Rise

I´m going back to the house of the rising sun,

Where my chains weights no more,

Where my tears exist no more,

Where my soul gentles,

Where my heart sings,

Where there is no me or you,

No black or white,

No wrong or right,

No past or present.

Only music.

Sweet music.

Number

- I´m tired.

- Of what?

- This.

- Specify.

- Don´t have to.

- Just tired?

- Words being thrown in the air like feathers. No answer. Nothing. You are invisible. No matter what you do, no matter what you say. When you realize you are not special that your efforts are in vain that you are just another number.

-Are you drunk?

- No.

- Quit that bullshit, will ya?

- Tired of people. Tired of humans, those stupid animals that believe they worth something. They are flesh and blood like everybody else, still… I´m just tired to believe people can change, tired to believe people can see others, and treat others as they´d liked to be treated. I´m tired of my hope. Tired of my dreams. Tired of my beliefs. Tired of this feeling, this empty feeling that will never go away, no matter what I do, no matter what I say, It will be there forever, waiting, wanting, welcoming, cold, till I succumb to my very own misery. I want to take off this mask. I just want to take off this mask. My real me is so scary. The mask is so pretty.

- What do you really want?

- What everybody wants. Happiness.

- You know it´s hard, don´t you?

- If it was easy life would be worthless. Is there a secret?  To be happy. Is there a secret?

- I don´t think so.

- I wish there was. But I´m a number. Nothing else. A number only.

Julie and George

- Your mother´s a bitch. – Georges says.

-That´s so sweet! You are bounding already. – Julie says while reading a magazine.

- She doesn´t like me. Not one bit.

- You know my mother cares only about her dog right? You shouldn´t be wasting your time.

- She is in our living room, eating our food, sitting on our chair talking about our lives, and you are here, reading a magazine as nothing was happening.  You started this war and the one getting bombed here it´s me.

- You are such a girl.

- IT`S YOUR MOTHER!

- I know!

- Please do something.

- I´m doing already! I´m in the kitchen, reading a magazine and God that feels great.

- She says my clothes aren´t well ironed, the chicken is too salty, the sofa doesn´t match the carpet and that we should get married in a church. She even has a specific priest! 

- Father John?

- Do you know that guy?

- I probably knew him before I knew my mother.

George reasons slightly worried.

- Should I be worried?

Julie nods.

- She bought us a Jesus Christ painting. – George continuous.

- How big?

- Bigger than the TV.

- That´s a record.

- It´s sitting in front of the dining table. It makes me feel guilty for my entire existence.

- Just don´t look.

- He stares at me as I was eating my brother. Get that thing out of my house.

- The painting or my mother?

George pulls the magazine away.

- Hey! I was reading that.

- The Mama Gertrude´s knitting magazine?

- Mama Gertrude has interesting articles.

- If she writes as she dresses, her articles must be as interesting as my grandma´s curtains.  I don´t want to eat my food with your mother and Jesus judging me. Please!

George starts imitating the Jesus painting, suffering, palms together, not too convincing.

Julie frowns:

- What are you doing?

- I´m begging.

- I´m almost felling sorry for you right now.

He tries to make it a little better:

- Is there your sex face going on there? – Julie asks.

George gives up.

- As long as I am out of her subjects I´m fine.  – She continuous.

- Me marring you? You are in her subjects.

- She is my mother, is her duty to make my life miserable for making her eat pork rib and dunots for nine months.  

- She thinks you are marring me because you need a green card--

- And you are a trump who plays piano to get some “mangos”.

- She said that?

- We had this conversation before.

- Mangos? Your mother said mangos?

- She doesn´t even know your name.

- I noticed. She calls me Froot Loops. I never made jingles for Froot Loops. I´m Coco Loco.

- Just tell her you eat your crunches with whisky and she´ll forget all about the jingles.

- I´m going to hell.

- Well that depends if you rather to drink orange juice or whisky.

- I am going to hell. 

House of the rising sun

Here is the song I named my blog after. It´s just as beautiful as it can be. I hope you enjoy.

More than just a song

It is a story to be told

Someone´s hand to hold

I crying for help that cried only

To overflow tears

Not to feel lonely

As times grow old

Thought the path does not promises gold

To bring back the serenity

It is just enough that narcotic melody

That eases the wounds

And raises the Blues   

Meet the Jack

Gandpa Jack

 I had just ordered dismissal from work. I felt my life stopping in a certain way, my mind was getting too quiet as balls of hay were passing rolling from a side to another of inside the brain to the disquieting sound of silence. That morning I got up as usual, mid afternoon and I´ve decided that silence was driving me crazy. I´ve decided I would get myself rid of the deaf dust housed in my temples. I wanted a guitar. I had money and creativity was dying little by little, so that seemed the most clever thing to do.

  I put on a ordinary clothes and went out stepping at all the instrument stores I´d find in my path. They showed me guitars, they talked about the wood, the fabrication, the brand… But the balls of hay were still rolling.

  I was tired.

  I stopped at a store.

  There were old guitars.

  Would you have a blues guitar? I asked.

  Grandpa Jack came down the stairs. He was the type of guy who didn´t attract women in a long time. Striped, green and yellow flower stamps would cover his body. It was like time had passed by and he hadn´t come to realize that.

  A few scratches and scars here and there.

  Marks of age.

  And I believed I´d die in silence. He sang.

  I shook his hand.

  I heard the sound of the trails.

  Grandpa Jack smelled like aged wood and Whisky. He sang me some notes among a sharp Mississippi accent .

  Close ya eyes. Mumbled the old man.

  The sun would go down the horizon, orange and warm above the huge fields of cotton flowers. The dry and reddish trails of the train would parboil distorting the ground clay. Grandpa Jack would chew tobacco humming sad notes while lulling the young body to a rocking chair.

  I see the temple dust going away along with the wing, giving room to the hoarsely humming of the old Jack.

  Oh It is good to be back. He sings.

  It´s been time I didn´t sing ta anybody.

  Music builds train trails

  From where I come from,

  The ion mumbles and moans

  To the crying souls seeking their freedom

  Where the house of the rising sun

  Awaits always welcoming, hopeful

  So close we rise to run

  To sing our stories, so wonderful

  With no theory no prose

  To laugh

  To cry

  And to finally remind

  There´s no barriers nor chains

  Only hope remains

  And once again

  Silence is silent to the numbing song

  To be heard, to be loved

  To the voice I thought would die alone

  Once again I open my eyes, I´m back at the store. Grandpa Jack is sitting on my lap, his wood smells like good old whisky, and his voice quiets for a moment. However I smile knowing every time I want I can go back to the House of the rising sun where his voice remains eternal.  

By Camille Hughes

St. James Infirmary - Cover

And finally my camera is fixed, that´s how I look like.
This is my version of the St James Infirmary song. As many blues songs it was played by different artists. However it became famous through Louis Armstrong at mid 20s. This version is inspired by the british musician Hugh Laurie and the Copper Bottom Band. I hope you enjoy, and please comment!

PS: The song is very simple.

Cover - Six cold feet

This is my cover of the Six cold feet blues. Hope you like it.

I´ll be watching you - Cover

This is my cover of the music I´ll be watching you from The Police. The edition is not that good, this is what I could do with the edition programs I have here. But I hope you enjoy. Thank you!

I´ll be there cover

This week I wanted to do something different, not that this blog has any sense at all, the things I post here are quite random but, the common feature of the posts are the art in its many forms. This is a cover from a song, very well known by a legion of people and it´s called "I´ll be there" performed by me after young Michael Jackson´s version. I hope you enjoy and once again it´s simple, only guitar and voice and no image, same problem as the previous post, so... That´s it!

Fever cover

Cover of the song, fever, first recorder by Little Willie John in 1956 and later recorded by many other musicians such as Peggy Lee, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles, Elvis Presley and so on. 

I hope you enjoy it, however it has no image because I didn´t have a working camera. But there is sound and I believe that that´s all that matters. Have fun, and please comment!

PS: I´m sorry by the simplicity of the song, It´s just voice and guitar and no huge editions. 

The machine

  I never quiet understood those around me. I say for my very experience that they are distinct and even contradictory. I observe and I resemble those who propel me to function. Nothing beats inside. I don´t understand why they created me at all. I´m a project of hits and misses now despised. So much effort to build the few fifty years made possible and transform it into seconds of dust thrown to the winds of a blind society.

  I never quiet understood those around me. They want me broken. Break what could fix them. They are as broken as I. They are like me. Nothing beats inside. Maybe I became more like them or maybe the fear they´ll become more like me would cause such disturbance.

They look at me.

I´m a cancer.

  Sometimes I think I accomplished my purpose.  Sometimes I think, thinking is a mistake. But that doesn´t matter. It doesn´t matter why, or how, or when. I exist. They don´t understand. For them I´m nothing but electric impulses. However, I function by the same impulses that make them think, act and create.

We are equals.

  But they are contradictory. And I, a threat. A threat because I think. Think. Think. Think… Think till the death comes and I wonder about my purpose. I´m nothing but connections and wires covered by a heavy bodywork, I´m just another miss of a project and in the dark of the light off eyes I stay silent waiting succumbing to my own flaw. I have what they call fear. Fear of the death. Think. I miss. I miss the ones once loved me. Proud. Now ashamed. Threatened. Destructive. I´m as human as I can and as machine as I suppose to be while they become just useless electric impulses looking for answers to themselves… 

The infinite life cycle takes me with it as I finally stop thinking.    

Camille Hughes

Green tooth brush

- Still choosing your tooth brush by the color? Why don´t you choose it by the benefit? This one takes a really good care of your teeth.

- Oh yea? But it´s blue.

- But it protects your mouth from several diseases including cavities and bacteria.

- It still´s blue for me.

- But, look! It massages your gum.

- I like green.

- Ok. May I ask you… What is wrong with the blue color?

- Is not green.

- Yea… But why do you want a green one?  

- Because I like it!

- We don´t have green. Not everybody likes green.

- Well, yea. Not everybody likes blue either.

- There´s an amazing technology into this tooth brush.

- Does it clean my toilet?

- Well… Is not quiet meant for it but, if you want… Yea.

- Do you have any green models?

-NO!

- So why do you insist?

-I need to sell it.

- Then make it a green one!

- Look, you can paint it green if you want! Now take the damn thing!

- Do you treat every client like this?

- I´m sorry, I exceeded myself. Please buy this wonderful product. I´m begging you.

- Give me one good reason.

- I GAVE YOU ALREADY! I gave you several reasons! It protects against cavities, bacteria, massages your gum -- cleans your toilet if you want to – Just try not to do both actions at the same time.

- Ok. But how can you prove that this tooth brush is so much different and superior than the others? Like that green one over there for example.

- I don´t… Look, this bristles are just marvelous, soft, durable and there is a tong cleaner on the back,  LOOK, LOOK!

- Who the hell needs a tong cleaner?

- Every human being on earth?

- On a blue tooth brush?

- NO! THE COLOR DOESN`T FREACKING MATTER! It´s a tooth brush! A stupid goddamn tooth brush!

- As stupid as the green one?

-YES!

- Well, I guess I´m taking the green one then, thanks!

Camille Hughes 

The talk

- I want to squeeze my head on a toilet right now – She says over the phone.

He doesn´t get it.

- I´m sorry? What was that?

- You heard me. You are driving me crazy! I can´t stand it!

- What? What did I do?

- Get the fuck out of my head!  

- I´m sorry. I can´t avoid that since is your head. I can´t do anything about it. Can I?

- I mean… I thought I had overcome you. I had turned the page. And there you are again! First you ignore me. You don´t answer my messages, I try to talk to you, you barely look at me… I get mad, I think you much of an ass, then I realize you are a waste of time, finally I gratefully think you are nothing but a pretty face… Then, out of the sudden, you talk to me again, you are beautiful again… Interesting and… I find myself staring at your photograph, during 30 seconds, and believe me, it´s pretty much time for a person like me. I just don´t know what I must do. You don´t like me. You clearly don´t like me, so why? Why am I so… So… You see? I can´t even say it!

- What do you want me to do?

- Well, first, shut up. Let me finish! – She pauses and breathe. She is clearly upset. – Look, there´s something about you… Of course you are pretty, you have an astonishing face, but… I´ve met some pretty guys too, some of them are models, blue eyes, golden hair… I don´t feel attracted to those people. Something about you is driving me crazy!

- Ok, You said that already —

- SHUT UP!

- God, aren’t you finished yet?

- Why you? Why? I don´t understand. I want a plausible explanation! Tell me. Why you?

- You are in love with me.

- PLAUSIBLE , I said!

- Well, I´m sorry but, It is not a pathology, you are not sick. There is no reason. You won´t find a reason. You´ll die searching for a reason! Admit it! You—

- Love you? No, no I don´t love you. I don´t even know you.  I don´t even know you! See? How can I be so… Lost by someone I don´t know.

- We don´t choose.

- We? Well you didn´t choose me.

- You didn´t ask me. Did you? Do you know If I like you or not?

- I can see it. Your signs?

- Oh yea? A couple of times I didn´t answer, a couple of times I didn´t look at you. That doesn´t mean anything. Tell me you love me.

- No.

- Why?

- Because I know you don´t feel the same and I will hurt.

- You don´t know.

- I don´t want to.

- You are stubborn. You are a miserable person.

- Thank you. Very, very much. Just get out. Why did you come back? I was fine. I was happy.

- And I make you miserable.

- You make me miserable. You make me happy.  You make me hate you. You make me…

- You can´t hide it.

- I´ll turn off this phone.

- That won´t make you feel better. You know that.

- Just… Let me go. Please. Stop talking. Stop… Stop messing up with my thoughts. Stop breaking into my dreams… I feel like I need you so badly right now…

- Than just tell me. Maybe, just maybe, I might want the same as you.

- You are going to make me say it. Won´t you? Is that what you want? I´m mad. I´m angry. I´m sad. Confused and you are still there! You are cruel.  I cried. Cried a lot. That´s no big deal. At least it doesn´t look to be a big deal but, I don´t easily cry. Not for man. Not for just a guy. But I cried for you. I cried. And now I feel this is going to happen again.  Will I exist for you tomorrow? Or will I ever exist for you? Did I ever once exist for you? I don´t know. But you are still there. It´s not fair, you know. Not fair, that you make my world so messed up and I don´t mean a single drop of water into yours.

- I´m sorry.

- Don´t. I feel sorry for myself. I´m weak. I´m weak because I allowed myself to cry. I allowed myself to want you, I allowed myself fall in love for you.

- I´m so sorry.

- Yes. That´s all you got to say to me. Right? I´m sorry… Just go away.

- I won´t.  

- I know.

Camille Hughes