The album I’m working on right now is based on a NaNoWriMo project I did in 2005, but that wasn’t where all this began. It actually started as a hasty little short story I penned ten years ago in the Music Composition room of Whitworth College. The title is an homage to the mind-twisting screenwriter known best for his work on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Most episodes penned by Braga, who is still alive as of this post, involve the breakdown of what most characters consider ‚Äúreality‚Äù and often involve the exploration of psychoses, the supernatural, and sheer confusion.
I always loved Braga’s stuff on Star Trek. Every time I’d see an episode I truly loved, I’d watch the intro again and sure enough, he wrote it. I’ve noticed that if you flip from channel to channel you sometimes hear a conversation develop– A televangelist will start a sentence, click, Dirty Harry will finish it, click, and the local weatherman will answer the question they asked. I wondered what would happen if life itself changed channels like that.
The audio recording will be in the next post.
In Loving Memory of Brannon Braga – Scan – 3.4MB PDF
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Text:
Billy cracked open a vein and shot his double-short-flavored latt?© directly into his bloodstream. Well, maybe he just sipped religiously on the cup like a homeless man fighting back the cold with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Actually, he just swallowed some drip coffee with cream and sugar whenever he needed to wash down bits of scone.
Okay, so he was drinking tea- herbal tea. The important fact is that he was writing; Billy scratched away with violent fervor as raw emotion pumped through his fingers into his pencil. Looking over his steaming chai-espresso combo, Billy’s eyes met with his companion’s.
“What’s another word for ‘confounded’?” he asked.
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Songs from the Vault, vol. 3