Old News
Pop Culture Fiction
by
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Highway 26West proves to be a stretch of road that nurtures linear thoughts. I find in the cities, I have lived in, that the relaxing drive needs to be in a direction out of town. I mainly drive west, and today is no different. The deepest blues are back, and the pacific washes them out of me. The pacific soaks the human sorrow, and this body of water is the largest with a name. What does it mean to make time and give effort to people who you thought had the same motivations? Is it to be just and fair, and go on your separate ways, or smooth out the rust, and shine the differences from the intricacies? I have neither the insight nor the premonition to know when not to give my effort. I guess that is why I accept any invitation I receive to play music. I have been fortunate to make my travels vast, and cleansing. I have fasted in the Canary Islands, and I have binged in London. I have climbed mountains, and swam with fish. I have hunted with bears, and I have soared with eagles. I have been lost in the desert, and I have found people in the forest. I have roamed with buffalo, and I have grazed fields with deer. I have not initiated conversation with a pretty lady in more than a year. I find I am too introverted when I arrive to most of my locations. I need a blue-eyed angel to connect me with her feelings. I can help her out. I have used friends as an excuse to return from where I left, but I do not call them when I get back. This is very trivial to me. This band escapade is driving me insane. I cannot wait to smell the salt of the ocean, for my pain. One month now since I was making music with Brian, Ian, and Dan. I thought they had great rhythm, and I thought we were going to play shows as a real band. I remember he told me it is the equipment that makes you a good musician. I may have ill witted him when we tried to record ourselves. I was screaming in the microphone and overblown static was the final product. I did not disagree with sight seeing and being outdoors when the weather is in a mood that is giving. I just do not want to do those things when the schedule says we are supposed to be practicing. You do not decide a lounge vacation day when you agree to be at the house when you are in a band. I would skip my job duties to go out and be in nature, but when you are trying to be nature (or create a sense of nature with natural things) there are no holidays. I arrive to the pacific, and the fog that was being broadcasted on the news as covering the in-land twenty miles in from the coast, is now 200 yards off the coast. This beautiful sight is perfect for how my karma is working. I wanted to drive out here even if the fog was my blanket. I see the trail markers and my feet are steady on any path. Now that this weight of not seeing is lifted, I find I am in one of natures rooms that is solicit. I plead with the fog to connect me with some meaningful musicians. It stays out beyond my reach, and I am not going to swim for it. There are insights I should not listen to, just yet. The tree has no trunk, and it sits on stilts that hold its weight. This shelter is how I feel when I try to give my creation a name. I cannot stand tall enough, where most trees around me, plunder out the light. I will sit under it with my bowl, and watch the fog roll out. The lyrics I write are what this band is about this far. I will ask for the other band members for what they think we should sound like. I just do not know when i will be in a band. Missing score What to do/ if you are tested Be wild/ then feel affected Share it all / for even dividing Have you other friends to call You appear dead/ my friend I am/ in my head The room is/ calling alive Are you gonna make it out tonight If it’s a let / down you know A change in mood/ will show We just want/ something to do I want to give it away to you It’s the missing score I can hear you breathing out there I wear your name on my sleeve We can move near I wear your name on my sleeve We now live here It’s a missing score Leaving out the door Oh so slow down Oh so slow down We might run the town If it’s a let / down you know A change in mood/ will show We just want/ something to do I want to give it away to you It’s the missing score I can hear you breathing out there I wear your name on my sleeve We can move near I wear your name on my sleeve We can live here
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About the Book
For the last few years, Dregs Marrow’s life has followed a pattern: get far, experience collapse, start over, fail again. Now, the twenty-six-year-old seeks to build a band from scratch and is looking for like minded people to join him in this venture in Portland, Oregon. After placing an ad online, Marrow meets with a variety of talents who espouse different philosophies about creativity and making music.
Spanning a year in Marrow’s life as a struggling musician, Old News focuses on musical aspirations, social paradigms, mental lapses and breakthroughs, current affairs, the dichotomy of personal motivations, and creative thinking.
This novella provides insight into Marrow’s most inner thoughts and emotions while providing a glimpse into the music world, how music is made, and the expression of art. Old News narrates a story of perceptions in the creation of music—it is conceivable by hard work, an open mind, fearlessness of failure, and practice.
About the Author
Philip Squires earned a degree in English composition with an emphasis in creative writing from the University of South Dakota. He writes poetry and short stories. This is his first novella. Squires lives in Vermillion, South Dakota.