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THE WALLFLOWER PUNCH TALKS TO JUDY.
Age: 17
Location: drawing something for elliott on his memorial at solutions.
Joined On: Jul 07, 2007
Occupation: Lyricist/Vocalist
Website: http://www.myspace.com/texas...
TranquilTaylor
out on the lake
amazingalex
hair-o-zona
RONELA™
in your face.
MadisonMorphine__
MotherFuckingSkank.
purevolume, prettymuch a website devoted to music, i'm not complaining.
i made myself one to promote my writing basically, don't know why seeing as i tend to be really modest about them.
i'm andrew davies by the way, not a hard guy to get along with, treat me fairly and i'll treat you just wonderfully, new people are great, my amazing girlfriend Laura, and music keeps me going everyday, it's awesome when i combine the two.
the great divide all contained in a face-off (hello hammerhead!)
ello hammerhead!) it's early morning, i set off and dip the paddle into the pristine blue waters of some tropical paradise. tourist central's barely even showing signs of life as i set off, the hot-tubs, saunas and buffets not even half filled yet. i'm glad for this down time, a welcome release from the parties, the shopping, the fake plants. a coffee on the go is all that i spare myself the time for, eager to be on my way. winding down to the shore, sounds of resort life fade from my ears. i angle the bow and shoot off into the dark bay, exhilarated, free, boundless. but emotions stir deep in my chest, a feeling i've not felt for even a single moment before this, now's not the time, i'm not even halfway along my route. and needless to say, countless minutes away from shore of any sort. and then i realize that that feeling, was one of apprehension, even un-recognized and thickly-veiled fear. the fear that someone gets when someone follows them through evil, dark alleyways. but there's something odd at work here, works out into a two word difference; great white. its inquisitively vicious black eyes gaze up through the ocean into mine, can it tell if i'm scared or not? closing in behind me like a transport, oblivious to the smaller things trying to live in his massive shadow. trying to remain calm i turn back around, pick up my paddle and softly turn towards the nearest shore. hundreds of meters away from where i float, vulnerable. and in a few moments, i'll wish i was back ashore, among the throngs of people i sought to escape. sharing hit tubs and drinking dry martinis with the upper classes. ..wait; fast-forward to where i am now again. watch my smooth-skinned brother of the ocean approach and reproach me. size me up, see how hungry he's feeling. it doesn't even matter, this is an adventure, one of life's greatest. life or death, i couldn't feel more up to the task. and as he swims slowly past me, fins curving through the top of the water, i'll watch his every move as he returns the favour. and to hell with the one who isn't ready for the coming hand-to-hand fighting. as he tears my body apart i'd stab his eyes and gills with my boating knife, maybe we'll both sink in death to the bottom of the ocean together. maybe he'll leave me, not feeling up to the task today, it's all up to fate, perhaps there's more martinis, triple secs, and jack on the rocks for me, more innocent fish for him. he's meters away now, tail moving in huge strokes. let's see where today leads the two of us, strangers to each other and our eating habits. let the games begin if they must.
the rad history o' the most appreciated caterpillar in the world.
met him one day in the woods, sitting alone on a tree branch, feasting on supple leaves. he spoke soft words to me, we exchanged stories for hours, became fast friends. but this was not some little thing to carry home in my hands and place in a jar, put on display behind glass walls. my caterpillar calls himself a friend to the world, and seeks not to cause anyone harm, a loyal and trustworthy earth-going gentleman. lordly mole and his flashy car, bringing rabbit, hedge-hog, and snail alike 'round the apple-red perimeter, of what he affectionately calls "his baby." his chief aim is to fill your heads with jealousy, preach out against my dear caterpillar. I know she won't have any of this, i'll hate to be the bearer of bad news. maybe i can save the situation before i even have to tell you of what's happened. i'll create a hero out of our earth-crawling accomplice. and when it's all said and done, perhaps the woods will call him back. maybe he'll be welcomed in honor upon his return to the woodlands. i think the two of us have to let him loose, he'll always visit, never forgetting who he puts first. and for that mole, he'll sit and curse my name. but his idle threats reach no one's ears but his own, and he will realize his words have no souls. peace be with you, oh ye little crawler of the earth.
turn towards the sun.
like a sunflower in a cold jar, among the cobwebs of my window-sill, i never clean. you still make me glow on cold days, i watch the condensation peel along the panes of glass. washing the dishes quietly as i ensure your rest, i want to surprise you, but you need your sleep. seeing your smile when you get up, noticing the dishes all stacked in a pile on the blue and white towels. it's all worth my while. i spend the day on a ladder. with and old rag and a bucket of hot water. soaking the wooden beams, good as new, i'll make them. begging the pardon of the spiders, little tenants of the ceiling corners. every time i return to the kitchen window and see you out there, planting, watering, i fell in love with that garden. and the girl who calls it hers; she's my sunflower in a cold jar, no matter how hard the frost bites through the timbers, i'll love her still. there's nothing better than bringing you a hot cup of tea, as you sit out on the balcony and sketch on a warm summer's night. then i go back downstairs, continue planning your little basement studio. and you though it would always be a storage room, i've got huge plans for this space, i do it all for you, to make you proud. now my sunflower looks up through the glass, showing it's face to the sun, it's a gorgeous meeting. and it's about time you let it warm yourself. "here's to you, sunflower, and your little warm vase, may you always and forevermore be the prettiest girl who ever turned towards the sun."
take your hands off the road, darling.
our own unique gyrations, taking up each other's hands by the roadside, its summer and the season is endless. temperature fluctuates. in the car, it's moderate, but it gets so warm we pass the hours winding the windows up and down. i could spend the whole day sitting across from you, putting flowers in your hair. and i just don't think it could be any more beautiful. they way it shines in the summer sun. (ben gibbard would love our summer skin) we're like innocent, gorgeous children, we stay out after dark and laugh in the fields. roll ourselves into an old blanket and listen to the insects crawl through the night air. thousands of little wings floating in the air over our heads. morning comes with the suns' rise behind a grey veil of mist. we sit up and rub the dew from our eyes, look across the shadowy field at the trees hiding in the mist, like some shadowy troupe of actors on a distant stage. so when we go to start the engine in the sunny mid-afternoon, and for all the power in the world, it won't start. turns itself over, sighing and spitting. we'll just turn away and walk back to town, with those same undaunted smiles on our faces. if you get tired, i'll carry you on my shoulders honey.
something in the waves.
lower line, ready bell. ocean's dark, summons to heaven, or to hell. you find the deep black a comfort. watching your diving rope, a life-line, slowly sinking upwards out of sight. pressure, closing in, but you know in the end it'll be alright. just let go and float down beside the light, let everything eat away your pain. let it all glow. and as you sink deeper, you take a last look in the failing light, at her picture. taking it out of your suit pocket, wondering why you wore that fancy pinstripe again. so you take the frame from your pocket, looking into her eyes again. wondering if it'll be the last time. all the glass breaks, you're left delicately holding the picture in your hands. she smiles at you. for the rest of the way down, you are locked in a loving staring contest with her, she who matters most to you. until you're left sitting on the bottom of the ocean, the pressure is almost lethal, and you let out a huge breath and begin to dream.
TheronRogers
Hey!If you like Jack Johnson then you might like my
stuff. Check it out at: www.purevolume.com/theronrogers
Let me know what you think. Thanks, Theron
posted Jul 26
Crizack!
Ha, I just noticed that you changed your name. Punch
and Judy. Classic. Reminds me of Mr. Punch, a book by
Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. Ever read/seen their
work? Brilliant writer, brilliant artist.
posted May 26
Crizack!
My art??? Oh, haha. That's Banksy. (I guess I should
make that a bit clearer on the post...) He's my hero
(which is saying a lot), a European street artist. I
take no credit for it, although I wish I could. My art
is a bit different. But I'm flattered, nonetheless. :D
I don't see how you find the time to blog so much.
Aren't you a little concerned about thieves? Your
writings seem pretty open. I could never let myself
post any of my real writings to the public, so that's
pretty cool of you.
posted May 26
Crizack!
Thank you. For the add. :)
posted May 25
Crizack!
You have one of the most interesting blogs I've ever
read. It makes me...happy and kind of sad.
posted May 20
[whoa.dylan.whoa]
yeah that would be amazing. composing music can be
pretty intimidating..but i bet you could do it [: im
starting music theory classes in september. im sure
that you and your friends could make amazing stuff
together. and when you do, let me know. i will
definatley want to listen!
posted Mar 30
[whoa.dylan.whoa]
i like your new work. especially "girl in the factory."
do you write music to these? you should. (:
posted Mar 26
[whoa.dylan.whoa]
i like your new work. especially "girl in the factory."
do you write music to these? you should. (:
posted Mar 26