Little Lady

Today's is a bit of a Bolcom-esque cabaret song. The setting is so straight-forward, I didn't want to copy out the lyrics... also laziness? I'm going to try and record this today, but no promises

Also pls help with page 7 - In his hands were a knife, and a fist -or- In his hands was a knife, and a fist. I've psyched myself out of having any idea whatsoever

yindyamarra

it took me so long to find a poem in wiradjuri - this is an excerpt from a longer poem from a film still on the website of an art gallery in albury
I can't even tell you who wrote this or why, which is INFURIATING and problematic
but I needed something to workshop writing melodies in language for children to sing

(starting tomorrow, I'm gonna post two a day to make up for my week off)

Dosage

My character is taking a new path today. Does the phallic imagery have anything to do with it? Hmm clumsy foreshadowing

    Dosage, dosage, dosage. Amongst the many, many foods of phallic shape, carrots are the mildest. It takes the consumption of one million, four hundred seventeen thousand, eight hundred and fifteen average sized carrots to overdose on Vitamin A. Four hundred eighty bananas for potassium poisoning is a far more reasonable proposition, but the salt in hotdogs is toxic after eighty one. Salt, meat, fat, in human skin. Bananas have human hair, carrots a human nose. Without us, they're seed pods and gnarly roots. But hotdogs - it takes human ingenuity to create such a stupid, passive killer.

How 2 Kink

https://soundcloud.com/toby-graham-music/how-2-kink/s-M8I9t

Furby

A little weekend indulgence - score in C

Very tame experimentation with there being two tonics.

Prelude: Dosage

Distortion of Light

Listen here

The Meadow

This one took me a long long time... and not particularly pleasant work, given the melancholic psychological state it's supposed to depict. This is the second ending in my series so far, so like before, tomorrow will be something quite different.

Peter looked for me.

Everywhere I was, he followed, clinging moss on stony shore.

He sang so sweetly. His voice was flickering out.

Until one day his voice drew silent.

I turned around, he wasn't there.

My heart was filled with cruel happiness.

The tree grew old. The meadow drew colder. I stayed the same.

I went to my room and found a single rose on my bed. I crushed it.

Skydiving

Skydiving

how do I say this nicely?

how do I say this nicely?
i don’t want to be there when you go

i don’t want to be there when you go, i want to be somewhere the waves are high

and the wind is strong and the earth can swallow me, smiling

somewhere i can be with you, not your dying body?

when you went to hospital i took up skydiving

figured i could meet you half-way

and drag you back down

i hope you don’t miss me

coz i sure don’t miss your dying face

i hope you understand

its so hard not to die frowning

Listen here (there are several minutes of silence at the end which is why it looks odd):
https://soundcloud.com/toby-graham-music/how-do-you/s-VIepH

The Mirror

Some ideas that once again could all be fleshed out much more, and I would want them to be. I think I struggle with the completion thing and it's okay that my month of music submissions aren't complete pieces. The lazy artist within needs there to be a pulsating deadline, the heat of which is singing her eyebrows, for the ideas to be squeezed out enough to be a complete piece. I mean, there is midnight every day. But still. 

I imagine this would be a movement of about 4 minutes. There would be electronic accompaniment. Maybe I'll make some recordings for it tomorrow. Oh there are lyrics missing at the top of page 2. They should be fairly guessable... (lazy lazy)

Unto whatever face of things we turn 

The mirror, things of form and hue the same 

Respond.

- Lucretius, On the Nature of Things, Poem IV

translated by William Ellery Leonard

Intermezzo: The Cup

This is a setup to use an old gospel magic trick, dyeing water and then making it clear again. Does anyone know any Soprano-magicians? Aside from Barbara Hannigan, who can hide her thumb tips wherever she wants

Plasticine Cathedral

Plasticine Cathedral 

Warm graffiti covers the walls

A plaque reads:

“Write your message here

It will be heard”

The purple crucifix 

That softest symbol

Your fingers knead it

Leave new dimples

The church whispers,

“Just ask.

Change me.

I might not have an answer

but you can carve your own out of my insides”

The purple crucifix

That softest symbol

your fingers need it

leave new dimples

bend it: any shape

ride it on the altar

people join you, hold you: hold them

or take it to a corner

enjoy it in the dark

This church is as soft as I am

Its walls pulse ‘welcome’

Come feel it

Climb it

Carve it

Love it

Today was a big of struggle.  Here is something musical that doesn't necessarily go with the poem:  

https://soundcloud.com/toby-graham-music/double-three-feelz-goood-beat-8032017-1016-pm/s-9VIZa

Lines

The Cup

Like yesterday, 'Flowers' was written last night, and this one only now. This was a welcome reminder that it's bloody lovely to bask in some nice chords once in a while.

Peter came to meet me.

We walked in the meadow, fondly talked of youth.

With a light touch, he closed my eyes

and upon my waking, had filled a cup.

He waited, eyes on my lips.

His lips were roses, glistening.

He waited, took a sip.

He wondered what kept me from his cup.

I longed to drink, and

I thought he had become tired of waiting.

I raised it to my lips.

Before a drop could touch, he took it away.

He smiled and said:

“You’re not ready, Love.”

I smiled and knew too well

his drink was poison.

Flowers

Now I have flowers, every day and every night.

Orchids for Lorelei. Roses for Peter. Lillies for Margery.

I throw flowers upon my bed and, for only a night, invite them in.

And every day I take a walk in the meadow, I tear a few pretty heads to strew my bed.