Earthly Embrace

Still a work in progress but I’m happy with the theme of...

Sat, 18 May 2013 19:43:43 +0100

Still a work in progress but I’m happy with the theme of this song, for sure! This is a somewhat bare version, a kinda jam track if you like (been playing some steel drum over the top of this and it’s cooool, so might upload something like that soon)

I get the feeling some of the parts might clip on some sound systems - feedback on this sorta thing will always be appreciated

Enjoy the ride

A tune I’ve worked on today… Don’t know if...

Thu, 16 May 2013 19:51:00 +0100

A tune I’ve worked on today… Don’t know if it’s a mish mash of ideas or a cohesive whole. Thought I’d put it up anyway to see if people enjoy how it unfolds

also, drums need some fills and stuff :)

Another something I’m working on. It’s very...

Thu, 02 May 2013 21:06:20 +0100

Another something I’m working on. It’s very progressive and not particularly varied, but perhaps just enough? I’m having trouble deciding. I love the ending though so maybe I will use it for another song.

Put on your space suit and have a wander

Life in a Cocoon, my first electronic track I’ve written....

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 16:36:00 +0100

Life in a Cocoon, my first electronic track I’ve written. Currently un-mastered and more of an exercise, getting used to using Reason. I like it though.

Being Water

Tue, 09 Apr 2013 21:40:49 +0100

When meeting
Life’s resistance
Or an obstacle
Of self
Do not think yourself
The stream
That gently
Trickles
Or the waterfall
That willingly
Accepts
Decline
But rather
The deep
And wondrous
Ocean
From which
It all came.

~ Jack J

Shelf, with a silent 'h'.

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 22:46:54 +0000

Let me go!
You are currently
Slashing
My spiritual
Artery,
This great thing
Trying to pump
Knowing
Knowing that I
Am star dust
Not to be kept
In a little jar
On your
Ego shelf.

~ Jack J

Never-Ending, Just Begun

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 22:30:00 +0000

How sad it is
To see a glass
As half full
When you could
Just fill it up.
How sad it is
To fill up a glass
When the glass
Has already broken.
How sad it is
To come to terms with
One thing beginning,
Already ending.
How sad it is
That it isn’t.

~ Jack

How old are ye?

Sun, 17 Mar 2013 02:11:03 +0000

I am 19 years old :-) feel older though. In a bad way! Oof, me kneeees

Day/Night, Not-me/Me

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 23:59:00 +0000

Know that
When Sister Moon
Decides to shine
You can find my
Invisible hand
In the light,
Reaching for yours
In hope
They’ll hold
One another
Tightly, closely
Til Brother Sun
Commands the sky
Signalling
The time for
Midnight secrets
To escape
And take
Sweet flight.

~ Jack J

Incarnations

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 22:03:23 +0000

Is that a pretty face
To love
Or just another
Incarnation
Of that realisation
That far more poetic
Is the belief of love
Than love itself,
Unless of the self
The love is.

~Jack J

"Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes of..."

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 21:26:13 +0000

“Reflect upon your present blessings of which every man has plenty; not on your past misfortunes of which all men have some.”

- Charles Dickens

Awakening - Chapter 1

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 21:21:00 +0000

Before this post I posted the opening to a story I have in mind (http://thejackjblog.tumblr.com/post/45183845680/story-opening). The story now has a placeholder name of ‘Awakening’. The protagonist’s name of Jack is also a placeholder. Here is the 1st chapter (I will be keeping them short) - it still doesn’t explicitly elude to the main themes of the story, but I hope you might stay for the unfolding.

A piercing shriek resounded in Jack’s ears and he startled awake, gripping his head. The same pitch had ripped through him every day for the past week and he figured it was all the beatings catching up on him.

The sound soon subsided, leaving him sitting upright with his face carefully buried in his hands. It felt sore. Messages from his nervous system told him his wrist was dully aching, but not shooting out the sharp pains many would expect. This seemed to be of no importance to his drowsy self, however. With a series of grunts and groans he slid out of bed and got to his feet, peering over to the empty bed at the other side of the room.

“Thanks for having my back last night, bro…” he murmured sarcastically, before dragging himself out the door and to the bathroom. He lazily yanked on the light cord and steadied himself on the sink. He looked up to the mirror. His bright green eyes, that he always struggled to romanticise, were shadowed by the bruising around them. The colouring was by no means black and you would think he got half the beating he did, but he was clearly damaged nonetheless. Blood-crusted stubble framed somewhat swollen lips and a few grazes swept across his cheek.

He ran a hand through his messy, brown hair before staring at his wrist. He gave it a gentle rotation, wincing as he did so and soon realising that wincing brought further pain to his busted features. ‘I’m fairly sure you were fractured,’ he thought to himself, before dismissing the weirdly okay state of his wrist with a shrug. ‘I guess that’s just conditioning.’

After a quick shower, Jack dried himself, threw on his school uniform and slinked down the stairs, hoping to draw as little attention as possible. But he soon discovered it to be futile, as a figure in a pink, fluffy dressing gown sat at the table, teacup in hand, watching Jack descend into the hallway. She audibly sipped, obscuring a face full of worry with her raised cup.

Placing it down she looked to him as he stood in the doorway and reluctantly asked, “What happened last night?”

Jack did his best to not reveal the extent of what they inflicted upon him, but really he knew he couldn’t keep it a secret. “The usual,” he said nonchalantly.

“You were walking around the estate again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was looking for him.”

With this she sighed. Not in resignation, but as though exhaling a long breath of heartfelt sadness. “I know you miss him, Jack, but I think he’s long gone from here. And I’m sure he wouldn’t want you walking round that awful estate searching for him,” she said in a calm manner, getting up from her seat to approach him. She almost seemed to tip-toe, as if knowing he would be reluctant to immediately connect with her.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Sarah,” he stated simply, his downcast gaze fixated on last night’s bloody splotches left stained along the carpet, “when he leaves, I follow. I know that he needs me. I can feel it.” Feeling her touch on his arm, Jack looked up to Sarah to see teary eyes.

“But… I need you. I mean, I enjoy having you here. You are near-enough my son… You are both like sons to me… I’m so sorry Michael didn’t seem to enjoy it here, but I can’t do anything about that,” she said in a gradually breaking voice, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. She sniffed before wiping her face with an offered handkerchief, composing herself as she did so.

“I understand,” he said blankly, trying to not feed fuel to the emotional fire. Hugging her tightly and kissing her on the cheek, he gave her silent reassurance before slinging on his bag and leaving the house.

‘I can’t leave Sarah. I like Sarah. She’s been good to us. When I find Michael I will have to bring him back here… When I find him…’ Jack was lost in his thoughts whilst he trudged through the idyllic neighbourhood, paying little notice to the morning happenings of people going about their routine, climbing into their luxury cars or walking with their children to school.

You wouldn’t think that such a place was a few bus stops away from an estate filled with drugs, violence and undesirables that the media paint to be scroungers and criminals. In truth they were simply those that were never caught by the system’s supposed safety net, forced into a downward spiral that had baby spirals, which in turn formed bastard spirals of its own. And so it raged on. ‘Like faulty products on the conveyer belt,’ Jack thought as he began noticing his surroundings and drawing comparisons. ‘But you need places and people like them for the system to survive. Who else would bring the necessary dirt, the filth, and act as media punch bags for people to point at and feel better than? How can you consider yourself better than shit if there isn’t a pile of shit to point to?’

Jack arrived at the gates of the prestigious St. Nicholas Academy, doing up his top button and adjusting his tie. Walking up the path he looked to the beautiful, chateau-like complex and truly appreciated where he was. ‘School isn’t half bad, these guys don’t realise how lucky they are.’ His enjoyment was cut short however, glancing around as the symphony of before school chatter became louder, a part of him growing subconsciously edgy as he manoeuvred through the various milling crowds, acutely aware that any of these people could jump out and attack him or pickpocket him. ‘Not that they would. But they could.’ Jack flinched and sharply turned around as he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

“Got any ‘gear’, today?” the well-spoken boy said with certain uncomfortable emphasis.

Jack blinked. About three times. “Uhhh… No?”

“Oh, my apologies! I thought you were Michael. When shall he be returning?”

“I don’t know,” Jack offered bluntly before strolling off, leaving the boy speaking to himself. Jack could hear him say something about not knowing Jack was in the rugby squad. ‘Probably a reference to the face,’ he thought.

~ Jack J

Story Opening

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 11:32:00 +0000

Have a story idea in my mind and this is how I was planning on opening it. It doesn’t quite elude to the main themes of the story just yet, but I think it carries the mood that I’m thinking of capturing. Something quite young and straight-forward in it’s voice I suppose, but gritty.

Jack’s breath became frantic as he dashed down the alleyway, his slight frame working in his favour as he nimbly avoided the garbage bags that lined it. The sound of pounding feet was behind him, the hollers and maniacal laughing reverberating in the narrowness. As he neared the end of the alley he tripped on his flailing shoelaces, tumbling to the ground with a sickening crunch. He let out a yelp, but adrenaline would not let him end here. Desperately scrambling to his feet, he cradled his wrist and half-ran half-fell into a nearby phone box.

He dove deep into his pockets, his shaking hand clawing for all the change he had. The boisterous yelling was getting much closer now. Jack was failing to get a grip, his hand unable to slam the coins into the machine, watching them pitifully fall to the floor as he flinched and cursed.

“Shit, shit… Shit!” he helplessly let out, casting his eyes about like an all-knowing prey. The pounding feet had slowed to a stop and an encroaching silence left Jack’s anxious breath to be the only sound. He tried to compose himself. He patted himself down. No weapon.

He made a fist.

He kicked open the phone box door and charged out into an empty road. He held his breath as he looked around. No one was to be seen.

Then they came strolling out from the alley, a hooded, moving wall of sinister bravado, near-enough smacking their lips as they eyed Jack up. With holes in his scuffed jeans, blood trickling down, and a broken wrist hanging limply by his side, he was a gazelle ready to be devoured.

“Pricks,” Jack simply stated, spitting at the floor. He could swear a warm stream ran down his leg in these situations, but he made sure to have dignified last words. He couldn’t let them take everything from him.

They simply laughed, jeering each other on as they advanced closer. They stopped about ten paces away and simply pointed. Jack turned his head to look over his shoulder, bearing witness to a fist swinging through the air before it collided with his face.

Blood trickled down his vision and he spiralled to the floor. He forced himself to his hands and knees, only to find an incoming boot to be the last thing he saw for that day.

~ Jack J

I’ve found this soundtrack to be incredibly powerful and...

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 15:23:17 +0000

I’ve found this soundtrack to be incredibly powerful and inspirational. Gave the game ‘Fez’ a few hours of my time the other day and found it a wonderful experience filled with beauty, nostalgia and wonderment.

I hope these songs bring you the same happiness they have brought me.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 20:55:48 +0000

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

- Philo of Alexandria

Soul Searching

Sun, 10 Mar 2013 17:45:48 +0000

The snowfall grew heavier. A biting wind saw itself caught under the pilgrim’s cloak, a now billowing sail in favour of bringing him home. His chest was slowly becoming a frozen cavern, but a grim persistence remained, forcing him up the slope. He sought little comfort in the crunch of every step.

The drawn-out breaths of a haggard man escaped him as he slipped; a bony grasp reaching out and keeping him on his hands and feet. He soon regressed to a state of crawling, grunting as he did so, not daring to look up in fear of realising he was to be conquered.

He crawled.

Crawl…

As his weakening body was battered by the flurries of snow around him, he cast his mind to the steps that led to these fleeting final moments. But he could not remember. The deathly present was embracing him and far from thought was the road he travelled. For it didn’t matter.
His gloved fingers dug into the snow as his heart lowered and his body weighed into the ground.

He dragged.

Drag…

Stone.

His hands rested on stone, unaffected by the snow and his whole body soon found itself dragged onto a plateau. No wind. No sound. Nothing.

He looked up to find himself before a towering monument, a seemingly never-ending wall face. An archway began to light up, humming as it filled with a golden glow. It released brightly coloured wisps of smoke, encircling the pilgrim and beckoning him closer. He found himself on his feet, making his way towards the light, no longer feeling the hand of death on his shoulder. Nor did he feel enlivened. He felt nothing.

A moment away from the archway, he stops. He breathes. He steps in.

Warmth begins coursing through him, a tingling sensation overwhelming every cell of his being, a co-ordination of ecstasy. He begins to cry, tears streaming down his face. But even this is soothing and loving, as though he is drawing his tears from a beautiful spring he never knew existed. His mind is expanded to the size of the sky, a flickering cosmic display revealing itself to him. He holds himself tight and as his breath begins to regulate the overwhelming feelings subside.

He wipes his eyes, clearing his blurred vision, finding a robed figure before him.

“Hello,” she softly says, a welcoming smile on her lips. She takes him by the hand, knowing he won’t refuse and leads him down a brightly lit passageway. “Do you know who I am?”

He shakes his head, not once looking around him as he fixates his gaze on her. The more he looks to her, the more he feels awash with loving warmth.

“Your people call me The Keeper,” she softly says with an expectant grin, a slight gasp breaking the pilgrim’s silence, “and I suppose you are here for something I’ve been keeping?”

Having remembered the purpose of his journey, the pilgrim nods and says, “I have travelled far to acquire my soul from you.”

“That’s right and how tough your travels have been. You have truly experienced, endured and suffered in the world The Mother has created. But it is over now.”

“You are to give me my soul?” he eagerly asked.

“I suppose I am,” she says soothingly with a widening smile.

He finds himself in a room that contains nothing but a box and a haze of glimmering images.

“I present to you what I present to all that come. In that box is what you have been looking for. Many before you have journeyed here for their soul and every one of them has walked their own path, experienced their own way, and some were displeased with what they found here. Once you have opened the box you may step into the haze and return home,” The Keeper says as she nods sagely, smiling lovingly and gesturing towards the box.

The pilgrim completed what seemed to be the final steps of his journey. He considered the long and arduous search for his soul, recalling the years of suffering he endured traversing harsh lands, repelling those who would see him lost and losing those who would walk beside him. But the prize of his soul was now before him, ready for him to take.

He breathes deeply.

He opens the box.

He stares at the emptiness within it.

For a moment he is numbed, silent.

But he soon finds an uncontrollable smile spreading across his face as he carefully lowers the box and turns to The Keeper. He nods in understanding as she embraces him. “Thank you,” he says as tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

“Thank you,” she whispers, gently kissing his cheek before urging him towards the portal home.

As he wanders towards it he closes his eyes and looks within. He feels the memories of everyone who has helped him, everyone he has had the joy of helping, all of the beautiful moments he has experienced. His heart is filled with endless warmth, bobbing in a sea of gratitude, its waves ebbing and flowing throughout his body. He is left knowing.

The journey may have given him suffering, but it did far more to shower him with love and wonderment.

He steps into the haze. The first step of many knowingly filled with joy.

~Jack J

Be Nice To People

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 19:06:00 +0000

Peel the fruit,
Dare to bite,
Amaze your tongue
With the juice
Of gratitude.
Let it
Coat your lips
And bless
Every word
That passes by.
Pour forth
Joy
At every chance,
For only
When you
Let loose
Loving words
Do they then
Find you.

~ Jack J

See Ya

Thu, 07 Mar 2013 18:43:54 +0000

Take my hand
But not for too long
Because I need it
To wave off
My weaker self
For my other hand
Is too busy
Giving the middle finger

~ Jack J

The Lightkeeper

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 21:13:00 +0000

It is you who illuminates,
Lights the way for those
Lost in the sea
Of uncertainty.
But alone are you
When the lights go out
And you are caught
In the current.
There is no one to save
The one who saves,
Your cries drowned out
By expectation.
You’ll muse it is tough
To need help,
But perhaps as tough
To be a constant helper.
And they’ll think
That’s a dark thing to say.

~ Jack J

The Astronaut

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 20:10:00 +0000

When closely
acquainted with
infinite nothing
do you suddenly
feel aware
of the
infinite somethings
that do little
to define you
or do you
continue to
float away
ignoring the fact
the world
could very much fit
in your hands

~Jack J