doublewarhol

[doublewarhol]

Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

#100 likes #tumblr milestone #thank you

[doublewarhol]

Starter Musician

Picasso’s three musicians

Occupy time. Pierrot,

Harlequin, and Monk--

All eternal. If I had to choose

One to be my starter,

I would the middle,

Because his diamonds

Are red and yellow

 And that would surely blast

Another fuckin’ fellow

Into oblivion.

#pokemon #pokemon starters #poetry #picasso #poems #three musicians #music #painting

[doublewarhol]

WHEN IT ENDS

When love

Finally ends,

We run in opposite ways.

When I look

Back, you’re looking away.

You look towards me, and I’m gone.

But I get closer

To the memories.

I finally see

That mirth in your eyes,

How the happiness

Was reluctant. In that smile,

A wanting to trust.

Now I crash

Through the glass

Into a new place that is rather wonderful,

Where I can stand

Still.

#poetry #writing #love #relationships #poems

[doublewarhol]

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” -Winston Churchill

Yep, I feel that.

#quotes #winston churchill #anxiety

[doublewarhol]

I think rock and roll is gonna make a comeback. Calling it now.

#rock music #rock #rock and roll

[doublewarhol]

This is a song I created in 2021. It broke new ground for me because I thought objectively about how to create a good song. Through a painting class, I realized that composition (or structure) might be the most important thing in any art form. I focused on getting the chorus right first, and did different iterations of it until it sounded right. And then I moved onto the verse. After I wrote the song, the opening melody stuck in my head for so long that I figured I better properly record it. So I had it professionally mixed, and now it’s on Spotify. Are there any musicians out there who also have insights into songwriting?  

#songwriting #music #art #composition #Spotify

[doublewarhol]

LIFE

We are waves in the water. Who, then,

Counts the waves?

We are all together, as one.

Grass is separate. Woods are many things.

Crawl up the slopes alone, but let

Water lift you. We are rising.

They are with me. Panic is just a joke.

Water is what washes blood. Blood washes

the rain. We will

Prevail again.

#ukraine #president zelensky #poetry #writing

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird, version 2

[I tried a new way of editing my story, by highlighting parts I liked and removing parts that weren’t interesting, and changing parts that didn’t make sense. Hope you enjoy this version.]

One day, I got a match with this girl who also liked the song “Thriller.” I wrote her a message, saying "Hey, we should go to a graveyard for our first date." She responded with "Yes, that sounds great." I asked her which graveyard. She said, "The Grand Army Cemetery." I said, "That sounds grand." I looked it up and it wasn't so far from me. We set a day.

Though it was November, on that day, it happened to be temperate and sunny. I stopped by a café near my house to pick up a coffee and met her by the gate of the cemetery. She was very pale-skinned and I thought that she looked somewhat ghostly. I did not tell her that. Her name was Nora. She walked close to me as we perused the various gravestones and read the names inscribed there. I was good at making up stories about the various deceased soldiers, and she giggled as I did so. "The generals are so lucky, aren't they?" she said. "They don't have to die."

"Not usually. Unless they're very stupid." I took her hand and pulled her a little closer to me. The strands of red hair drifted in the wind.

"You're not hard to read. I can tell exactly what you're thinking. You're kind of on the fence with me. The graveyard fence."

"I just broke up with my boyfriend, that's why."

"It's not my looks?"

"No."

"And then you found me on the app."

"Yes." “Thriller” was nowhere in our minds.

"The heart has different rooms. If he's in one of the rooms, I can see you in one of the other ones, right?"

"I guess so." Nora nodded toward my empty coffee cup. "But I'll need one of those too to get the motivation." And so we went to that same café near my house and talked more. I decided we should leave it at that and we said goodbye. We didn't see each other for a few days. Then I matched with this other girl on the app who also liked “Thriller.” What do you know? The chances. I messaged this girl, saying, "I didn't know that so many people liked graveyards." There was no response and I thought that I must have sent a bad message.

I saw Nora again the next week. It was still quiet in the streets with the global situation, and we peered into store windows to see which ones were open. She didn't want to see her family for Christmas. I said I understood—it was difficult travelling. But it sounded like there was something more. Her voice quivered when she spoke about her parents, so I knew it was bad. She said they were in England. I said "Oh. Well, you know, life is weird. So who cares anyway."

She was silent after that, and we were just as quiet as the storefronts. I did not take her home and the next day I got a text from the other girl who had liked Thriller. She said that she didn't like graveyards, unless it was very early in the morning. "How early?" I asked and she said 7 o'clock. I said that was fine, even though inside I didn't feel like it was. Some people wake up early; I didn't. Those people see life as a river and they want to get on the water first to get ahead. I admired them, but I didn't like them so much. I saw this girl, whose name was Holly, because I figured that Nora and I weren't officially going out yet. Holly wore a brown jacket and a hat, and had dark lipstick on. She was sitting on a bench waiting for me with her legs crossed, as if she had been there for an hour. She looked at me with beady eyes. "Thank you, I'm good," she said, even though I hadn't asked her.

"I'm sure you are. This is your time of day."

"You agreed to this."

"If I woke up this early every day, I'd be a rich man," I mumbled as we started walking toward the gravestones.

"You're not?"

"I had loans, okay?" We didn't joke with each other that much, at least in terms of tone, and we had these kinds of terse exchanges. I took her home that night. I found out she was a director of movies. That impressed me. I wanted to be in one of them. She told me I could be in a death scene. "Please let me be in a life scene," I said.

Holly sometimes wet the bed. She had a lot of rage against her father, who had left her family when she was twelve. She was not someone I would take to see my parents. But I loved her.

November became December and I had to choose with whom to spend more time with—Nora or Holly. Holly had the name for that time of year; Nora had the personality. She was going to England after all to see her family. I said I would take her to the airport. I did have a car. We hadn't even kissed, but I liked her very much. It would be a good time to kiss her at the airport, when we said goodbye. I hoped she wouldn't be crying. She was a very gentle girl. Holly, instead, was a go-getter. And me—I was just a thrill-seeker.

"Have you seen the movie City of Women?" Holly asked me as we were lying in bed. "By the director Fellini. It expresses his fears of women. Are you like that? Are you afraid of me?"

"No. I'm too lonely to be afraid. That's why I met you in a graveyard."

"I see. It's like you welcome the ghosts in your life."

I could see that our whole relationship was tinged with death, and I had no idea why. Oh yeah-- "Thriller." But I didn't know if I liked that song as the other things in my life. Like coffee and sweets, and love.

"We should both be a little more quiet with each other," I said, and then we fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to take Nora to the airport—bright and early. As we were driving down I-5, the song "Monster Mash" came on to the radio. "Do you like this song?" I asked, tentatively.

"I do."

"So do I. I guess it's not quite 'Thriller,' but it's pretty good."

She was quiet for a minute. "I love you."

"Thanks," I said. I knew there was more going on in that head of hers than just that, but I wasn't sure how to tease it out. "Your parents—why don't you want to see them?"

"They like me too much. They don't let me do what I want to do. They want me back in England, and I hate that place."

"Why don't you have an accent?"

"I moved here when I was nine." Sometimes fear interferes with your decisions.

I was suddenly glad to see her off. I didn't want someone who might not be coming back. I wanted to get back to Holly. That brown jacket, those dark lips. We had to plan my scene in her movie—my death scene. I parked my car at the airport and said that I had to get back to take care of some Christmas shopping. Nora latched on to the lapel of my jacket and kissed me on my cheek. "I'll write you," she said.

I nodded, and then I slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and then drove back uptown. When I arrived back at my apartment, I saw a small note that had been left on my bed. "I can never be quiet," it said. "From Holly." I texted her, feeling that something was off. I didn't hear from her for weeks. After sending many frantic messages, I finally received a text from her mother that said she had tried to kill herself and was in the hospital. I didn't think that I could visit her. I never heard from her again. A month later Nora returned from England and we started officially going out.

#short story #fictiono #revision #writing

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird - A short story (on Wattpad) 

I published this story on Wattpad with a few changes. Copy the link to see the page:

https://www.wattpad.com/1159032088-early-bird-a-short-story?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=doublewarhol&wp_originator=LeNuTTDHsU5GzXWmSO00G66aRoqgxQIaA3x2s8ny1zeAPuKrCTLTfF3199ms%2B%2BpWc8w9ehxwvoeW4o6Ucnf%2Fb2uWN2%2BoNx8AQr20kmEWRGiyd0sOIrS959%2BushGhWoTe The main character finds a dating app that lets you connect with people by their favorite song. The song affects the relationships that form.

#apps #dating #romance #books #wattpad #amreading

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story, contd.)

As we were driving down I-5, the song “Monster Mash” came on to the radio. “Do you like this song?” I asked, tentatively.

“I do.”

“So do I. I guess it’s not quite ‘Thriller,’ but it’s pretty good.”

She was quiet for a minute. “I like you.”

“Thanks,” I said. I knew there was more going on in that head of hers than just that, but I wasn’t sure how to tease it out. “Your parents—why don’t you want to see them?”

“They like me too much. They don’t let me do what I want to do. They want me back in England, and I hate that place.”

“Why don’t you have an accent?” “I moved here when I was nine.”

I was suddenly glad to see her off. I didn’t want someone who might not be coming back. I wanted to get back to Holly. That brown jacket, those dark lips. We had to plan my scene in her movie—my death scene. I parked my car at the airport and said that I had to get back to take care of some Christmas shopping. Nora latched on to the lapel of my jacket and kissed me on my cheek. “I’ll write you,” she said.

I nodded, and then I slowly pulled out of the parking spot, and then drove back uptown. When I arrived back at my apartment, I saw a small note that had been left on my bed. “I can never be quiet,” it said. “From Holly.” And I never heard from her again—that early bird. A month later Nora returned from England and we started officially going out. What a thrill.

#romance #fiction #shortstory #england

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story, contd.)

“The heart has different rooms. If he’s in one of the rooms, I can see you in one of the other ones, right?”

“I guess so.” Nora nodded toward my empty coffee cup. “But I’ll need one of those too to get the motivation.” And so we went to that same café near my house and talked more. I decided we should leave it at that and we said goodbye. We didn’t see each other for a few days. Then I matched with this other girl on Kord who also liked Thriller. What do you know? It was amazing. I messaged this girl, saying, “I didn’t know that so many people liked graveyards.” There was no response and I thought that I must have sent a bad message.

I saw Nora again the next week. It was still quiet in the streets with the covid pandemic and we peered into store windows to see which ones were open. She didn’t want to see her family for Christmas. I said I understood—it was difficult travelling. But it sounded like there was something more. Her voice shook when she spoke about her parents, so I knew it was bad. She said they were in England. I said “Oh. Well, you know, life is just impossible. So who cares anyway.” She was silent after that, and we were just as quiet as the storefronts. I did not take her home and the next day I got a text from the other girl who had liked Thriller. She said that she didn’t like graveyards, unless it was very early in the morning. “How early?” I asked and she said 7 o’clock. I said that was fine, even though inside I didn’t feel like it was. Some people wake up early; I didn’t. Those people see life as a river and they want to get on the water first to get ahead. I admired them, but I didn’t like them so much. I saw this girl, whose name was Holly, because I figured that Nora and I weren’t officially going out yet. Holly wore a brown jacket and a hat, and had dark lipstick on. She was sitting on a bench waiting for me with her legs crossed, as if she had been there for an hour. She looked at me with beady eyes. “Thank you, I’m good,” she said, even though I hadn’t asked her.

“I’m sure you are. This is your time of day.”

“You agreed to this.”

“If I woke up this early every day, I’d be a rich man,” I mumbled as we started walking toward the gravestones. “You’re not?”

“I had student loans, okay?” We didn’t joke with each other that much, at least in terms of tone, and we had these kinds of terse exchanges. I took her home that night and we fucked. I found out she was a director of movies. That impressed me. I wanted to be in one of them. She told me I could be in a death scene. “Please let me be in a life scene,” I said.

November became December and I had to choose with whom to spend more time with—Nora or Holly. Holly had the name for that time of year; Nora had the personality. She was going to England after all to see her family. I said I would take her to the airport. I did have a car. We hadn’t even kissed, but I liked her very much. It would be a good time to kiss her at the airport, when we said goodbye. I hoped she wouldn’t be crying. She was a very gentle girl. Holly, instead, was a go-getter. And me—I was just a funny guy.

“Have you seen the movie City of Women?” Holly asked me as we were lying in bed. “By the director Fellini. It expresses his fears of women. Are you like that? Are you afraid of me?” “No. I’m too lonely to be afraid. That’s why I met you in a graveyard.” “I see. It’s like you welcome the ghosts in your life.”

I could see that our whole relationship was tinged with death, and I had no idea why. Oh yeah--“Thriller.” But I didn’t know if I liked that song as the other things in my life. Like coffee and sweets, and love.

“We should both be a little more quiet with each other,” I said, and then we fell asleep. The next morning, I woke up to take Nora to the airport—bright and early.

#fiction #fellini #thriller #dating #shortstory

[doublewarhol]

Early Bird (short story)

“Bird” is another word for “young woman.” I don’t think it’s too offensive to refer to them as that. So I’ll use it as part of the title for this story. I found this dating app called Kord, that connects people by their musical taste. The app, which used an icon of two music notes facing each other, asked me what my favorite song was, and I put in “Thriller.” In about five minutes, I got a match with this girl who also liked that song. I wrote her a message, saying “Hey, we should go to a graveyard for our first date.” She responded with “Yes, that sounds great.” I asked her which graveyard. She said, “The Grand Army Cemetery.” I said, “That sounds grand.” I looked it up and it wasn’t so far from me. We set a day.

Though it was November, on that day, it happened to be temperate and sunny. I stopped by a café near my house to pick up a coffee and met her by the gate of the cemetery. She was very pale-skinned and I thought that she looked somewhat ghostly. I did not tell her that. Her name was Nora. She walked close to me as we perused the various gravestones and read the names inscribed there. I was good at making up stories about the various deceased soldiers, and she tittered as I did so. “The generals are so lucky, aren’t they?” she said. “They don’t have to die.” “Not usually. Unless they’re very stupid.” I took her hand and pulled her a little closer to me. The strands of red hair drifted in the wind. It was very romantic.

“You’re not hard to read. I can tell exactly what you’re thinking. You’re kind of on the fence with me.”

“I just broke up with my boyfriend, that’s why.”

“It’s not my looks?” “No.” “And then you found this app.” “Yes.” The song that had brought us here was nowhere in our minds.

#shortstory #romance #fiction #creativity #dating apps

[doublewarhol]

Praying

Making art is praying. To love, which is in the air. Life can be saved. You may pray by yourself or with others. There may be a preacher who leads you, and there may be music. There may be readings from the great masters. There may be miracles performed on the uninspired. There may be rituals, and there may be pretenders that come to those rituals. Young and old. And there may be a church. No guilt or shame here. There is no converting the unbelievers. No crusades. Maybe sacrifices. Yes, sacrifices.

#writing #art #prayer

[doublewarhol]

One Family

My computer is a baby that can shit on me at any time. And by shit I mean it can freeze, and ruin my day. Which is like barfing on my mood. I want to leave it, but I can’t. It gets updates—it’s improving. What is it capable of now? There are some good times. We enjoy music together, and laugh sometimes at videos. I have a smaller baby too, that I hold all day long. I give this one more love because it’s cuter. I dropped it once or twice but I think it’s all right. There’s a middle child too, that’s often forgotten. The iPad. What have I become? No cord connects us, but we are one family. We are one.

#computers #work from home #writing

[doublewarhol]

When We Say Goodnight

We have spent days not thinking of each other,

But when the laughter comes it’s

Because I remember a face you made

That I know I’ll see again.

I want to tell you something when I’m there,

But that’s not how I was raised. I was

The grass that was mowed, the leaves

That were raked.

I was clean and neat, and that’s how I am.

I am disappearing, hoping

That you bring me back.

#poems on tumblr #poetry #writing

[doublewarhol]

TOUCH (short story, contd.)

LIP

           I wanted to write a song about talking, because I was very bad at it. I figured that some people talked so that they didn’t have to touch each other. And some people wrote to each other, because they didn’t even want to talk to each other. And that expression “giving lip” was so interesting because it was aggressive, when actual lips were tender and mostly wanted to kiss, or suck. But this song would be aggressive in its content, with lots of words jostling to punch the listener in the gut.

           I met my ex again. I told her that I was in some sort of limbo. That the girl I had been seeing had broken my heart. She seemed sympathetic, because her eyes were moist. She touched my hand. But she didn’t kiss me. It wasn’t good to tell girls about your troubles, especially with other women. I asked her if she wanted to come back to my place. She said no. I said what if we played a game? She asked me what kind of game. I said I’d make her laugh. She agreed, and we got to my place, and I asked her if I could put makeup on her face. She smiled because it seemed silly, but she wiped her face with alcohol and gave me her foundation. I powdered that on, and worked like a painter. I got to her lips and put lipstick on the bottom lip first. I used black lipstick on her upper lip, and then told her to kiss me. She kissed me on the cheek, because she wanted to see what the pattern looked like. I had created a game so that she would touch me. Sometimes you have to fool people to make them do things. Talking can’t save you all the time.

#fiction #shortstory

[doublewarhol]

TOUCH (short story, contd.)

FERRIS WHEEL

           I figured that life was a wheel, where you would move up to a high, but then come down, and then go up again. The first thing I did was go outside into the nighttime. It was raining softly and the wind was coasting, gently dropping specks of water around me. I took a deep breath and felt like something was new—that fresh, alive feeling.

           I went into the city. I walked to the train station, and got on the train that went into Sanjo. I called up an old girlfriend. We had broken up two years ago. She met me straight away. We went to a nightclub. On the dancefloor, she fit perfectly into my hands. I had them on her hips, just low enough not to be lascivious, well below her armpits. I wanted to squeeze her but I just held her lightly. I was surprised that her warmth could mean so much to me. I was surprised that I could feel so happy again, after I had just fallen so low. This was the ferris wheel going up.

           I didn’t go home with her that night. The next day I wrote the song. Music only comes out of love. The next song was called:

#songwriting #shortstory #fiction #Japan