Eat A Cookie Fat Boy

ComingUndone
Jul 10, 2017 · 2 min read

12/22/2016

2:38 PM

I love music. I listen to it constantly. I wish for all the world I could make my own music. I’ve wished this for as long as I can remember. My attempts have all met with failure. I can make a decent beat but whenever it comes to actual melody things fall apart. Perhaps a music theory class would help, who knows.

My urning for the ability to make music doesn’t come from entirely the usual tiresome cliched sources (Sex, Drugs, etc, etc). Instead a large part of my desire is just to have the ability to create in a way that doesn’t involve written words. When it comes to music I feel like I’m in one of those dreams where something scary is chasing you and you want to yell but nothing comes out.

I think if I ever did make music it would either be instrumental or heavily mechanized in some way, but that’s never stopped me from cranking out lyrics since I was twelve.

So it came as no surprise that lyrics hit me like lightning after I discovered a slight jab that stung more than it should in an email I was included on.

Did she make you cry fat boy?

Go eat a cookie

Go eat a cookie and feel worse about yourself

Not a lot but enough that I had to stop what I was doing and write it down and for god’s sake not actually go get another cookie from the holiday adorned and treats covered table viewable from my desk.

I’m not a boy, and I’m not THAT fat but both terms are meant as an insult and work better in that way. I can picture them repeated perhaps chopped up amongst found audio from another source, mixed amongst heavy industrial percussion and sad descending notes.

I have wasted a great deal of money on money making software, even hardware. I did have a bit of success with a suite I had many computers ago but the cd’s are lost and the computer it was on is long gone. Since then I’ve tried other things but nothing has really worked out, so instead music will only exist in a heavily described written manner which I feel locked into. Unable to scream out what I wish to create. M

ComingUndone

Written by

Depressed. Surrounded by people yet always lonely. Slowly dying on the inside AND with bad spelling and grammar. What’s not to like?

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