jamming with henson

it would have been forgotten forever had it not slipped out from between the pages of my social psychology book. it was an artwork, a pencil sketch of a young man's face. it was a smug face, with long fang-like bangs that reminds me of a RAN male character. the edge of the bond paper was slightly singed for effect, and at its foreground, a song was printed. the song is called "Reality".

i could not help but smile at the memento. it was a poem i wrote on the spot about a year ago, when, as a peer facilitator for the PIC block, i needed something to motivate the freshies on their upcoming Poetry Fest. henson was the first to heed the GCO's call for freshpeople's poems; i remember him submitting poem after poem after poem. what's distinctive about his work is the way he incorporated art into it. the visual added flavor to the lyrical, all in one paper. his poems were highly original, and were naturally chosen to be among the finalists to the Fest. we were hopeful. after the first day of the exhibit, however, henson expressed his fear. the other entries were, in his words, "scary". i tried pep talk, but he's too intelligent for that, i guess; he is one of those people who know their abilities well enough---perhaps too well enough---to keep them from having an overblown picture of themselves. after some time, he said (more to himself than to anyone) that winning is not everything. i cannot remember what prompted me to write the poem on the spot, but when i did finish it, i gave it to henson. it was on a scrap of paper, untitled and messy. it was the only copy of the poem, and i gave it to him. a week after Poetry Fest, he returned the poem to me. this time it was clothed. the untitled poem now has melody. he entitled it "Reality", added a verse that became the song's chorus, and placed the chords to it. he only had one copy of it, and he gave it to me. the simple gesture of giving, and the surprise of having co-written a song without actually meaning to, became one of my little victories. henson will remain a brother among the many brothers and sisters i thankfully gain in this lifetime.

***

REALITY
(Sagumiya & Janre14)
intro:
Bm-G-F#

Death stares at me, through the cold stoic pits of the idiot box
my mortality bites me, incessantly
murder at daybreak; and i rise with the victim's corpses
to watch the day's bloody advent
casualties at noontide, accidents piling
as dust settles on teh glassy surface of my glass of drink

CHORUS: G-F#m-Bm
I want to know what is real; I'm trapped in this lonely world
I want to know what I feel; I'm left with these stupid words of reality.

Bm-G-F#
Death stares at me, through the cold stoic pits of the idiot box
my ignorance bites me, incessantly
scrapes and scratches, broken limbs, gaping wounds, wailing mouths
all united in pain

CHORUS: G-F#m-Bm
I want to know what is real; I'm trapped in this stupid world
I want to know what I feel; I'm left with these lonely words of reality.

Instrumental
Bm-G-F#

Death stares at me, through the cold stoic pits of the idiot box
How I wish I could blink away the horror.-