Strider's Songbook - Printable Version

Kept on her person at nearly all times, this simple composition notebook contains the assorted doodles, songs, thoughts, and miscellanea of one Calypso "Strider" Hunt. Looking more at home in a classroom than a Technocrat's belongings, it is a remarkably low-tech keepsake for the pilot, and is covered in various stickers and doodles, often depicting bands, cartoons, left-wing political imagery, and in-jokes. Within the book, the pages are scribbled all over and lacking much in the way of organization or cleanliness. Notes in the margins, crossed out words, and so many doodles. It's clear the book is well-loved and well-used. Whenever inspiration strikes, she makes sure to record it within.

The first page is dominated by nothing but drawings of middling quality. Simple sketches of tropical beaches and islands, constellations visible from Planet Curacao, fingers on a fretboard, different butterfly species... of note is one sketch of a young woman's face, half-covered in darkness. It's likely a self-portrait.

The second page contains the lyrics to a song called "Quantum Lovebomb" alongside accompanying notes in the margins. A heart with a timer wired up to it, piercing and letting out blood from the wounds, hangs in the top right corner.

"Star-Crossed Lover Disposal Unit"
"Black Hole (In My Chest)"
"Quantum Lovebomb!!!!!!"
"Gotta be edgy"
"Needed this as teen"
"Better late than never, right?"
"Every time, I'm back in Lost"
"Toxic BPD indulgence with the girlies!"

Quantum Lovebomb

"Emo, kinda grindy... maybe some screams?"
"Distortion, industrial a little"
"Practice makes perfect"
"Lovelace girls might like this one"
"Write instruments later"

Another page reveals a sketch of a small prefab home devoid of color, save for a large poinciana tree in front of it, towering beyond the roof of the metal abode. Its crimson flower petals are strewn across the front yard, mixed in with grayscale grasses and stones. The contrast of color pops out with rough crosshatching on each of the flowers and visible indentations from pressing hard into the page. In the windows of the house, two figures look out, their faces blurry. Dried tear drops dot the paper.

The page next to it contains a poem composed of multiple haiku strung together. Underneath the poem, notes and personal entries.

Untitled

"Don't remember their faces."
"Sad, but hollow. Like a memory of being sad."
"Were they mine to lose? Or hers?"
"Might be a way to save the rest. But do I want that?"