This is an April Fools' Day joke

This entire post is a joke; it is being written in observation of April Fools' Day. Do not believe anything contained within.

Today is April 1, the day of merry pranks and jokes. To that end, I am posting this in the hopes of catching some of you unawares. A portion of you will read this and know that it is all a prank; you will have likely also read pranks and jokes on other websites. But chances are high that a majority of you will read through this entire post and not realize the irony or humor contained within, and you may even tell a few friends about it before you realize the error of your ways. At that point, you may feel slightly embarrassed. Don't worry, it's all in the nature of the joke.

I can't take all the credit for catching you unawares. I had ample help preparing for this deception. Several of my closest friends were indispensable in the labyrinthine planning stages of this elaborate spoof. We spent hours going over the details, and now that you have been sufficiently taken for a ride, I can safely admit their involvement. If some of you feel cheated or deceived, please take your frustrations out on me and not them, as they were kept mostly in the dark about the eventual purpose of their machinations.

To those who may suppose that posting such a farcical tale of whimsy as this would perhaps discredit future writings of a more serious nature, you need not worry. I assure you that this preposterous and comedic anecdote is the only one of its kind.

Some New Song Maybe

Here's something I wrote in the car earlier this evening. Don't know if it'll ever get turned into a song, so this might be the only chance for public forum as far as it's concerned. I put it to some C and F and Am, and such; maybe something might come of that. I like the rhyme scheme in the verse; it's sort of the inverse of what I used in Metropolis.

there are too many roads
that stretch from point to point
a vast network of nodes
with interlocking arms
that cover all the great expanse
and turn by turn upon each fragile joint
these legs converge into a dance
of endless factories and farms

the seasons wait
but not for long
and state by state
I write this song
and hope it finds you
as I roam
through county lines to
paths back home

Box

I spent an hour or so the other day looking through a box that I've kept with me since I put my things into storage last August. I don't know exactly why I took it with me to North Dakota; I never once looked inside it while I was there. It was in the storage unit up until my absolute final trip down the long, dim hallway with the last few remaining items; I picked it up and put it in the car instead, perhaps with the idea of finding something inside it to inspire me again while I was away. The box contains most of my scrap lyrics and song ideas from the past decade or so. I'm sure there are some things that belong in there that aren't, and maybe they're hidden somewhere in that storage space, or maybe they're lost in a sea of clutter in my parents' basement.

I looked through every notebook, every folder, every scrap of paper (which makes it sound like a bit more than it really is). I was abysmally embarrassed of most things I had written in high school and freshman year of college. There were only two or three things I read from that period that I can still appreciate. That's not to say that everything written from sophomore year on is necessarily great, but I was able to find a pretty enormous number of little ideas that never became songs, ideas that I really enjoyed reading, whether they were two lines or ten. I recognized most of them, but there were a few that I didn't remember writing; these struck me as particularly interesting. It's the same basic awe and respect you have when you first read something wonderful that's written by someone else, but with the embedded irony of knowing that you were the writer. There's a disconnect there, and your brain tries to fill it with something, and that something is emotion: the emotion felt at the time, but it's gone now, and it's replaced with something different.

I was surprised by how much I had written during those years, roughly from sophomore year to senior year of college. Not surprised by the writing itself, but by the knowledge that I hadn't done nearly as much writing since. Things have happened, to be sure, the kinds of things you typically think lead to the kinds of songs that are about those kinds of things; and generally they are. Things like heartbreak. And I've written those kinds of songs in the past. I even tried to write some in the last few years. In fact, I know that somewhere are a few song ideas and lyrics that got jotted down, maybe even a few demos. But the difference is that it is with less and less consistency that these are becoming actual songs. I wrote "Clementine" and I love it, but it's inspired by someone else's powerfully beautiful creation. There has been no "Speed Dial", no "Metropolis". I wonder if there ever will be again, if I'm wasting my time even wondering.

I struggled then, as I've done for quite some time now, to come up with a good reason for me to have so drastically reduced my output in the ensuing years. When I look at my situations, then and now, with an eye for differences, it strikes me that the primary difference is that I'm not in a band. Maybe that's it. I'm not actively performing on a regular or semi-regular basis. I'm sure that plays a significant part of it, but it can't be the only thing. I'm looking beyond that for something else. I wish I could say that I had thought of it, or come close. That would make such a satisfying conclusion to this piece.

I can't sit very still
when the body's very ill
makes the brain swell up until
I can't see very straight
and I laugh a bit too late

digging holes for fun at night
you can join if the weather's right
we can sleep there when it gets light
cause we'll be far below
where the roots of tall trees grow

Three Lights

I walked into a room
I turned on three lights
Each was connected to the next
And each was connected to a single switch.
The darkness of the room held fast
Against the will of the lights
It whispered faintly in response
To the protests of the gleam
Wrought of solidarity.

I walked into a room
I turned on three lights
And each was connected to the next.
The walls recoiled in agitation
Earthen hues and pallid texture
Ached to elude the song of luster
Dense shades of darkness breathed
Lightly into thirsty widths
Gaping, reaching, grasping.

I walked into a room
And I turned on three lights.
The ceiling sighed beneath its weight
Borne upon its ageless spans
Wisdom sang and bent the darkness
And carried with it elegance
Symmetry and consonance
A symphony of common hues
And each was connected to the next.