tag:roxxhunter.com,2005:/blogs/writings?p=2Poetry and Writing:2023-04-21T15:10:43-07:00Roxx Hunterfalsetag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/71947572023-04-21T15:10:43-07:002023-10-16T07:51:43-07:00*...Can Music Survive?...*<div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1swvt13 x1l90r2v" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r13o:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b">
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<div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">*...Played my ass off last night, played as if I were about to die. Gave it everything I had, and then some….</span></div>
<!-- more --><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Had some heavy guitar tone going on, played original music and some cool covers with my friends who also happen to be really, really good. Wasn't one dimensional, kept the music flowing and just diverse enough. Dressed up nice, and made sure the stage looked cool. While I was (and am) grateful for the show, only got to play for 45 minutes and made $50 bucks...Tonight, no shows...</span></div>
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<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">There is something really wrong with music right now. Spotify is bleeding artists dry, anyone can get shows and they don't need to have enough songs or know how to do sound, so many bands don't learn any covers and don't learn the language of music. Most venues just have an open mic night. I came in at the tail end of when, if you were a musician, you played 5 nights a week. You really learn your craft that way and how to trouble shoot quickly when things go wrong (and they will), you learn to read a crowd, you learn the language. And you could make a living from it, so you could afford to fix your gear and etc. You can be a great musician with a day job, but you'd be an even better musician without it. People need to be able to work on their art and the more you put into it the more you get out of it.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Touring: venues are now taking huge cuts of merch. Gas and hotels are stupidly expensive. No one has any money. There's also a billion more people in the world, and lots of them have bands and songs dropping. Watch most of the musicians playing on Reels and it's just solos and flashy technique, but where's the rhythm, where's the groove? You can be the best player, but unless you're a classical player or write good songs, in the words of Dylan "You ain't going nowhere".</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">You don't need a f**king performance coach or a workshop either, the best performance coach, the best workshop, is just being out in the world doing it. Go play live, go live your life. Get your heart broken, get ripped off, go do encores to strangers in some place far away from your home town. Write every day. Be you. Be more you...Don't let someone fit you into their mold or what they want everyone to do or say. Don't be afraid to fail. Don't be perfect, life ain't perfect. Perfection is boring. Be original.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Learn to play live, in time, and with a groove. If you go on stage lip syncing, you're taking up space from real musicians. You can pretend on your own time in your basement, but there are plenty of bands and musicians who can play and sing live, they put in the work. On stage, play to the venue. If it's a small venue don't crank your amps. You'll get more fans if you sound good. Have gear that works. You don't need as much as you think, most of your tone is inside you, be it your own voice or fingers/touch.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Always thank the people who hired you, and the people who made you sound good and lit you up. Be one of the good people. Be nice to every other artist, but when you go on stage be fearless and take no prisoners. Be number one and be the best, then go home and practice and come back even better. When you step on stage be the biggest, baddest motherf***er on earth. Believe in yourself one million percent. But then when you get off stage, leave all that s**t behind and be cool and be humble.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Always remember the older musicians that have been around. They were once young like you. Maybe they can't play like you, or don't go out much, but they have a lot of years and miles under their belts, they've seen and done it and you can learn a lot from them. Always treat them with respect and take care of your musical elders.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Point of this? I feel bad for the kids I know who are really good. Like I wish they would have an easier road. There's some mind blowingly good musicians and songwriters out there but it's only gonna get harder for them. But I still wanna believe that the right song, at the right time, will somehow find it's way through.</span></div></div>
<div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align:start;" dir="auto"><span dir="auto">Be kind, be you, be real, practice, groove, f**k the cliques, think outside your home town, grow, evolve, feel, take it all in, and most importantly enjoy it! When you get on stage, look as far to the left as you can, then look as far to the right as you can, slowly, be grateful you get a place to play. Take a mental screenshot. Tell your bandmates and crew how much they mean to you. Don't take the easy road, take the hard road, grind and hustle. It's worth it in the end. Answer only to God or your conscience. Only play what you feel and feel everything you play...*</span></div></div>
</div></div></div></div>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/60509752019-12-30T00:58:41-08:002019-12-30T01:09:43-08:00*...An Anonymous Story...*<p> I have a friend who we'll call Anonymous. She can be your mother, sister, daughter, niece, aunt, grandma, or friend. She could be the person you pass by on the street, the person who serves you coffee with a smile, or someone you talk to when things seem down. She could encourage you, support you, and show you the deepest of love. She could be a stranger, or she could be you. But, if you only knew... </p><!-- more -->
<p>Anonymous has scars and secrets. Pain buried so deep, and a hurting that follows her every waking moment, like a shadow. </p>
<p>Anonymous trusted a man who betrayed that trust. A broken man who broke her. A hurt man who hurt her, emotionally and physically. Her body bruised and handled, his toxic words poisoning her to her very core. </p>
<p>She was a beautiful woman, the giver of life, someone whose very essence shined as brightly as the sun in the sky above. She saw the good in everyone, and looked past the jagged edges. When she gave, she gave of herself freely, and fully, and without judgement. For in her was the very purest love. </p>
<p>If she committed a crime, that crime was loving too much. If she was guilty of anything, it was thinking, for even the briefest of moments, that she wasn't good enough. She was good enough. She was everything and all things. And she still is!... </p>
<p>The tears she cried, the sleepless nights, the unspoken prayers, the questions why, none of it was in vain. For though she was made low, she will rise again! Her story is not over, and there are pages yet to be written. </p>
<p>The men who hurt her, and sought to destroy her, where are their fellow men? Where are the ones who will stand up, who won't turn a blind eye? Where are the men who will push back when push comes to shove, and do what is right? Where are the ones who will lead by example, the men who know that no means no? Where are the men who will look out for their fellow men and their fellow women? How did we get to a place where the story of anonymous pain is a story we know so well? Why is it that such evil exists? </p>
<p>For an anonymous friend, I say so humbly, sorry. Sorry that I wasn't there to stop it. Sorry I didn't know this man who did that to you. Sorry that every day you fight to merely exist. Sorry for the daily triggers and reminders of such a dark time. And sorry for your lack of faith, because you had to walk through that valley alone. </p>
<p>May this anonymous story be one day, only yesterday. And maybe tomorrow, bring new beginnings and healing. Know that you are loved from afar, from behind cheering you on, and from beside you, walking with you as an ally, and a hand to steady you when the road is rocky. May your love light shine brighter than any star, and may you fly to the angels. Copyright Roxx Hunter 2019.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/59241652019-10-12T01:55:00-07:002019-10-12T01:55:00-07:00*...When Change Doesn't Change...*<p> Parable time: Once there was a town full of people. The people in this town were all very different but they all called this place home. There was a big company in the town that, like it or not, influenced every day life.</p><!-- more -->
<p> That company had been around as far back as people could remember, and in that time not much had changed in how the company ran. Every year the company lost more money, there was corruption, greed, broken promises, a complete waste of the resources and time of the people. Yet for some reason everyone continued to support this company, instead of finding a new company.</p>
<p> This company had many different leaders who promised big things and big changes, but those words fell silent as time passed. The people in power liked being in power, and would never change the company too much, for fear the townsfolk would realize how bad the company was and how much it was not needed. If the townsfolk had common sense and compassion, practiced the golden rule, and were generally content, the company would cease to be relevant. All the seemingly important company people would fade into oblivion.</p>
<p> Somehow people were programmed to continue to 'do their part' and support a failed company, that grew deeper and deeper into disarray and debt every year, and those who thought otherwise were condemned publicly. People were scolded for not exercising the right to support the company, that many had fought for, the same company the screwed over the ones who had done the fighting. They fought for a future that was nothing like the future the current company brought to the table.</p>
<p> The company liked the townsfolk divided and distracted. Forgetting that they ALL called this town home, that they ALL belonged to that town, and that they ALL could work together for a better future, without the present company. But people, being people, kept supporting the same broken company under the guise and false belief that real change would happen in that company, and so nothing really changed much, except who people were complaining about til the next leader of the company took over, and the wheel kept spinning round and round...</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2019.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/56100032019-01-24T01:41:34-08:002021-11-14T00:14:43-08:00*...What is Beauty?...*<p>What is beauty? Think about that for a moment. Close your eyes and picture the most beautiful thing you can imagine.</p><!-- more -->
<p> Is it something you see, perhaps a person or a place? Is it something you can feel, like a touch or a warm embrace? Is it a memory, or perhaps a yearning for something yet to pass? Does it last forever, or does it fade away in time?...</p>
<p> True beauty, to me, is selfless love, love that strips away all the shackles of expectation and want, love that gives freely, and with sacrifice, love that lays down its life for another...</p>
<p> Tonight I was reminded, by one lone, human soul, that beauty, not dressed in a forced or fitted comeliness, nor a shimmering polish, but one that lies simply, and still, behind a genuine smile and a soft heart, that a love like that, so pure and fragile, exists...</p>
<p> For that person who gives, and when they have reached their limit, gives again. For that radiating Agape love, that rains down a water, so clean and so pure, to a dry and thirsty soul. For a beauty that outshines even the very brightest of stars, in an endless and infinite sky, giving warmth and light to a cold, calloused, and very grey, fragile world. For your gentle ways, and your grace beyond all measure, that is both seen and felt, all at once. For what was, and is, and all that lies ahead. For the very essence of you, the most beautiful of love, eternal and boundless. For all that, and so much more. So simply, and so very humbly. Love...</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2019.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671242018-07-30T04:56:57-07:002018-07-30T04:56:57-07:00*...I Think I Know What Heaven Is...*<p>I think I know what Heaven is. I think I know where Heaven is... </p><!-- more -->
<p> When I play music I go to this place far, far away that is so different from the world we live in. It's a peaceful place, a place to lay all my burdens down, and whatever is weighing on me. Sometimes I have to pick it all up when I leave, and carry it back, but for a few minutes I get to rest, and relax my aching shoulders, from carrying around my troubles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When I am feeling good I can go there as well. I can take the happy feeling and it is expanded, and filled to overflowing. Whenever I go to that place far away I always feel at peace, and safe. It's the only place where 100% of the time I can be myself. How many places can we say that about? How many people can we always be ourselves around all the time? Sure there will be times when we spill it all out and share our dreams, our hopes, and our fears, but then there will be the times we simply can't say what it is we want to say. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That place far, far away is not an easy place to get to. It's taken me a long time to be able to focus enough when I am playing, not on the notes, or tones, or scales, but to dig deeper into the soul and passion of the music, and to be a vessel; for on that vessel I go to that place. It is always a fleeting stay. Sometimes it can be a few seconds. A light from a scaffold 100 feet above the stage will hit my guitar and it casts this glow that seems to encapture the aura of the song, and I am taken there. Sometimes a note sparks a memory and with eyes closed, or eyes fixed in a far away stare, off above the crowd I set sail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometimes it seems like that place is there only to be gone, and then other days it seems to last forever. There are times when it is like I sit down at a table with all my troubles, all my fears, all my dreams, with God, and it's all love, and not so much confusion. I sit there and talk, and they listen. Sometimes they talk and I listen. It's not like a physical dialogue with words, because words have limits, but it is a communication of heart and soul, and of the eternal. It is a communication of love and despair, of pain and sorrow, and of laughter and joy. Sometimes it is that presence that says 'everything is going to be alright'.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> When I go to that place far, far away, I come back a little bit more whole. I come back stronger. It doesn't mean that my problems are gone, or that all the bad days are no more, it just means that, for me, there is a place of absolute contentment. I imagine it is what it's like when a painter sits down to paint a mountain, with streams running down to a lake, dirt paths that crisscross the forest trees, every stroke of the brush opening up more of this new vista, and that painter is able to climb in, and get lost in their new creation. I imagine it's like someone who is so deep into Yoga, and whose body is so focused, that they can lose themselves in the postures, shutting out the world around them, and reaching a state of pure nirvana. I imagine it's like a person lost in a prayer, beside a candle, for the one they love, and in that moment they are somewhere else, somewhere far beyond the skies, and that somehow in the midst of all the pain or worry they might feel, that they find peace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> I don't know for certain, but I think Heaven is that place, not necessarily a physical place, but a state of mind. I've been there, and I hope that one day, when we pass on, that we go to that place, only this time we don't have to leave. So if you see me on stage and I seem lost, it's because I am probably in a place far, far away. If you watch me as I hold a note, and a rush of emotion seems to hit you, and the hairs on your arms and legs stand up, then it's probably because I have been taken to Heaven, and you've come along as well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> If you are reading this and have never been to that place far away, it is there waiting for you. I honestly and truly believe we have all been given access to this place. Some find it through music, others running marathons, some find it fixing a car, or working with numbers, the list goes on and on. If you have struggles, and we all do, go there, sit down, and let it all out. Find your vessel. Find it and you find peace. Your path to Heaven is there, and when you find it, you will be there in no time. Speaking of time, thanks for taking it. Be good to yourselves : ) <br> </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671182018-07-30T04:05:45-07:002018-07-30T04:05:45-07:00*...I Think This Belongs To You...*<p>Standing here with my heart in my hands, my arms outstretched and reaching, its crimson, drum-like cadence beating still in my clasped, calloused grip. "I think this belongs to you..."</p><!-- more -->
<p> Wanting so much to give you what is yours, and return to sender a love that is so apparent and so real, yet so hidden and only imagined in a noisy mind longing for quiet and peace. To find its way back home. </p>
<p>Standing here watching the moon over the silhouetted cliffs, dotted with snow, the cold crisp air like a lens to focus the night's beauty into a perfect little ball I see with my eyes, watching this day go by. "I think this belongs to you..." Wanting so much to spend this day with you and fill in the missing space that seems to blur a perfect moment, cause you're not there. </p>
<p>Standing here remembering the way your essence lingers like sandalwood and a fresh iris, how the keepsakes you left are still imprinted on this heart: your goodness and your kindness, the way your smile chases away all the darkness and heartache, the way you light up the room and leave a broken man whole again, this perfection in an imperfect world. "I think this belongs to you..."</p>
<p> Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671172018-07-30T04:03:02-07:002018-07-30T04:03:02-07:00*...I Could Never Say Thanks...*<p>I could never say thanks, from my tattered smile, enough to thank you for your grace. I could never climb high enough to praise you, from my dark and lowly place.</p><!-- more -->
<p> Could I only change but one thing, I would change it, swiftly and surely. Could I only make one thing right, I would do it, swiftly and surely. <br>If I could only sing that perfect song and from these strained chords and dry lips confess my tender surrender. If I could only lay down my walls that cover you, would that I could return them to their sender.</p>
<p> For I do have a heart that beats, from red, to gray, to black. For what I wonder does it twist to stone and empty vessels crack? Ohh that my fingers were granted a pardon and the melody I chase were mine. Ohh but that song were here before me, so real, so perfect, and so fine. And as the rugged dawn <br>turns dark, and the darkened sky turns day. As the fingers slow, the voices whisper, and the muses cease to play. I could never say thanks, from my tattered smile, enough to thank you for your grace. I could never climb high enough to praise you, from my dark and lowly place.</p>
<p> Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671162018-07-30T03:55:09-07:002018-07-30T03:55:09-07:00*...From Bare Earth Does The Flower Grow...*<p>From bare earth does the flower grow, its ashes spread for winds to blow.</p><!-- more -->
<p> Returning to its place of birth, a stroke of beauty on this sullen dearth. Broken pieces lay strewn along the ground, a treasure for the seeker to be found. Can beauty blossom amidst such drought? Were tears enough to let it out? A simple drop of water from the eye, the lasting, long and sad goodbye. Memories that down the cheek do snake, slipping through the claspen hands that shake. In the canvas of the earth it pools, dying like the dreams of naive fools. And from this moisture wrought with pain, something new is born again. Where tattered love lay naked and bare, there comes again a flower there. By steady hand it says I do, from heart to heart, an 'I love you'. In times of sorrow it is shared, to comfort those who need a care. Cast to lay in mortal splay, this cyclical petal unending plays. Spoken. Unspoken. Loved. Unloved. Hello. Goodbye. For such a rare sight on such a rare occasion, a piece of land in floral corrasion. Whether by happiness or by sorrow, here today or gone tomorrow. Marvel at the barren earth where flowers grow. Their ashes spread for the winds to blow.</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671152018-07-30T03:52:21-07:002018-11-01T22:15:51-07:00*...A City Of Darkness...*<p>Late night game hides late night shame. In desperation the weak fall prey. A city sleeps while dreamers weep. The evil comes what may.</p><!-- more -->
<p> Faces masked and feigned by casts. Of shadows that lay still. A soul that's weak so faintly speaks. And spirits try to kill. Mourning broke a quiet cloak. Like a blanket of broken stars. And ever more the cycle spins. And bleeding turns to scars. Were angels to come down among us. And softly walk with grace. Were empathy a gift we've given. A saviour for this place. Would all the darkness fall? Just as the leaves return to soil? Would broken promises lay cold? And trust return to foil? To forgive and to love unerring. To walk away from needless fights. To rise to glowing moon and in the heaven's take your flight. To bask in sweet surrender and find what ere you will. To give and give again, love I wish you will. To give and give again. Love. I wish you will.</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671142018-07-30T03:38:27-07:002018-08-31T06:16:01-07:00*...Watching You Go...*<p>It's a cold, dark night, rainy...Fog hangs low and the wind is steady...</p><!-- more -->
<p>I stand on a grassy ledge, scattered with rocks, by the ocean...Waves crash on the shore like distant drums, breaking on the jagged fringe then pulling away...I can't seem to move, can't move forward, can't move back...I just stand there motionless and times goes by...I thought I saw you out there, in the grey...Thought I heard you call my name, but unsure of what was said...I squint and peer through the clouds, trying to cut away the dusk...I can almost make you out, somewhere out there...What I can see is slipping away, drowning and being pulled under...Why can't I just jump and take the plunge?...Why can't I just let myself fall?...I don't wanna say goodbye...I wanna swim to you, pull you up, save what's left of you...Bring you to the shore that you cannot see...But here I stand unable to reach out, paralyzed...And there you are, drifting, falling through my hands...I can scream but it's lost to the winds and swallowed by the black...I could send out a prayer but the tides would send it back...On this cold, dark rock, dreary and leaden, I watched you go...There was no saviour, no lifeline, and no grace...There was only you, drowning in a solitary ocean...and there was only me, watching you go...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53671012018-07-30T03:29:35-07:002018-07-30T03:34:05-07:00*...A-holes and Victims...*<p> (Some creative writing, and purely fictitious)...Let's say hypothetically there were people who worked at job X (we will call them Allan and Andy Hole or the A Holes for short). Someone else works at job X (we will call him Victor Tim, or the Victim for short).</p><!-- more -->
<p>The A-holes are the bosses and they have only worked at job X for a short time. The Victim works under the bosses and has worked at job X for a long time.</p>
<p>Every day the Victim goes to work and does his job, a job he knows very well. Every day the A-holes go to work but don't wanna do their job, a job they don't know very well. The A-holes get paid very well and take many vacations. The Victim does not get paid very well and has to work much harder and longer.</p>
<p> Every year that the Victim works for job X he gets paid a little more, as a sign of respect for being such a loyal employee. The A-holes, who already make more money, do not like that that each year they have to pay the Victim this extra amount, and they wish that this money was theirs for the taking. They try their best to get the Victim fired, by changing the rules at job X, almost daily, but the Victim is a good worker and does his job as he is supposed to do it.</p>
<p> One day the Victim gets really sick, gravely sick. The A-holes notice this, and being bullies, they seize the moment and try to force the Victim from job X, where he has toiled for almost 15 years. The Victim is too weak to fight back, and so he loses his job at job X. The Victim now has no means to support himself, or his family, and also has to fight his illness. The A-holes are happy, but in all their holiness and sanctification, they forgot one small rule: for every action there is an equal an opposite reaction.</p>
<p> The Victim has a friend we will call Adonis, who is like really cool, musical, a great writer, and a human being. Adonis saw what the A-holes did to the Victim and Adonis took notes. Adonis, who is not dying, will be the first one to buy box seats in hell, so he can sip champagne while watching the A-holes burn, and Adonis will gladly help them get there quicker if they so desire...</p>
<p> The moral of this story is that there are A-holes who pry on victims, and there are victims who are pried upon by a-holes. Sometimes these victims are too weak and too hurt to stand up for themselves, but victims have friends who come along, like Adonis, who stand up and call bullsh*t, who can almost 'taste the feeling' of justice being served, and who have noted all the wrongs. And wrongs sometimes have a way of being righted... Don't be an A-hole...hashtag mic drop...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53670472018-07-30T01:09:56-07:002018-07-30T01:09:56-07:00*...For Someone Special (When You're Having A Bad Day)...*<p> When I think about you I think about hope, how I hope certain things for you.</p><!-- more -->
<p>For instance, I hope you live a very long life and that you outlive everyone you know. I hope that as the years pass on that each and everyone that you know and care about all die before you. I hope that as you stand at the last funeral of the last person you know that you really feel true loneliness and true emptiness. </p>
<p> I pray that with each breath you embrace more sorrow and more sadness. As the years roll on I pray you become more and more alone. I pray that one day bleeds into the next and that every day is an empty and shallow existence. I pray you sit alone and wait for death but it never comes. I pray that you live forever while the rest of us fade to dust and that dust fades to nothingness. I pray you live on as the sun dies out and cosmos drift away into eternal darkness... </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53670062018-07-30T00:05:30-07:002018-09-27T23:27:10-07:00*...The Outtake (Or Alternative Ending)...*<p>The stars were out, he was sure of that. They hung in the sky as they always had; Orion, Polaris, The Big Dipper, The Little Dipper. But something was different.</p><!-- more -->
<p>They had colors of blue and orange and red but they did not sparkle. He squinted with his eyes amidst the frosty, blackened sky and tilted his neck, the fur on his parka making a eerie brushing sound as it swept past his burly shoulders. As he strained his eyes upwards he saw the moon, nestled among a few faint clouds. The moon was indeed there too and it was a blueish gray color. He tried to see a face and smiled with amusement to see what looked like an old mans face looking down with displeasure. But something was just not quite right. He removed his big, yellow gloves and with his long thick fingers he started to stroke at his reddish beard inquisitively. </p>
<p> "Damn ginger!" thought a Raven to itself as it flew overhead observing the large man, hand on his beard ruffling, his neck pointed skyward in disbelief. </p>
<p> The moon, the stars, the night sky, it was all there. It was there as it had always been, each piece occupying its place amidst the great expanse. But something was just not right. The stars didn't sparkle, the moon, while lit, did not glow, and the sky just seemed lifeless and still. <br>He took a few steps further in the snow, crunching beneath his big black boots. There were billows of steam from his body and smoke rings from his breath as its warmth fought the crispness of this cold, cold night and lost. He turned quickly as if to surprise the night sky, for maybe it was playing tricks, but when he turned around it was the same as before, cold and sterile. </p>
<p> He walked back to his little cabin beside the snow covered hill that jutted into the darkness. His breath was laborious and loud as he stepped in the deep snow. He saw his tiny cabin, his escape from the world. Tonight it looked so bland and ordinary. He opened the door as a small breeze howled through as if to welcome itself and take residence. He shut the door and hung up his gray parka on coat rack by the door and sat down to take off his boots. To his right there was a fire roaring in the fireplace. He was comforted by the crackling sound it made but no warmth reached him. Tonight the fire looked wrong. It was hot and it was burning, but it wasn't a fire. It wasn't alive, the sparks didn't dance around. Like the sky it just seemed lifeless and cold. <br>"A cold fire..." he thought to himself. "I must be going half mad..." And indeed he was. </p>
<p> Something strange happens to a man when he falls in love and this man had fallen farther and faster than any man. He had known in the blink of an eye that his life would never be the same the day she walked in the door and out from the cold. The way the frost accented her smooth skin and the way her blonde locks curled down her face from under a knitted winter cap that had seen better days. Her blue eyes sparkled like rubies and her lips were like roses. She had turned to face him and he caught his eyes gazing downward at this beautiful creature. Her shirt tugged tightly at her curves, which were neither too big nor too small. Her jeans hung low on her hips and her legs rose high and gave her a commanding presence. </p>
<p> He fidgeted with his thumbs nervously as she walked closer to the tiny wooden desk he sat behind. There was a light shining down and all manner of parts and screws and batteries. She handed him a watch and asked him if it was fixable. He mumbled and sweat poured from his brow. "How do you talk to an angel?" he thought. He tried to breathe but he couldn't. She leaned over to ask if he was alright and as she did her shirt rustled in the breeze revealing creamy skin and a supple bosom. He stammered and took the watch. He was still fighting for air and now his reserve was getting low. He started to panic. "Oh God he thought..." He tried to scream. The beautiful woman looked down in a fright. The man was slumping over, tearing at his clothes, his face now matching the red of his beard. </p>
<p> Thud! He hit the floor. Foam started seeping from his tremoring blue lips. He shook and he writhed as the oxygen left his body once and for all. He felt sharp stabbing pains in his chest. He felt his eyes roll back. He could see the darkness coming and was powerless to stop it. And for a while all was silent and he slept. </p>
<p> He awoke in his cabin and was not sure what was real and what was not. It was then that he had decided to go for a walk. He liked to walk to clear his mind and watch the stars. But this was the night that the stars did not intreat him like they had in the past. This was the night the fire did not warm him. He had this aching feeling and a constant cold that he could not shake. And then he realized he was dead. He had died that day the beautiful woman came into his tiny watch factory. He had thought to himself, "I life my life for her from now on..." But she was not his and so his life had ended. What a fool he was to wear his heart on his sleeve. Your heart needs to be inside your body and belong to you because once it leaves your body you are good as dead... :) </p>
<p>Copyright 2018 Roxx Hunter.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/53669972018-07-30T00:01:28-07:002018-09-11T22:08:57-07:00*...The Original Take...*<p>The stars were out, he was sure of that. They hung in the sky as they always had; Orion, Polaris, The Big Dipper, The Little Dipper. But something was different.</p><!-- more -->
<p> They had colors of blue and orange and red but they did not sparkle. He squinted with his eyes amidst the frosty, blackened sky and tilted his neck, the fur on his parka making a eerie brushing sound as it swept past his burly shoulders. As he strained his eyes upwards he saw the moon, nestled among a few faint clouds. The moon was indeed there too and it was a blueish gray color. He tried to see a face and smiled with amusement to see what looked like an old mans face looking down with displeasure. But something was just not quite right. He removed his big, yellow gloves and with his long thick fingers he started to stroke at his reddish beard inquisitively. </p>
<p> "Damn ginger!" thought a Raven to itself as it flew overhead observing the large man, hand on his beard ruffling, his neck pointed skyward in disbelief. </p>
<p> The moon, the stars, the night sky, it was all there. It was there as it had always been each piece occupying its place amidst the great expanse. But something was just not right. The stars didn't sparkle, the moon while lit did not glow and the sky just seemed lifeless and still. </p>
<p> He took a few steps further in the snow, crunching beneath his big black boots. There were billows of steam from his body and smoke rings from his breath as its warmth fought the crispness of this cold, cold night and lost. He turned quickly as if to surprise the night sky, for maybe it was playing tricks, but when he turned around it was the same as before: cold and sterile. </p>
<p> He walked back to his little cabin beside the snow covered hill that jutted into the darkness. His breath was laborious and loud as he stepped in the deep snow. He saw his tiny cabin, his escape from the world. Tonight it looked so bland and ordinary. He opened the door as a small breeze howled through as if to welcome itself and take residence. He shut the door and hung up his gray parka on coat rack by the door and sat down to take off his boots. To his right there was a fire roaring in the fireplace. He was comforted by the crackling sound it made but no warmth reached him. Tonight the fire looked wrong. It was hot and it was burning but it wasn't a fire. It wasn't alive, the sparks didn't dance around. Like the sky it just seemed lifeless and cold. <br>"A cold fire..." he thought to himself. "I must be going half mad..." And indeed he was. </p>
<p> Something strange happens to a man when he falls in love and this man had fallen farther and faster than any man. He had known in the blink of an eye that his life would never be the same the day she walked in the door and out from the cold. The way the frost accented her smooth skin and the way her blonde locks curled down her face from under a knitted winter cap that had seen better days. Her blue eyes sparkled like rubies and her lips were like roses. She had turned to face him and he caught his eyes gazing downward at this beautiful creature. Her shirt tugged tightly at her curves, which were neither too big nor too small. Her jeans hung low on her hips and her legs rose high and gave her a commanding presence. </p>
<p> He fidgeted with his thumbs nervously as she walked closer to the tiny wooden desk he sat behind. There was a light shining down and all manner of parts and screws and batteries. She handed him a watch and asked him if it was fixable. He mumbled and sweat poured from his brow. "How do you talk to an angel?" he thought. He tried to breathe but he couldn't. An old man leaning on a rickety table in the corner said, "We can fix anything here and Sam is the best around!" </p>
<p> He looked down at the watch with a studious gaze intent on making this quiet, broken watch tick with life and tell time once again. After a few minutes it was alive with sounds and whirling with spinning hands and numbers. He handed the watch back to the woman and as he did her hand gently stroked his hand. The hairs on his neck stood on end. She smiled, thanked him and walked out the door. </p>
<p> From that moment on the man made it his mission to be with the beautiful woman. He sent her flowers, he sang her songs and wrote her endless sonnets of love. Slowly, and with each chip of the hammer at her hardened heart, she came around and found herself wanting this man. As time passed they fell more and more in love. He used to be so wrapped up in his routines that he never saw the beauty of the world around him. But now he saw the world for what it truly was, a creation of love and a place of wonder. </p>
<p><br>He saw the stars in the night sky sparkle like rare jewels and he saw the moon shine down on his picturesque cabin like a spotlight from a scaffolding a hundred thousand miles in the sky. Everything was so alive. His heart raced and purred like a kitten. His cheeks stretched back as he smiled and took in the beauty around him. He was honestly and truly happy. </p>
<p> The old man at the factory had told him that love makes you see things differently. He had also warned him that if she ever left him that things would never look the same. And he was right. One day she was gone. No warning, nothing. Just gone. And as she left he walked outside into the cold night air to sort things out and think the way only a walk among snow covered trees and starry skies can do. <br>Without her eyes to light up his world everything was dark. She taught him to see the world the way she saw it, with a wonderment and awe. Without her heart to give life to his universe everything was dead. </p>
<p> And so the old man had been right; loves changes the way you see things. Sometimes you see things more clearly and sometimes it makes everything hazier. He had seen the best of the world and now he had lost it. What was once alive was now dead. And so he spent his days sitting at his little wooden desk in a tiny watch factory with the light shining down and tinkering endlessly at broken things. He would walk home to a lifeless house and a build an average fire and sleep an average sleep on an average bed. </p>
<p> He had wore his heart on his sleeve and had relied on someone else to be his dream. Maybe he was right and maybe he was wrong. But right now he was just a little bit colder and a little bit more dead to the world around him because he had once held an angel and now he held nothing... </p>
<p>Copyright 2018 Roxx Hunter.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/52785782018-06-06T03:02:21-07:002018-11-27T01:03:33-08:00*...The Story Of A Town Far Away...*<p> Once upon time there was a town full of people, in a far away place. The town was not that big, neither was it really that small. As towns go, it was quite the perfect size. The town was full of people, young and old, of dogs and cats, and houses of all shapes, sizes, and colors. People in that town far away were generally happy, and it was a good place to be. </p><!-- more -->
<p>Sometimes in the town it was summer and the sun was shining, the hills would have green grass and trees that kissed the sunlight. The rivers would flow with clear, cold water and people, young and old, would play in the long, summer days. Sometimes in the town it was fall and there was a strong wind that seemed to constantly blow. The hills around the city would be colored yellow, copper, and orange, and everything would be changing. Sometimes in the town it was winter and everything was white, covered with a fine layer of packed snow that would crunch under your feet as you walked. The sun would take frequent naps and was seldom seen, the moon taking its place as the giver of light. Sometimes in the town it was spring, the sun would return, and its heat would melt the snow. The grass would grow, leaves would sprout, and flowers would bloom in all their glory. The days would grow brighter; and smiles would return to the faces of everyone in the town, as they passed each other and said a friendly hello. </p>
<p>No matter the weather, people worked hard in the town and, young or old, found ways to occupy their time. There were people in the town who built things, great things, small things and things that were built for no reason other than to have been built. There were people who painted and made great works of art that would line the city streets, or great monuments that stood in the center of town on a hill for all to see. There were people who were doctors, people who were fought fires, police officers, people who worked with their hands, people who made all kinds of food the townspeople would eat, and people who worked at nothing all day. Everyone had something they would do that made life in that town a little bit better. </p>
<p>As towns go, this was a good town, but one day something changed...People in the town started acting differently. It seemed as though there was a dark cloud that had moved in, and every day it seemed to grow larger, casting a bigger shadow down on this once sunny place. People who used to smile didn't smile anymore. People who used to laugh seemed sad. People forgot to say hello and everyone seemed to be afraid. Many people were lured into the darkness, and those who weren't, left. </p>
<p>As the time passed, the people in the town forgot the changing of the seasons, and they forgot that theirs' was once a perfect town that was neither too quiet nor too loud, with not too much mischief and not too much boredom. </p>
<p>The great works of art that lined the shops and cottages fell to ruin. The music from the music makers stopped, as the darkness crept in. Everything in the town was just a bit more forgotten and a little more broken. </p>
<p>One day a very average person looked around at the town, and the people in the town, and saw how dark the place had become, and how unhappy everyone was. They remembered when the town was a place of beauty and love, where there was hope and happiness. Every day they would walk through town and see the bad people doing bad things. Every day they saw it get worse and worse and every day the dark cloud grew. This made that person very sad and made them want to do something about it. But what could an ordinary, and very typical person, do to try and change things? The people that lived under a dark cloud, who liked to hurt and steal, were dangerous and powerful, and there was many of them in that town. This one person was alone, or so they thought. </p>
<p>That night, A plan was hatched to try and bring back some of the light, and make the dark cloud go away. The next day things started to change. A lone voice began to speak...It spoke about the town, about the way that people used to greet each other, about how a neighbor was a friend, and not a stranger. A voice spoke about how the sun used to shine and how children used to play in the grass that was withered and faded. It spoke about the sounds of music and laughter that had been replaced by the sound of something sinister, and dark, that no pen can best describe. And it spoke about love and peace. Every day that lone voice spoke, and every day there were more listeners. </p>
<p>One day that voice brought a microphone, so that even more of the townspeople would be able to hear this message of hope. That voice would tell people to think happy thoughts, and to stay away from the bad people, and the things that caused harm to each other. Sometimes it was just a simple encouragement, someone saying 'I believe in you'. Sometimes it was a voice that said 'it will be alright'. Sometimes there was no talking, only the quiet embrace of a comforting hug, wrapped like a bandage around a hurting soul. </p>
<p>Slowly the townspeople began to heal. The things the bad people were doing, the towns people stopped doing altogether. The dark cloud passed, and soon the sun was shining again. Now that is not to say that life in this town was perfect or that there were no problems, but on the whole, life was quiet, peaceful and just the way that one solitary, and very ordinary, person remembered... </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/52785152018-06-06T01:47:24-07:002018-06-28T18:45:45-07:00*...The Story Of A Day Called Monday...*<p>Once upon time there was a man named Father Time. Father Time had a very important job and that was to make sure everything in the world was in order. In short, his job was to manage and maintain time. If there was no time then people would never know when to meet each other and discuss the days events, alas there would be no days to discuss; the world would be in quite a sorry state. This was a very important job and one that Father Time took very seriously. </p>
<p>Father Time had a very beautiful and pleasant wife named Mother Nature. She was a loving, yet stern woman who made sure the world was as it should be in a motherly sort of way. Every day she made sure the sun would shine down and gently kiss the flowers and the trees. She would make the rain fall to water the fields of the farmers, and the winds blow to sail ships across the mighty seas. Together, Father Time and Mother Nature worked very hard to make the world a place just right for people like you and me. </p><!-- more -->
<p>Mother Nature and Father Time had six wonderful children. There was Sunday who, although being rather lazy, was older and generally the one child that all the others followed. There were Tuesday and Thursday, average children who never did anything quite spectacular but were always following Sunday around. Wednesday was a unique child. Wednesday was a middle child and was known to be quite amorous. Wednesday could be fun to be around or Wednesday could be long and tiring. Friday was a young, well-loved day. Although never too far from Sunday's watchful eye, Friday was known to be the life of the party and generally got everyone around excited. If people had a lot of fun hanging out with Friday then they didn't always like hanging out with the last of the children which was Saturday. Saturday was known to enjoy relaxing, fixing things around the house, camping and just doing whatever happened to tickle its fancy. </p>
<p>Mother Nature and Father Nature loved their children very much and gave them a chore of dividing up time for the people here on earth. Every twenty-four hours a child would start their day, making sure the people of Earth were going about their business as usual, and that day would continue until the next child came on twenty-four hours later. And that is how we got our days of the week. </p>
<p>People of the earth were very happy to have these days and it made life a lot easier. They could now have certain days to work, certain days to play in the park, certain days to build great, shiny things and certain days to do nothing at all. Life ran smoothly and in order just as Father Time and Mother Nature had intended. </p>
<p>One day something unexpected happened...Mother Nature was growing old and so was Father Time. They had gray hair and wrinkles on their faces. It came as a big surprise to both of them to find out that they would be having another child. "Whatever shall we do?" said Father Time. "We are growing old and what work is there for another child in this world?" </p>
<p>Time passed quickly, even for the man who controlled it, and soon enough Mother Nature and Father Time had welcomed another child. This new child they called Monday. Monday was not like its siblings. Monday was stubborn and did things that did not make sense to Mother Nature and Father Time. As time had passed, the earth had become full of even more people, and so both parents were busy with their jobs of making the world go round. Now they had to decide what to do with this problem child called Monday and if they would make it another day of the week. </p>
<p>Would the people of earth want another day? Could Monday be a day of rest or would it be a day of work? Would it be a day of fun or were Friday and Saturday all the fun people of earth needed? After much thought it was decided to put Monday between Sunday and Tuesday so that Sunday could keep an ever watchful eye on Monday, for Monday had a spirit of mischief. </p>
<p>At first the people of the earth welcomed Monday. Instead of six days, their week would now be seven days long. It seemed like an extra day would mean more time for work, more time for play, and in general would make the people of earth happier. </p>
<p>This fairy tale was short lived, as Monday showed its true colors very quickly. Monday was the day when the people of earth returned from adventures, from playing in fields of grass, and in parks, from climbing high mountains and paddling mighty rivers, from relaxing and being with the people they loved, to start another long week of work. Monday would never be what the people of earth wanted it to be, and was always playing tricks on them, and making life harder. When Father Time wasn't looking, or was napping, Monday would make the day last just a little bit longer, and was seldom caught. As the time passed Monday became more and more difficult and unloved. People of earth began to not like Mondays at all. Father Time and Mother Nature knew that Monday was not a happy day for the people of earth, but there was nothing they could do. And so, Monday stayed between Sunday (the day of rest) and Tuesday (a very plain but consistent day, that was neither good nor bad) and that is how Monday came to be the longest and least favorite day of the week. </p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/52784932018-06-06T01:23:23-07:002018-06-06T01:23:23-07:00*...The Photograph...*<p>The image looked so perfect in my hands, glossy, vibrant and full of life. The clock on the wall to my right said 8:59pm. For a moment time stood still, and then it continued.</p><!-- more -->
<p>I tried my best to make it stop but was powerless against its forces. I didn't want to stand there as this snapshot faded to dust and that dust fell through my hands, scattered with the blowing of the winds that came cold over the mountain. I didn't want this picture to disappear, and yet time kept on spinning, blurring the edges of the photograph in my mind. <br> </p>
<p>The colors all turned gray and the edges bent, still I stood there holding onto it. This photograph is not mine and I was trying so hard to put myself into it. I should have let it go. I tried to tear it in two but something stopped me. I tried to put it away but it kept coming back to me. Over time it faded a little bit more, and eventually there was nothing there to remind me of what it was I had once held in my hands.</p>
<p><br> I had put my heart and soul into making the perfect picture. I had given more of me than I thought I had to give. This perfect world I had built was but a snapshot, a twinkling of the eye, an illusion of sorts that I believed to be true. Soon, as with all things, the sands of time had covered it up and nothing remained of what I had once held in my hands.</p>
<p> I wish I could find a place of comfort, solitude, and of peace, a place where the picture never fades and time does not erase. A place where each memory is as alive as the one before it, and where giving is as equal as taking. Only time can heal what's been hurt, and I only wish it was later than 8:59pm...</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/52784882018-06-06T01:06:54-07:002018-06-06T01:06:54-07:00*...If I Must Carry These Scars...*<p>If I must carry these scars with me till my body is dust, and till my life has long ended, then I pray for strength, and dignity, while I remain...</p>
<p>Copyright Roxx Hunter 2018.</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/48604572017-09-21T17:52:23-07:002017-09-21T17:52:23-07:00*...Outta Sight, Outta Mind...*<p>How do people who love you know who you are to love? How do people who hate you know who you are to hate? Of all the thousands of sights, smells, thoughts and ideas that their brain is bombarded with daily how do you stand out? What makes them remember you and what makes them think about you? </p><!-- more -->
<p><br>There's a reason you're at the forefront of their mind. It's not necessarily because you are amazing, or because you are horrible. You may smell good or you may smell bad. It's not that one singular thing. It's because at some point you connected with that person. At some point there was synchronicity. <br> In a perfect world of our choosing everyone would remember who we are; there would be something magnetic, something electric, some spark that would imbed itself on the brains of those passing by and we would be remembered. The reality is that most of us are just one in a million; one in a million people, one in a million sights, one in a million interactions. One in a million. <br> I'm a firm believer that if you are out of sight, you are out of mind. How can someone know you if they can't know you? If I was a musician looking for work and spent all my time practicing in a remote cabin by the woods never leaving, I would not get much work. Despite being this amazing guitar player no one would hire me. How can they hire me if they don't even know who I am? You have to get out there. Your name, your face, your legacy, whatever it is that you do, it has to make a connection and has to be experienced! <br> I've spent as much time at jams nights hanging out and jamming as I have at paid gigs (work), and I've played a LOT of gigs over the years. A lot of those gigs have come from being out at jam nights or just being out and being scene. Yes scene. Someone would see me play or we'd have that connection on stage and they would be like "Ohh right he plays bass and we need a bass player". Next thing you know I'd have a gig. As the wheel starts to turn the momentum grows. In art it's not so much about the talent, although that plays a part, as it is about momentum. Get out there, be scene. Network, play, if you want to get more work. All the players I know who are in the highest demand don't stay at home every night. They are social creatures, personable, they are out there making those connections and being scene. <br> Tonight I went out to a jam night for the purpose of reminding people that I was back and hoping that by going out and restoring old connections and making new ones that it might lead to work down the road. Before leaving the jam 2 hours later I was offered a gig for Friday night (and Friday night is a good night to have a gig). Don't assume that everyone know you're amazing or that they need you. They may remember, they may not. Show them. Get out there. Be seen and be scene. Connect. <br> There is an old story about a small town doctor who would be seen quite frequently dashing through town in a hurry in a doctor's horse and buggy. The townspeople were so glad to have such a dedicated person who worked so tirelessly to serve the community. Many years later the doctor spoke about going through town just to make it known to people that they were on the job, even if there was no real place to be. It was just being out and being seen. Did that doctor have a job for life? Absolutely. There is no need to be dishonest but if people see you doing your thing with passion and commitment you will make that connection. <br> I hope this helps someone out there to go out and go after what you want. You're only stopping yourself if you don't. <br> Thanks for taking the time to read this, speaking of time...I am out. <br>Roxx</p>Roxx Huntertag:roxxhunter.com,2005:Post/48604562017-09-21T17:49:43-07:002017-09-21T17:49:43-07:00*...Unskinny MmmBop...*<p>*...So about a year ago I was asked by a friend of mine named Justin to play a guitar solo on a song he was recording for a double album by his band Liberty n Justice. </p><!-- more -->
<p><br>This album features a lot of my favorites artists from 80's rock bands that got me into music and who I still love to this day. <br>I was pretty blown away when he asked me. I've never met this guy in person but we became friends out of a mutual love for the same music and both being fans of this singer named Jamie Rowe. So this double album was going to have one album of cover songs and one album of originals. He asked me to play on a cover of MmmBop, which is not my favorite song in the world but I do remember how big it was. The cool part was that Jamie Rowe was singing on it and this guy is one of my idols from his work with Guardian, Andriangale, and his solo music. <br>I never dreamed I'd get to record with someone I've probably lost a lot of hearing too. I've spent so many nights listening to his music. I did my best to lay down a really kick ass guitar solo and outro as there are a lot of my heroes on this CD and I wanted to both pay tribute to them and to show people I can hang with these cats. <br>Today has been a tough one. It gets harder and harder to make a living doing music. I feel sad, not for myself, but music in general, as more and more people who do music are being forced to seek other lines of work. This results in less people getting really good and less people to pass on that knowledge. The music world in general suffers. I know a lot of really good players who have hung it up, and I don't blame them. I'm just stubborn but even my stubbornness has a breaking point. But moments like this keep me going... <br>Anyway, I don't wanna dwell in the past but this was a cool moment for me and thought you might wanna check it out. It was mixed by CJ Snare who is the lead singer of Firehouse (they rock and theirs was the first tape I ever bought). The mix is not exactly how myself or my friend Anthony would have done it (He's awesome) but it's still cool. <br>If you do work hard enough you can achieve some pretty cool things. And if it's music you do, maybe, just maybe, you can one day be on a CD with a bunch of your heroes and one of your favorite singers. <br>Here it is in all it's 90's goodness. For guitar I was listening to lots of Paul Gilbert even though I could never pull of anything close to that man. Enjoy!</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="hEMj5zM4hT4" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/hEMj5zM4hT4/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hEMj5zM4hT4?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>Roxx Hunter