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    Facebook reply:

    We walk the darker road and light it up to cast our own shadows. Fireworks flare fiercely in a black sky.

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    A birthday wish on Facebook:

    your voice calls like honey, it vibrates subtly sweet, not the tooth-cracking candy pumped out by factories, but the product of sun and blossoms and beating wings. you don’t know how I miss its dance over guitar strings.
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    Facebook reply:

    There are old spools rolling round in my mind, I can’t explain the way they unwind. One thread unraveling, pulling the whole scene askew. A slight change distorts the whole view. Unintended but welcome, change comes uninvited.

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    Facebook post:

    Sweet caffeine, fake sugar, fake cream.
    You ride in my blood, angry bee stinging flood.
    With limb-twitching grace, chemically erase
    the weary signposts strung under my eyes.

    Artificial, these highs, but these lows are bona fide.
    It’s official, a daylight addiction.
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    April Challenge

    I post all sorts of inane things on social media, as we all do. Today what started out as a post turned into the beginnings of a song. So I’ve decided to set a challenge for myself. For the month of April all my posts will be songs or poetry composed on the spot. And I will re-post the whole collection here under the tag #cold sunshine

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    Twitter post: April’s cold sunshine, as sincere as your smile

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    A Clouded Head

    A song for Isaac Daniel Perez aka aCloudedhed

    strange to say that something’s now a memory
    just a span of days ago it was still reality
    now it’s diamond hard. I look at my fingers, scarred
    I’d give up playing my guitar to have you here with me

    you knew how to take the frown out of “fuck you”
    you’d make me laugh when it’s the last thing I wanted to do
    and you’d shake the worst of my gray mood days away
    with a big bear hug hidden in your warm embrace

    now when I sing it’s not just for me anymore
    I picture you waiting there beyond the stage door
    we’ll begin where we left off, humming over a chord
    until then I hope you know just how much you are adored

    time can’t steal these things from me
    your smile flashing like sun on sea
    your voice ringing with song eternally
    now I feel your words, they’re alive in me

    your words are alive
    sweeping the storm front from
    my clouded head

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    The art of love

    Recently I’ve been a little directionless when it comes to songwriting. I was very focused while working on Small Town Girls, but I find I’m missing that focus now. I’ve still been writing in my lyrics blog at http://drawingprettythings.com but I haven’t really found my way toward a new project I’m inspired about. I can’t picture just picking out a bunch of random songs that don’t share a similar thematic thread. And though some may say that thread is always there in the dark underbelly of my songs, that’s not enough to inspire me. I need a goal.

    Thankfully my muse isn’t fully asleep. She brings me ideas in dreams. A long time ago a friend asked me why I always write sad love songs, and if I had ever written a happy love song. After that I stopped writing any love songs at all. In fact, Whiskey and Cigarettes could arguably be called an anti-love song. Truly I was running away from the fact that I don’t know what happiness in love looks like and thus could only write the parts I did know, the crumbling and decay.

    It’s been so long since I’ve touched on love, that I think it’s a ripe topic for me now. To explore all aspects of love, not just the ones I know, but also the types of love I see expressed by the people around me. And I’m challenging myself to write a happy love song before this project is over.

    UPDATE - I’ve found my project title: The Cactus and the Sparrow

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    Freedom | jessirobertson

    I am sharing this song in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street #OccupyWallSt.

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    exystence picks up AltCountryForums review of Small Town Girls

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About

"A voice that commands attention from the first line." -Performing Songwriter Magazine

Jessi lives on the divide between gutsy indie rockers such as PJ Harvey and gritty Americana artists like Lucinda Williams. Embracing this duality, her performances can feel as intimate as a conversation, or as deep and dark as an ocean.

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