards the door. He steps up onto the stairs and lifts his head up for the audience to see how the night has gnawed at it like a dog does a steak. The jagged lines scratched across his face distorting the handsome face beneath the scar tissue, but his eyes sank into his face, beneath the skin, telling the tale of weary nights running from a ghost.
I immerged from the shadows and the wind was blowing,
oh the wind was blowing, with freedom the wind was blowing,
and it heard my call when I took up my gun and fled.
I leaned against it and it caught me before my fall.
With the final words flowing and dying with the smoke, he lays the guitar he borrowed upon the bar and walked back into the black air that bites with canine feriocity. He pulled his calf-skin jacket collar up around his neck and hides his face in his shoulders. A tuft of dirty hair like greasy fur sticking out over the jacket as he passed closed shops and steam rising in the damp street. The smell of alcohol filling his nostrils and everyone in the bar still sat silent even though he was two blocks past. He never looks back, because that's how he runs away. His step is steady, but not quick. Under his jacket, he whispers.
I want to remember, I want it to snow.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
night:
XOXO
XOXO
noose:
Night Thank you.