Deep Down in the Dungeon … – Dead Deer

“Make not your thoughts your prison” –  Antony and Cleopatra

I thought I was free. I was fooling myself. The small clarity I had gained merely allowed me to see the nature of the dungeon I am trapped in with greater ease. My attempt to escape led, as always, to being once more imprisoned in my thoughts, to be ever more shackled to this misery.

Darting around once more in circles, every point blocked. Each dead-end shooting me on to the next, ever quicker, whirring around and around. Eventually I come to a cycle when I can see a way step off this brutal treadmill. Please no, not back in that room.

I designed and curate a dungeon of my own, deep down in the worse corner of my infected head. It is a loathsome place, small but magnificent. All the hatred and disappointments and anger get garnered and carefully placed there. It should be a healthy, cleansing and cathartic exercise. It is not. The inhabitant knows not of its existence, nor of their place in it. But it is here with me, constantly. Part of what keeps me in the prison of my thoughts. Stuck.

Today I wrote from 23:49 to 23:59. I was prompted by ideas here. My other writings here. All my prompted writing here, and my tweets here

Dec 6th – Deep Down in the Dungeon

December 6th – Deep Down in the Dungeon.

15.22-15.32

The second album wasn’t going well.

After the unexpected commercial success of their first album, Mindless Soul Chimp, Small Intestine were back in the studio.

Actually having some songs would help.

Mindless Soul Chimp seemed to write itself. It didn’t of course, but eighteen months ago, in a smaller, cheaper studio, that’s how it seemed. Lars had book of lyrics mostly drawn from his experiences as a frustrated eighteen-year-old, and Hanna could sort of play guitar. Leo had a bass guitar, and, with Animal from the Muppets as a role model, Carl could hit the drums with something approaching rhythm. So they just bashed it out in a couple of days, and were proud to have achieved anything.

And then it all went mad.

Some local radio airplay resulted in a few hundred sales. Friends and families chipped in, even though, for the most part, they would never listen to it more than once. Then indie film director Werner Holzapfel, staying locally while looking for his muse, and finding it in a twenty-year-old named Greta, heard them, and decided that their ‘metal, but with a poetic heart’ was just what his forthcoming film ‘Brick’ needed. Hundreds of sales turned into thousands, then tens of thousands, then more, and the record company that signed them as a tax loss was putting gold discs up on its walls.

And so here they were. Back in the studio. Paid for by the label, and with shiny new instruments. But with no Hanna, and with no words.

Hanna was the next Avril Lavigne, apparently, and had decided that her musical needs were best served by an artistic split. So she’d gone solo, leaving the boys on their own. Learning the guitar beyond two chords was too much for Lars, and so they’d recruited Elise, Lars insisting that the female guitarist formula needed to be strictly adhered to. Elise’s talent was questionable, but the shared hotel rooms suggested that she was here to stay.

The producer, fresh from working with some of the biggest names in the Metal world, had given up prompting. He was getting paid. He’d be able to do something with what he was given, although he was beginning to worry about his reputation.

Lars had finished scribbling in his new, paid for book.

‘I call this Deep Down in the Dungeon.’

A roll of the eyes from the producer, a warm up the instruments, and the tricky second album was under way. Whether it was any good remained to be seen.

 

Inspired by a prompt from here