The Empire Builder - Night Three "On A Bed of My Choosing"

I walked into the typical faire that is the little Red House on Poplar Street. A roomful of gamers hacking away at the celestial cesspool from whence their immortal enemies have come. "They all must be slain." I heard a character from the game shout out, while light swords, lasers and energy bombs disseminating destruction. A water pipe with bags and bags, flavor upon flavor, full of someone's preferred choice of medicine. "Hey guys, is Matt around?" "He's went over to Libby's. He should be back soon." "Oh, ok. What are you guys playing?" I didn't register what the name was, I found out being polite to zombies keeps them from eating your brains. So I went back into the front room where my bags were and started to get situated. I already had plenty of ideas for songs while on this trip, so i decided to start writing some of them down. The writing process has always been a transforming thing, mostly akin to a block of sculpting putty. Each song seems to find it self out, explore its own possibility, push its own potential. It builds itself up and at the most opportune time it deflates, self-destructs and starts from scratch. Again and again I have experienced this but these songs seem different, I couldn't put my finger on it but the music was already shaped, as if manufactured. These songs were coursing through my veins, each melody line was conscience of its place and reason. The words would come later with these songs, if the story be told through music then the words would only be embellishment. At some point during this informal writing session, Matthieu and Libby came tumbling through the front door. After the necessary embracing and affections we made haste to a local pub to engage in the delights of our fancy; billiards, cheap swill, and greasy fat laden food. The three of us were accompanied by Taylor, a life-long fascist, who imposed his will on nearly everyone everywhere he went. He was great fun, living completely in the moment as he wished. A zen-lunatic poet of dreams in life's words walking in the shadows of Kerouac, Burrows, and Ginsberg. He howled at a full moon and woke to the early sun. Matt was very similar in this way though more absurd in his thoughts and actions. To even attempt to describe his thought process would do him grave injustice. Despite being the most genuine and polite person I have ever met, he will steal, lie, and cheat but only to those who are not immediately connected to him. He will never steal anything of consequence or personnel attachment, unless he had been wronged and justice demands its will to be done. There is a Robin Hood quality to his mischief. Libby on the complete other-side of the spectrum is stable in mind and emotion. She neither goes too far one way or the other. Though with this in mind if you get her on the right topic she will blossom into a radical rose watered by the flames of discontent. We all played several games of pool while listening to the music our hearts. Our conversation went this way and that seemingly with no intention to create a linear stream of thought. After several pitchers we retreated to the humble abode that is the Little Red House on Poplar Street and settled in for the evening. We watched a movie. After which time Matt and Libby went to turn in. Matt said to me, "Make yourself at home, on a bed of your choosing."