I created a soundtrack for the most brutal scene yet in the ongoing Identify novel collaboration.
I realized this sounds apt for the holidays, so now its purpose is tailored for... that
Hope this soundtrack could depict a bit of weirdness, a bit of surrealism, and a bit of fear in the midst of it all too--I pretty much am looking at it through Lauren's perspective, how everything is fading in seconds before she believes it is her time.
I have recently composed an intro soundtrack to the Identify podcast project I’ve been working on. For those that do not know, Identify is an ongoing novel collaboration project that delves into a mysterious island that has different uses for people.
My main character, Oktavia, had an arc of redemption but losing her pet dragon, Lincoln, was the original idea for me to have her descent into the pith and despair of madness (we all love a good anti-hero).
Stealthily pacing away from the grassland and forestry was only to no avail. She would be yet another cause of death and havoc, as she marched on. Sideway flames were engulfing her vision, blood started to drip out from her wrists as she trembled—gripping vices like onto a tree limb; she struggled to catch her breath.
The fields sluiced with rain on the leafing of memory, On each rock and scree living in the Appalachian breeze.
Boxer, can you see through bloodied vision? this conflict born from all of Adam's sons subterfuge meets necessity in life's arena
In two moons, a pseudoknot is in my blood begging to close about my last breath
in womb, the fingers of tree an ancestress trunk in sects of strife, as born and lived through roots like fossil teeth, pressing to death’s bouquet in November’s winds
and I drowned to the moon herself like a mannequin in the troughs of asylum
As the blood-flow of living things, dear white shells and white bone fall into the ground, mama’s bony fingers whiten the earth
my fingers trace / against the stone my flowers do die; ephialtes / in the shadows of / a deathbed /
I am dream-bound to the weeping mother of an ocean shore, my shadow is darker than the prose tree of mind and desire a prospect of inner lunacy and death;
I am adjunct to birth and death.
Undraped, I emerge from womb—a pupa
I barely cried
in the white blossoms,
fresh snow falls
the night paradise
lost into the womb
I want to forget
I want to delete
There is only one week left until my poem collaboration closes. The theme concerns of freedom, how it impacts you, and what it means to you. It is a collaborative effort from the WordPress Community to create a poem all together during these trying times and social isolation.
It will end on April 29th, 2020, not accepting any submissions after April 30th, 2020 at midnight (EST).