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Vasili

Here is a memoir I wrote for my English 101 class (got a bad grade, but who cares) it's about my first listening experience with Floyd's Darkside


The darkness devours my sight as I sit, victim to whatever force may take hold of me. Only the noise of my quiet heart beats me toward my unknown path. Aside from the meticulous beating, a quiet, yet rowdy voice is heard from the left, a voice of insanity, a voice of cold, the voice of the moon. With the rough voice continuing to speak words of brain damage, and my heart still beating, a new welcoming noise begins to imbue itself within my ears. Time begins to speak to me before long, informing me of its existence by using its ticking. As the new noise joins its friends, I continue to lay in complete unawareness as these noises speak to me. What noise will come next? What will happen? Whatever may come, I know that I will continue to be at its mercy. Right as I begin to feel comfortably numb with the noises finding refuge in my head, a new one chooses to join the loop. Cash registers and the echoes of falling coins slowly and quietly begin to traverse in my way. From directly above me, the harmony of money is now a part of me, it has joined. Now with all of these conjoined reverberations flourishing, their existence and place begin to make sense to me. They are complete, and I know what it is that they are telling me, they are telling me to breathe.

Following one final heart beat, one last echo of time, and a short intervention of money, I am greeted with a hint of bliss as the sounds of Pink Floyd instill themselves in my heart. After a short implementation of beautifully incarnated sounds of guitar, my ears find themselves friends to the voice of Roger Waters as he asks me to “Breathe in the air, don’t be afraid to care”. Following his instructions, I breathe deeply, embracing every sound of music as Pink Floyd begin to take me on their trip into the land of psychedelia. With every bass riff of Roger Waters, every strum of Dave Gilmour’s guitar, every rupture of Nick Mason’s drums, and all of the keyboard commotions brought by Richard Wright, I unfastened myself even more to the plethora of melodious bliss. The harmonious clamor of art known as Pink Floyd has just begun this seemingly endless psychedelic vacation.

With the end of the first tune, I find myself yet again at the mercy of my beating heart. However it is not the noise of my heart which is beating. It is the unprecedented bellow of footsteps that fill my ears this time. Now I know that I am on the run. But running from what? Noises of voices from afar begin to close in on my presence as my pace begins to dwindle, their words unknown, just as is their intention. As my previously lackluster pace begins to hasten, the voices begin to abscond. It seems that I am in the clear as my heart begins to return to its normal pace. It seems as though my scamper has ended as I reach a very large door, which appears as though it should belong to a castle. Characters of clocks and time can be viewed on this monstrosity. As my hand slowly adheres to the knob of the door, a much unexpected event follows quickly thereafter.

Rings of clocks and the clamor of time begin to take homage in my ears now as I discover what lies on the dark side of the door. Upon entrance, I am yet again greeted with the haunted, yet welcoming essence that is the lyricist, Roger Waters. With the help of fellow Floydian David Gilmour, Waters vocalizes the true value of the existence of time. The echoes of Pink Floyd tick onward as I am further captivated with unprecedented tunes. As the ticking of the clock begins to dwindle, I am greeted with a reminiscent of familiar tune. My psychedelic trip has landed me once again in the lap of “breathe”. The hymn of David Gilmour’s guitar slowly pulls me towards a transfixing, brilliant light of sound that is the reprise of the above mentioned rock ballad. My heart seems to come to a calm, slow, steady pace as I promenade onward with my newly acquired associates.

A new tone seems to find its way to my opened mind as I close my eyes, awaiting what awaits me. A slow, yet melodious harmony of the piano begins to build an aircraft in my mind, as I sit transfixed I wonder where my destination will take me upon stepping foot on this craft. I do not care where I will go, as long as the pianist named Richard Wright is there with me. Within seconds I find myself lying motionless upon the aircraft, victim to wherever it wishes to sashay. As my craft begins to take to the air, my eyes awaken only to discover that I am not alone. Residing with me is a tall, slender woman whose appearance can only be described as angelic. As our eyes meet, her mouth slowly begins to open resulting in a saintly hymn of passion. Her voice carries me, and the craft high above the sky, where my body-still motionless-passes through white, fat clouds. This great gig in the sky is nothing short of stunning. I now realize that this euphoric bliss which my ears have graced is unprecedented, and uncanny. As the last beat of this dark side makes its way, I realize that I shall never again witness such a lyrical paradise as “Dark Side of the Moon.”

 

imported_teufelfisch

I like it.

Your style could use some work, and you jump around a little too much, but I loved the way you used all the references to other albums and songs. Rather evocative images, too, but could use some good perfecting.

Makes me want to listen to the album.

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Vasili

I appreciate the advice, thanks. It does jump around a bit, I'm currently working on rewriting it. But the beauty of creating the piece was that I really wasn't thinking about what I was writing, I was listening to the album, and just writing my thoughts down. It was pretty cool. Again, thanks a lot I always love criticism on my writing.

-Vasili

mrs mum

it got a bad grade?!!!!!