name :: Finnegan Camus

player :: Shoji [[swall0wtale]]

position :: COMPOSER, MUSICIAN, AND SIDESHOW SPIRIT MEDIUM
ALL ROLLED INTO ONE!!

group :: Asile

Appearance.

i like to write songs about a foreign boy with his head on backwards
who has a sister who loves him very much (but he wishes she would stop).
he has hair that's darker than it should be (but it's natural, for sure)
and eyes that are sharper than anyone wants them to be.
he understands the meaning in a con artist's philanthropy
and gets the disjuncture in an auxhillerating calliopy
with the faintest tinges of an aeolian fuckup.
he doesn't see the sunlight as often as he should
because he sleeps all day and his shows are at night
but he can sing a fairer tune than any gamebird one could shoot
on any given mourning
past the trees
and past the second hand
that's ticking by like a bullet blocker,
an anti-target spinning round and round and round.
his sister is always beside him,
atop him,
inside him
with her hand in his trachea
and his tongue in her mouth.
she says they have repopulation to do,
but the people watching them when they're sleeping in one bed
with their bodies tucked neatly inside one another

say otherwise.

[he knows he should stop her when she hits him,
when she chokes him with his tie
and smears his stagemakeup all over the costumes,
especially when he's caught some pretty girl's eye.
but a sister's love is one in infinity
and he wouldn't dare jeapordize

something so rare.]

Background.

i like to write songs about a foreign boy and his sister
[five years his elder]
and the life they shared wandering ireland in their early childhood.
the pikies packed up their caravans and headed to the orient
where they heard that things would get better
if you managed through the wastes.

i like to write songs about how the boy misses the colour green
and how you could see the sky if you were to sleep outside for a night.

i like to write songs about my drunken father
and how my mother said she hated him
but they loved each other even when it came to
fists and frying pans flying across the caravan.

i like to write songs about how the land died as the boy,
and his sister, and his family's caravan moved east.
how they entered the wastes when he was twelve years old
and how his sister would always
always always
stroke his chest, his belly, his thighs
to help him sleep better on the bumpiest of roads.

i like to write songs about how the nuclear savages
rended the boy's family apart
limb for limb and tooth for tooth
and how the foreign boy acquired a second sight
in the destruction of his father
and the bloody tears of his mother.

i like to write songs about how the foreign boy and his sister escaped,
living off the money they made off of playing the instruments they'd
salvaged from the rubble:
a violin made of gypsy's blood
and a flute made of a tin-can meal.
sometimes, the sister would dance to the brother's violin cadenzas
but they were disjointed and stilted in their beauty
for two years after he washed the blood from his eyes.

i like to write songs about a brother and a sister, fourteen and nineteen
in respective age, who got picked up by a touring circus in kathmandu.

i like to write songs about a foreign boy who
sees people and waits for them to tout

tunes instead of nonsense.

i like to write songs that i hear
from mouths and hearts that aren't my own.
sometimes, i hear people talking,
but it never makes any sense.

i like to write songs.
playing them is, really, only secondary.

Activities.

violin.
percussion.
piano.
harp.
viola.
cello.
erhu.
the huqin family.
double bass.
guitar.
bass guitar.
esraj.
haegeum.
viol d'amore.
shamisen.
koto.
mandolin.
lyre.
guzheng.
sitar.

Ideals/Motivations.

i like to write songs that
i hear secondhand
from the stories that everyone tells
around me.

i want to write the most perfect song
based upon the most tragic story.

i'm still looking.

Attitude.

half underwater
i'm half my mother's daughter
a fraction's left up to dispute
the whole collection
half off the price they're asking
in the halfway house of ill repute

half accidental
half pain full instrumental
i have a lot to think about
you think they're joking?
you have to go provoke him...
i guess it's high time you found out

it's half biology and half corrective surgery gone wrong
you'll notice something funny if you hang around here for too
long ago in some black hole before they had these pills to take it back
i'm half jill
and half jack

two halves are equal
a cross between two evils
it's not an enviable lot
but if you listen
you'll learn to hear the difference
between the halfs and the half nots

and when i let him in i feel my stitches getting sicker
i try to wash him out but like she said:the blood is thicker
i see my mother in my face
but only when i travel
i run as fast as i can run
but
jack comes tumbling after....

and when i'm brave enough and find a clever way to kick him out
and i'm so high not even you and all your love could bring me down
on 83rd he never found the magic words to change this fact:
i'm half jill
and half jack

i'm halfway home now
half hoping
for a showdown
cause i'm not big enough to house this crowd
it might destroy me
but i'd sacrifice my body
if it meant i'd get the jack part OUT

see jack run
jack run jack
see jack see
jack run jack
run jack see
jack see jack
run jack run
jack see jack
see jack run
jack run jack
run jack run

[ half jack . dresden dolls ]