My first time

recording in a studio.
what else? tsk tsk, dirty minds, you. lawl.

anyways! if you didn't know i've been taking voice lessons since mid-december. i think there has been minor improvements? but yeah, my vocal teacher is super awesome. if ya'll ever want me to refer you guys to him, let me know! he's always accepting new students.

but yeah, i recorded my first run-through on monday. like professional studio & all the equipement and stuff (ask nez, she's been). it's super fun, but nerve racking at the time. by next thursday i should have figured out exactly how i want to sing it, what i like and what i don't like, work on the weaker parts, and also arrange backup vocals. i'm SUPER excited.

like, i know i'm not gonna be a recording artist or whatever, and this is just for fun, and i've always wanted to learn more about music.

soooo, here you go!

Kirsten Ascio - stay - Kirsten Ascio

please comment! something constructive if possible :D

ALSO, does anyone know how to make it not 30 seconds of play? (MARK SESCON)

A Song About You

I don't have one.

I sit and wait and think
Of You,
Of all that You've blessed me with,
Of all that You've cursed me with...
Always thinking of ways to describe
How You cause me to feel so much agony,
So much desire,
So much compassion and...
Just so much more...
But I can never find the right words
Or the right melody
Or create any harmony
That perfectly transmits
Each emotion that You evoke from my heart.

You:
The first thought of my day and
The last intention in my prayers...
My inspiration to live,
The one I'm willing to die for...
The one who showed me how to love...

Many musicians and writers will say,
"If you're inspired, it'll just come out."
Well here's a question for them:
What happens when one is overwhelmed with inspiration?

Emaciation Proclamation

I
am
a red
balloon
and I
float
all
d
a
y.
w
a
i
t
i
n
g

for
my
prince
to
come.

i am tied by the base strings
&
i have seen bad weather
at its worst.
i have seen the
hails snows rains bolts cracks
whips and sneers.
&
;
its been mocking
and disappointing.


i
a
m
a
n
c
h
o
r
e
d

by the
%knots%
that whet
my stirs to revenge.

the cold raindrops,
they tickle me as i am tied to my
safe&&steady lifestyle,
rankling my disdain for the
emaciated and free
red
balloons.

and sometimes,
there will be:
purples greens oranges and blues
scattered around the lawn
in the sky,
in the cars,
in the lakes
and they hopelessly flounder
in sardonic jest,
on their wild escapades
with the wind
and the tiny frolicking cats and bees.

that is,
until they

l

o

s

e

i

t

,

madly, violently, outrageously, wantonly
parading on the grass,
impaled by the green, with envy,
plants that wish that they could fly,
too.

i
am
stuck.

i can be free,
but i have no choice
but to float in my pre-determined
Calvinistic
doom.

but when i see you have your fun,
and when i see you glide and stride
to your demise,
lonely and withering on the floor
that you used to taunt
so gaily,


i guess i'm not meant
to live that way.

Criminal

The more we separate,
the more I retaliate
from myself.

Weak feelings begin to manifest
like the sun's rays seeping
from the seed of the Earth.

Mortification transfigures into relief,
insecurities become auspicious possibilities,
first prejudices transcend into first prides.

Sinfully&slowly, my heart melts
at the thought of you.
But as I realize this, I scoop up the drippings
and place my heart promptly into a
refrigerator.

Where, do I think I'm going with this?

The sun sinks sullenly back into its grave,
the moon shines only half-wise, with its illusory half-radiance,
and the seasons whittle away knowingly,
UNDERSTANDING the secrets of
the Universe
which are disclosed to the guild of Believers,
in that weary sense.

Abashed and timidly,
I am left in vertigo,
spiraling onto the cold sand floor
to feel the weight of the world crunching beneath me.

Feigned emotions can trick the fool.
Oh, I've been the Artful Dodger,
and the butt of the joke.
I've done the trickery and caused the foolery.
Now here's my sorry punishment.

What Child Is This.

I meant for this to be done by a girl, but I left Irvine before I could find someone, and I'm really not interested in asking anyone here in Bakersfield (where I currently am). Other than that, enjoy.

What Child is This (Cover) - Mark Sescon

NaNoWriMo 2008.

I'm a wiener.

Want to read the PDF manuscript? Megaupload link.

Want to buy the book? Cafepress.
(Save your money and donate it to the poor)

[Note: I keep updating this thing I know, but just a couple final words I swear. First off, for clarification - if you manage to write 50K words you are automatically a winner of NaNoWriMo. Content is not judged; hence why I said this was no real "cause for celebration." Second, caution before reading! I won't lie: I set out to write the most violent piece of horror fiction I could possibly create. There are no funny parts; no sad parts; nothing to make you all soft and cuddly inside. Looking back on it now - and kind of 'after the fact' - I set out to write something that was ultraviolent and maniacal, something that those super conservative Christian groups in the South would throw a book burning for. I never had any intention of anyone reading it, so don't think that I'm "insane" after you read it. And oh yeah, Toni said it was a "Fight Club" rip off, although I disagree. Hahaha. The end.]

freedom.

talk about a free-for-all?
don't be surprised when you find out her eyes are gliding
over forbidden skins and bowling pins.
because you're claiming titles of the real fall out, boy, and wanting it.
i'm detecting a deficiency in commonality and unmatching pheromones
in the compartments of your very placid brain.
the quiet, the order,
the peace, disorder
that can drive her out of anything but feeling sane.
i'm unfortunately predicting a slip on acid, burning the soft skins
and musculature her eyes resound on and off of like tidal waves for lunar periods of time.
boy, i'm just doing my usual crime.
we're pretty sure it's not what it used to look like anymore.
i'm slipping into a new scene of earthen shades and in secret niches of a corner cafe,
riding on slides of slander and the curvatures of another baring back
over cups and cups of tea and pearls and the things you lack.
i was never able to carry on with you the same way
because you're the closed end, and i'm your polar opposite
recalling relative variables to formulate a better line of fit.
so i can't help but acknowledge a new trend at this rapid rate,
you gotta' make it,
extrapolate it.
this is how fate lets it.
correlate it. damn it, you just don't get it.
we're slipping out of laundered threads while we're still alive in our heads.
going once, going twice,
wanting more than what should suffice.
i feel no guilt nor shame for the sake of facing eye to eye, and i believe in the notion of karma and reality.
you dish out your daggers, i'll bleed out blatancy.
you unsheathe your fists, i'll unravel your every noted discrepancy.
i will reveal your weakness and every insecurity by reopening each wound with the scalpel of your misfortune.
i will scrape at your sensitive scars.
i will make sure you relive the pain that comes from the course of bleeding and increase it ten-fold.
it will hurt so,
so much, you will regret the idea of you and me and fucking it.