This is my own personal blog pertaining to music, life, .

I imagine I should start this off with a flashy bio or words about myself, right?

Right.

My name is Jeffrey Casimir Klemm. I am a twenty year old workaholic attending the University of Akron for Vocal Performance/Creative Writing.

Music is my life.

I realize that many people say this, but I believe I mean something different. You see, I need music. I need it to breathe, I need it to see, and I need it to feel. It has attached it's beautiful claws to me and refused to lighten it's death grip.

I consider music to be an art form. It is my primary artistic endeavor. I usually call it "poetry in motion."

I could go on for hours, which I will, but enough about me for the time being, as you will be reading much much more in this blog.

stellar music sifting through the very bread of life

bodies dancing to a manufactured rhythm of greed and necessity

going through the motions?

creeping creepers rush through your fingertips

say something

anything at all

distant daylight
creeps round your shoulder

smirking
taunting
laughing

wishing you were
so dead to the world.

denial sneers
like an empty flame

flaunting
flicking
failing

lowlighting all
but the snide crow's feet

Today, what a day...

so much to be done,

A piece I wrote 6 months ago....

My Precious Golden Vessel

“Benjamin you Nasty youth!” Were the words that spit out of the King’s mouth. I was drenched with such disdain that I felt my whole body cringe in terror. The humiliation had over come each and every sense. I could feel the exasperation in his booming voice as he summoned me to his pedestal. My face was sweating profusely, my palms clammy and practically numb. My heart was racing a thousand beats per second. My veins were throbbing as it felt like my blood was boiling in turmoil. I slowly got up on my feet and started sluggishly walking towards the king’s throne awaiting my gloomy fate. The insufficient amount of air flowing to my lungs was causing me to witness a light show that deepened my panic of the unknown. The fear that I had at that second was like a rabid dog, gnawing at my insides, waiting to feed me to the others. My dusty strained eyes searched around the premise to see if anyone would even give me the time of day. They thought I was the one responsible for stealing the king’s most prized possession and betrayed them all. Every last one of his refined servants gasped at the king’s accusation of me taking his precious golden cup. Delicate and lined with bright, shiny jewels each one a matching color from his coveted Technicolor Dream coat. This was the very same fabric that had predicted the famine of Egypt and saved the lives of millions. He was deemed a hero to the masses, but known for his short temper and stubborn ways. Now his jaded stare was fixated on me looking so intently to force a confession to stealing his favorite drinking vessel.

I was forced on my dirt stained knees. The words would not quite form as I opened my trembling mouth. I looked outwards into the crowd of people watching me breathlessly. My vicarious actions had taken a hold of me until suddenly, I saw those green enchanting eyes. They felt like a dagger every time they would thrust in my direction. Those eyes were the kind that would stop a man dead in its tracks. They were the eyes of an angel. The mesmerizing stare belonged to the one who had my heart so long ago. She was sitting with her tanned legs folded anxiously awaiting my word. I immediately flashed back to the time we were 10 years old and played truth or dare. We would sit Indian style outside on a rickety old bench. A single canopy that seemed to block the sun out from my eyes, but only magnify hers, enclosed the grassy area. The ray of light beamed down and lit her face like a glimmering star on a clear night. The air was cool and smelt of lilac from the massive white lilac tree framing our bench. My feet were damp with the remnants of fresh white blossoms sticking to my sandals, and I could even taste a bit of the approaching autumn air. It seemed like we were on a movie set and everything had been polished for the camera eye. I could not ease the butterflies flying about in my stomach. It felt as if they were itching to escape and see for their very own eyes the gorgeous landscape we were enjoying. A lovely duet was being sung in perfect harmony by two cheery cardinals off in the distance. We sat together just enjoying each other’s company while our parents were inside the theater rehearsing their parts. She always had this unforgettable way of making sure you were always having fun, and her laugh was more than contagious. It was the type of laugh that could be heard across the room and make you spill your drink all over your favorite pants. She was wearing this stunning magenta wool sweater that I had grown to love. Her grandmother, who makes sweaters for everyone during the holiday seasons, sewed it with her own aged hands. She loves to wear the garment because it brings out her jade eyes and accents her perfect figure. Her brightly lit face was lined with a touch of rose, and a hint of sapphire eye shadow. She was mine and I was hers. Forever. Or so I thought.

We spoke of how we would marry and have children of our own. We sat and spoke of what we knew of life, or at least what they had fed to us in school. She was just as rebellious as I. Her father the king, would disapprove of us meeting and we would quickly spread apart and act like we were just gazing up at the sky and chit chatting whenever he would break from rehearsal and come to check up on her. He always had this way of appearing furious even if he was not. Smoke seemed to flow from her ears whenever her father’s named was mentioned. I told her how I would take her away from here and we would live together in peace without her father. A medieval castle on a secluded hill is where we would live. Renaissance era towers would loom over our beautiful hanging gardens. Massive arms of ivy would shield our bedroom and protect us from the outside world’s horrible grasp. Our many cats would rest on our ancient grandfather clocks and would gaze at the paintings scattered across the walls. Portraits depicting all of the troubles we had to persevere in order to be together. Beautiful oil backdrops would graze our tall ceilings and we would lie in our imaginary bed of feathers and stare at the artwork and dream. No longer would we have to hide our true love. It would be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Just as we were envisioning our future imaginary homestead, her father had spotted us with his beady little eyes and rushed towards us in a whirl of anger. Taken by the arm, she was thrust away by the unforgiving man. He screamed, “How dare you take away my precious angel.” I gazed anxiously at her and tried to scream in anguish, but no sound had come out. It felt as if my throat was closed off and my vocal cords chopped in two neatly cut pieces with a rusty axe. Her eyes spoke petrified motions and she shrieked in terror while being dragged away. Sitting there with my jaw on the floor, a single tear began to float down my face. It fell onto the bench we had been sitting on, and soaked into the grain of the wood, causing a tiny warp stain. I picked up my jaw, and my pride, and began to walk away continuing to litter the fallen leaves with lonely teardrops.

The rain began to fall and assisted in soaking the bare earth. To walk away from such a lovely face and know I would never kiss the eyes that fueled my soul, crushed my spirit into a million pieces. It was if part of me were dead. No longer breathing. Swept away by the undertow, longing for the tide. I felt a thousand tons of grief on my shoulders and I could no longer stand to go on. As my feelings of heartbreak were renewed, I felt a slight nudge on my shoulder. It was one of the king’s servants hinting to me that I needed to say something. He whispered “Oh no, not me.” I quickly snapped out of my lucid dream world and remembered my whereabouts. All the world’s a stage I muttered to myself as I reached deep in my chest for the breath I had been holding. It was my turn to speak for the crowd. “Oh no! Not me. I would never steal thy golden cup!” I yelled to the king who had been giving me his genuine death stare. His posture was of one who was truly angry, not just playing the part. One of the servants than smashed the tension by breaking into the Jamaican like dances we had been rehearsing for weeks. The energy then lifted off me, and the crowd was taken aghast by the way the dancers slid across the stage. Flawless pirouettes and acrobatics made the crowd look like wide-eyed kids at a circus. I gazed out into the crowd and again locked eyes with those shining emerald jewels I used to know so well. She shot a smile in my direction and I couldn’t help but smile back. Her face turned like a rose in the twilight. In some ways, I miss my moment with the king’s precious golden vessel.
[u]

you should really just give it up dude.... all this is realllllllly sad.... but you should know, that your not good. I checked out the music too and its even worse than the shit i just read....so what do you have to offer?

i offer nothing but my sincere thoughts and visions. i am an artist and I am doing what artists do. Create to whatever extent they can.

if you don't like my creations, i suggest taking your negative energy and spewing it elsewhere.

Thank you for visiting my site.

-JCK

if these are your sincere thoughts and visions then i believe you may be retarded Mr. JCK ...whatver the hell that means... is that your "rock" name?? Well, just know that i am being sincere to you...cos out here in Cali none of this prissy pussy emo shit will fly. i knows that. ; )

JCK, thank you for doing what you do. This person, Sarahcak, appears to just be the kind of person that likes to push buttons and you have a very nice tolerance level. Anyone and everyone who listens to the songs off of Embrace would have to be deaf not to recognize the amount of talent that's packed within every line and note of those songs. And anyone who’s been to a Myriad show would have to be both deaf and blind not to hear and see the work that you put into your art. Now if Cali has no need for "prissy pussy emo shit" then I see that as being good news for you because "emo" would not be a word that I would use to describe your art. Maybe emotional, filled with emotion, or possibly emotion packed would be phrases that I would use containing emo* however, not "emo". Without emotion art, music, movies, and media of any type would not exist. In my opinion this is what makes Maid Myriad such a catchy group. The fact that emotions are shown in such a way that the audience can connect allows Maid Myriad to be more than just another local band.