Post by jonas on Apr 15, 2010 23:19:17 GMT -6
-- jonas michael crowley. 17. senior. MUSIC.
The icy air was enough for most to take. It was the nicest possible day in Hell for the young guitarist, and inspiration was ready to stare him straight in the eyes. The soft caress of the air kept the music under his tongue and make him liven up ever so gently. His clothes were pure black, like a picture of blackness. A pair of black straight-fit jeans and a black trenchcoat covered his body against the fierce black hills air. South Dakota was a far stretch from Liverpool for sure, and Jonas knew this.
A whisper left his lips. It was a beautiful sunrise when one saw the light strike the hills and the celestial glow of Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull rose across centuries of graves to his very feet. Graves, how many has he visited? Too many to count. It was time for a change, and Jonas knew. With a Mosrite strapped to his back, Jonas understood why he was in the middle of South Dakota right now. Anything was better than Liverpool. For Jonas needed to spread his wings and fly. Jonas needed to find a new life, and where else but the middle of absolutely nowhere. It was the dream for a poet to live in a land where there was nothing but the world at your feet. Nothing but wilderness and an endless bounty of possible explanation to why we exist. It was what the artist dreamed of!
It was what Jonas dreamed of. His spark, his light! Jonas wanted that piece of the spiritual world to hit him and inspire him in such a brilliant muse. All Jonas wanted was his soul to be lit ablaze in these black cut hills. It was where he needed to be, the place where his future was waiting.
ben. 18. miami-est time.