Sweet's Journal

Life’s a show or life’s a game,
And if you rock or jive it,
There’s one thing that we all know,
That no-one can survive it.
Dancing through the changing years,
Hearing songs and watching tears,
Swinging on along the path,
They sing why they love or laugh…

Life’s a game or life’s a show
And if it’s short or long,
There will be a tune to it
And there will be a song.
Blues or ballads, Joy or grief,
Harsh revenge or sweet relief.
Burning rage or loyal friend,
Closing curtain, happy end…

Life’s a show or life’s a game,
All we can do is wing it.
Most are losers all the same,
They know it when they sing it.
Every love can lead to loss,
Every plot’s a double-cross,
On the way on dancing feet,
Listening to that living beat.

Life’s a game or life’s a stage,
The players can’t be fools.
Only one will always win.
The one who makes the rules.

Muse; Sweet the Singing Demon,
Fandom, BTVS
Words, 165.

( You have been granted one wish. )

Sweet the singing demon
Fandom, BTVS.
Words 1066

Scars? I’m a glamour-user – and a shape-changer, up to a point. Piercings and ornaments and such just come and go. I have to think about keeping any features that I especially like, and why would I bother to keep a scar? I’ve seen them on other species and the damaged skin can turn – I think they call it keloid. It doesn’t stretch like unscarred skin and sometimes the scarred creature can’t move about as well after it gets injured.

I’ve heard people sing that scars on the heart are the same. Get that broken too many times and it won’t function the same. They sing that you can cure people of feeling love for anything at all by putting too many scars in their hearts. (Then they go out and do something stupid like giving their kid one more chance or bailing the guy who hit them out of jail.)

I guess scars are a reminder of a learning experience. Nature’s way of telling you not to do that again. I guess they are.

{firewalled against all who mean harm.}

Hey, I’d forgotten one. I was bitten by a werewolf, during a Gig involving them over in the cold northlands. I smoked out the moment I felt the jaws close. You never saw a pup look so surprised! It went back on its haunches and yipped like a coyote. That does show, in the right light. Four little marks, pale spots against the skin of my leg. There’s not many can say that they’ve been bitten by a werewolf pup and it didn’t change their lifestyle but I could, back then.

I picked up another mark from one, later – but that’s another story. {/firewall}

Muse; Sweet the Singing Demon,
Fandom, BTVS
Words; 280

Deyre Master Shakespeare, I have raised this Quill,
To let thee know that I have meant no ill,
In my appearance (which then led to funne)
In thy new play, to wit, “Love’s Labours Wonne.”
I learned thy tongue while passing through the land,
While one King James his modern bible planned.
(A book that could be kept in manse or dwelling,
And gave thy folk their first idea of spelling.
A thought that has some merit, in this time.
Although mine words do not match well to thine!)

Thou art a bard whom many do respect,
Nor would my hasty words thy plays reject,
(Though Juliet and Ophelia go to waste,
And Hamlet is too bloody for mine taste.)
I wryte now to appreciate thy plays,
And tell thee, in my view they will amaze,
When centuries have passed away and gone,
And speech like thine is like the throstle's song,
(Pleasant enough to hear, but at their gleaning,
The groundlings strain to ken a little meaning.

I do not tell thee false, nor any man
Will heare untruth from me, but while I can,
I tell thee why thy cast broke into song,
Those who call spirits may do very wrong,
(Although the best of them may pay the price,
and make themselves the summoning sacrifice, )

On finding amulets when they chance to drop,
I tell thee, do not use them as a prop!

We are agreed, thy world is but a stage,
But if thou wouldst avoid a singer’s rage,
Use not real jewellery in such a way,
Nor sing the summons that is on display,
And if thou wouldst bring thine admirer joy,
have not thy fairest maid played by a boy!


Post scriptum,

In fact, thou led'st to an frustrating day...
I tell thee as a critic, scrap that play!

Night – that’s a tricky concept. The time of the dark. The time when all the hidden things come drifting out of the corners, out of the cracks in the stones and out of the deep, dark cellars of the mind. The time when fragile, diurnal humans used to keep a bright fire at the mouth of their caves or hide away in their little boxes, sleeping and trying not dream - until the pale fingers of dawn start to stroke the skies and the birds start chorusing with relief, and the things of night creep away, to hide from the light (for a little while.)

The night can be a good time for songs. Dreams set to a beat, hopes set to, maybe, a pop hit, a thing of the moment (for hopes can be a fleeting thing, gone by the morning.) Fears set for a whisper-singer, a skittering jazz scat, unruly and fragmented. Loss set to the blues and the wail of the lonely saxophone. You need a tune that’ll last, to sing bereavement right.

The night’s a time for courting, too – swains courting lovers, hunters courting victims, slayers courting death …

The night’s a time when the deepest pits can open – and sometimes when they don’t death comes on creeping feet while the defenders sleep.

( Fiddling while Rome burns. )

words 592

( It ain't no hit, So I've cut it. )

Muse; Sweet the Singing Demon.
Fandom; BTVS.
Words; 164

How can I tell you what we do?
Our problems won’t mean much to you.
( Portal controls )

*Gribbles - a unit of currency worth 19 Pylean Scrutches at the current rate of exchange.)

Sweet the Singing Demon
Fandom BTVS
Words 484

Some humans say, "In the beginning was the word." They're kidding you. In the beginning was the Dance. Look at it. You've got the instruments to see, now - look at the dance of the atoms, choosing their partners for the reel. Look at the molecules setting out to skip the Drunkard’s walk. Look at the whirl of the planets, spinning out, spinning in, round and out and spin and twirl. That’s real dancing, everything set and balanced and right. Don't call me The Lord of that Dance. That's a real big job.

Them things ain’t alive, though. When you get onto the living level, down to the basics - in the beginning was the beat! The first sound you heard was that beat, the strong, rhythmic beat of the oldest drum of all. The beat of the blood. The drum of your mother's heart, the pulse of your own, the beat in the blood dancing the life through your body. The first instrument that mankind ever made was the drum.

In the beginning was the word? Well maybe, in a way, if you mean the beginning of thinking how to put a neat shape around things - but the beat was first and then even when the Shaman syncopated it the beat went on.

When you die, mostly the last sound you hear is that beat, drumming in your ears, slowing and fading and faltering and … gone… whispering into the background pulse of your world.

In the meantime you dance. Not just to my music. That heartbeat throb is your very own.

Of course, the songs, the feelings, the energy, the love and the hate and the whole damn Gig – that’s another story.

Muse; “Sweet” the Singing Demon
Fandom BTVS
Words; 282

Now here’s a topic that I’d say
Is on the lighter side!
I’ll sing my songs and run my Gig,
And maybe take a bride,
And when the work is over
Then there’s plenty time to play,
Then maybe I’ll be up all night
Or dancing through the day!

I’d say that if you sleep or wake
Depends on what you do,
There are better things than sleeping,
You know that can be true,
So while my Gig is running
I’ll be up to hear a song,
And once the show is over
I’ll be home before too long.

The thing that I would recommend
Is to be young at heart,
(And be as young as you can be
In every other part!)
And keep your lyrics honest
Though the subtext may run deep,
After two thousand years or so,
There’s time enough to sleep!

Seasons turn, empires burn,
And the world turns on
Oh can’t you hear the beat?
We only get one life to live
So swing it while you may,
The dance may keep you up indeed
By night or by the day!

Muse; Sweet the Singing Demon.
Fandom; BTVS
Words 186

( Hidden, )

Words. 236.