Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Life Lesson
There is only one reliable way to find out about a relationship: test it to destruction.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
The Black Hole
People think depression means a diminished capacity to feel. It is in fact a heightened sense of reality. A certain look, a word, the silence, everybloodything means something, it is a virtual flooding of the neural circuits - to the point of shorting the mains. And since your brains can't blow up completely, certain functions get affected, and it seems most of the time it is the motor function. Ever wonder why when you are depressed you get these amazing thoughts (ok depressive ones, but oh so expressive), but you just can't write them down?
It is a constant state of being... on. Something. Sleep is impossible with all that sensory information overload. Even emptiness (or what people confuse with an absence of feeling) is an actual abyss, with color (pitch black) and sound (silent). The apathy results from being overwhelmed, so you lie in bed all day and night. Or if it hits you while you were on your feet, you keep walking till you collapse. If you were working, you will keep at it. Nothing spectacular will happen, just a vague tiredness. Thoughts never translate to words, or actions. If you try, it's slurred speech, shuffling feet.
And sometimes this...
It is a constant state of being... on. Something. Sleep is impossible with all that sensory information overload. Even emptiness (or what people confuse with an absence of feeling) is an actual abyss, with color (pitch black) and sound (silent). The apathy results from being overwhelmed, so you lie in bed all day and night. Or if it hits you while you were on your feet, you keep walking till you collapse. If you were working, you will keep at it. Nothing spectacular will happen, just a vague tiredness. Thoughts never translate to words, or actions. If you try, it's slurred speech, shuffling feet.
And sometimes this...
The trick is to keep moving on that plane where there's a slight dip in the intensity, just enough so you don't lose the feeling, and you can pick up a pen and write (or whatever works) about it at the same time. The trickier part is to stay sane while embracing madness. But isn't madness just too much sanity?
Yes, confusions and bad judgements are some side-effects. Please talk to your doctor before deciding to stay in the hole.
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
Tripping
Being born on the wrong side of the 70s meant that you missed out on the golden era of rock 'n' roll and subversive movies, and grew up on 80s pop (and cheesy movies). Means you missed everything of consequence. More so if you grew up alone and your folks idea of music was limited to vinyl records of Boney M and Abba, and Ira Sankey hymns.
Still, it was the glory days of analog recorded magnetic cassette tapes... the TDKs and Maxwell tapes in C60, C90 formats. And being born in the 80s meant you had fingers small enough to untangle them when they got screwed up from repeated rewindings and forwards.
You're only hope for musical salvation was the radio, with dear old (!) Richard Coram on Dubai FM 92 playing the then golden pop hits - Feargal Sharkey with a Good Heart, A-Ha (Take On Me, Cry Wolf), Madonna (redemption came with Like a Prayer, understanding what/ why she was so peppy in Like a Virgin came much later). As it turns out, my musical education persists to continue in this reverse trend.
(In retrospect, I would now like to thank Mr. Coram for contributing to my musical sensibilities - after all he/ Dubai FM did provide slots for Kasey Kasim's American Top 40.)
So while George Michael pranced to Monkey, and Tiffany wondered if she were alone now (or then), and Belinda avowed that heaven is a place on earth (seriously?), a few gems crackled on the speakers with Queen's I Want it All being the (re)quest for the rest of my life. Of course, all this was not strictly linear, after all, at that age, you're bound by the fact that you had only two choices - FM 92, FM 93.5, and all music listening was limited to parental whims, sibling rivalry/ adoration, and whatever was offered by the DJ on shift. And the DJs, were they on drugs... Why else do you think they played Power of Love, Part-Time Lover, Would I Lie to You, Let's Make Lots of Money, I Should be So Lucky, Walk Like an Egyptian, and Help at 12am and then reverse the order at 3am? And I was deluded into believing this was MAGIC.
By the way, having an older sibling did not help much other than to tune the radio to the right channel. Georgie, Madonna, Kylie and Jason, BROS (what happened to them?), A-ha was all her, I just absorbed large quantities of da-da-da -da data by default.
But again, I would like to thank my sis for teaching me three chords and S&G's Boxer and Mrs Robinson. No thank you for the Carpenters. And I don't know whether gratefulness is required for Jefferson Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now.
And as much as most people relate the 80s with pop, there were awesome rock bands - Firehouse, Queensryche, Skid Row, Motley Crue, and the other bands with / without umlauts, and all with tremendous hairdos.
As the 80's synthesized its way into the 90s, the pop scene burst at the seams with the introduction of the boy band - New Kids on the Block. So shoot me, but I was 9 or 10ish when Right Stuff and Hangin' Tough were out... and this was something I discovered with no help. And I was young, and they were cute and young.. and though today it makes my skin crawl, it was one of those things. I did prefer Pet Shop Boys' music, but I don't think Neil Tennant stopped any girl's heart even when he sang about it. And to make this clear, I know all the lyrics to PSBs If and Actually albums, and not just NKOTB's 5 step program. And how can I forget UKs Take That and East 17. Or Chicago. Aah the 90s. Move over Richard Coram, MTV is here to take you on a joyride. And video did kill the radio star. (Apparently this was the first video aired on MTV in 1981, we in the Emirates got it in 89 I think. And it was the time when MTV actually played music).
All this very belated arrival of media contributed to late exposure to everything that is great - and time came when Roxette tapes were moved to make way for Def Leppard, Dire Straits, Bon Jovi, and many jagged little pills. CDs were still expensive, though the cassettes now had fancy hardcovers to prevent heat damage and that insidious whitish substance that grew on the tapes.
It is a rite of passage, taking apart the tape, spraying ear buds in your mom's Chanel #5, or dad's Old Spice, and carefully clean the tapes, then wind them correctly, and put it all back together... parents, note - this is a form of discipline all 10 year olds should be subjected to, cleaning tapes, tape deck heads - what better way to teach patience, diligence, motor coordination and other stellar qualities to a hyperactive kid, no?
Why all this useless meandering you don't ask? Don't.
But there is a pecking order. And it goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.... there should be a moratorium on all versions of that song (excluding Jeff Buckley's). Never mind. So a lame attempt at a correlation graph - song / album release year versus my knowledge of it's existence. Of course this trend would hold true for those born after 1971. I say 71, cuz that I believe was the golden year of music - after all Stairway to Heaven was released then - it's the 40th anniversary on November 8th. 1971 was charmed - consider the songs released that year:
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Imagine - John Lennon
LA Woman - The Doors
Behind Blue Eyes - The Who
A Horse With No Name - America
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor
Aqualung - Jethro Tull
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
American Pie - Don McLean
I Feel The Earth Move - Carole King
Morning Has Broken - (Artist formerly known as) Cat Stevens (I just had to include this for the paranthesis)
Must I go on? Yes. I have been told that I have approval need issues. Whatever. Just check out the movies of 1971.
A Clockwork Orange
The French Connection
Dirty Harry
Love Story
Fiddler on the Roof
Panic in Needle Park
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
All this from the top of my head, no googling, god promise.
And you see I have a pretty eclectic taste in things, no biasing between rock and ballad, chase movies, musicals and chocolate drownings. See, no judging. So proud.
See what I mean about the 70s? And this was the beginning of the bang that sang the end. To think I was not even a possibility at that time is so... upsetting.
Dude, where is my graph? Okay, let me describe it to you. x-axis: Year/Band, y- axis: Year/Heard. Ok, this is not working. I am still upsetting about skipping a generation, living it 10 years too late, including all that free love and drugs, not so free but well-wrapped, textured, and whatever now. And despite this being the great digital age, because this is the digital age, I miss not having my tape deck, and really upset about not needing a modernistic shelf for records, cassettes, even CDs. So bloody upset. UPSET. And bored. Of Beiber on my radio, and other 2 second inane songs they seem to churn out by the minute these days.
Off.
Still, it was the glory days of analog recorded magnetic cassette tapes... the TDKs and Maxwell tapes in C60, C90 formats. And being born in the 80s meant you had fingers small enough to untangle them when they got screwed up from repeated rewindings and forwards.
You're only hope for musical salvation was the radio, with dear old (!) Richard Coram on Dubai FM 92 playing the then golden pop hits - Feargal Sharkey with a Good Heart, A-Ha (Take On Me, Cry Wolf), Madonna (redemption came with Like a Prayer, understanding what/ why she was so peppy in Like a Virgin came much later). As it turns out, my musical education persists to continue in this reverse trend.
(In retrospect, I would now like to thank Mr. Coram for contributing to my musical sensibilities - after all he/ Dubai FM did provide slots for Kasey Kasim's American Top 40.)
So while George Michael pranced to Monkey, and Tiffany wondered if she were alone now (or then), and Belinda avowed that heaven is a place on earth (seriously?), a few gems crackled on the speakers with Queen's I Want it All being the (re)quest for the rest of my life. Of course, all this was not strictly linear, after all, at that age, you're bound by the fact that you had only two choices - FM 92, FM 93.5, and all music listening was limited to parental whims, sibling rivalry/ adoration, and whatever was offered by the DJ on shift. And the DJs, were they on drugs... Why else do you think they played Power of Love, Part-Time Lover, Would I Lie to You, Let's Make Lots of Money, I Should be So Lucky, Walk Like an Egyptian, and Help at 12am and then reverse the order at 3am? And I was deluded into believing this was MAGIC.
By the way, having an older sibling did not help much other than to tune the radio to the right channel. Georgie, Madonna, Kylie and Jason, BROS (what happened to them?), A-ha was all her, I just absorbed large quantities of da-da-da -da data by default.
But again, I would like to thank my sis for teaching me three chords and S&G's Boxer and Mrs Robinson. No thank you for the Carpenters. And I don't know whether gratefulness is required for Jefferson Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now.
And as much as most people relate the 80s with pop, there were awesome rock bands - Firehouse, Queensryche, Skid Row, Motley Crue, and the other bands with / without umlauts, and all with tremendous hairdos.
As the 80's synthesized its way into the 90s, the pop scene burst at the seams with the introduction of the boy band - New Kids on the Block. So shoot me, but I was 9 or 10ish when Right Stuff and Hangin' Tough were out... and this was something I discovered with no help. And I was young, and they were cute and young.. and though today it makes my skin crawl, it was one of those things. I did prefer Pet Shop Boys' music, but I don't think Neil Tennant stopped any girl's heart even when he sang about it. And to make this clear, I know all the lyrics to PSBs If and Actually albums, and not just NKOTB's 5 step program. And how can I forget UKs Take That and East 17. Or Chicago. Aah the 90s. Move over Richard Coram, MTV is here to take you on a joyride. And video did kill the radio star. (Apparently this was the first video aired on MTV in 1981, we in the Emirates got it in 89 I think. And it was the time when MTV actually played music).
All this very belated arrival of media contributed to late exposure to everything that is great - and time came when Roxette tapes were moved to make way for Def Leppard, Dire Straits, Bon Jovi, and many jagged little pills. CDs were still expensive, though the cassettes now had fancy hardcovers to prevent heat damage and that insidious whitish substance that grew on the tapes.
It is a rite of passage, taking apart the tape, spraying ear buds in your mom's Chanel #5, or dad's Old Spice, and carefully clean the tapes, then wind them correctly, and put it all back together... parents, note - this is a form of discipline all 10 year olds should be subjected to, cleaning tapes, tape deck heads - what better way to teach patience, diligence, motor coordination and other stellar qualities to a hyperactive kid, no?
Why all this useless meandering you don't ask? Don't.
But there is a pecking order. And it goes like this the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift.... there should be a moratorium on all versions of that song (excluding Jeff Buckley's). Never mind. So a lame attempt at a correlation graph - song / album release year versus my knowledge of it's existence. Of course this trend would hold true for those born after 1971. I say 71, cuz that I believe was the golden year of music - after all Stairway to Heaven was released then - it's the 40th anniversary on November 8th. 1971 was charmed - consider the songs released that year:
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Imagine - John Lennon
LA Woman - The Doors
Behind Blue Eyes - The Who
A Horse With No Name - America
You've Got a Friend - James Taylor
Aqualung - Jethro Tull
Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
American Pie - Don McLean
I Feel The Earth Move - Carole King
Morning Has Broken - (Artist formerly known as) Cat Stevens (I just had to include this for the paranthesis)
Must I go on? Yes. I have been told that I have approval need issues. Whatever. Just check out the movies of 1971.
A Clockwork Orange
The French Connection
Dirty Harry
Love Story
Fiddler on the Roof
Panic in Needle Park
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
All this from the top of my head, no googling, god promise.
And you see I have a pretty eclectic taste in things, no biasing between rock and ballad, chase movies, musicals and chocolate drownings. See, no judging. So proud.
See what I mean about the 70s? And this was the beginning of the bang that sang the end. To think I was not even a possibility at that time is so... upsetting.
Dude, where is my graph? Okay, let me describe it to you. x-axis: Year/Band, y- axis: Year/Heard. Ok, this is not working. I am still upsetting about skipping a generation, living it 10 years too late, including all that free love and drugs, not so free but well-wrapped, textured, and whatever now. And despite this being the great digital age, because this is the digital age, I miss not having my tape deck, and really upset about not needing a modernistic shelf for records, cassettes, even CDs. So bloody upset. UPSET. And bored. Of Beiber on my radio, and other 2 second inane songs they seem to churn out by the minute these days.
Off.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Indigo Girls - Beacon Theater, Oct 13, 2011
Now I feel for those people who have to write a review on events the minute after they're done. For people who have those kind of writing jobs. I feel sorry for them and at the same time, am also in awe - that some of them do it real well, give an impartial feedback, and write a spade a spade. I am also amazed by people who know exactly what they feel and are able to write about it well. I know a couple of acquaintances who could write a 1000 word literary analysis in 20 minutes flat. These are the people who have fun the rest of the time and crank out a thesis paper in just one night and graduate magna cum laude. I for one can't even write a yelp review about what I ate last night at a new restaurant (which I didn't).
So this is quite an chore. But as part of my recent self-imposed self-disciplining, and month of doing things other than destruction, this is going to be it. Also, this is the first time ever I went to Beacon Theater, so now that's crossed off my bucket list. Should've instead gone to see Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, or Dream Theater the previous night, but meh, tix were beyond me after taxes. And I'm saving for the Evanescence concert. The sacrifices we make. Life sucks.
But a change nonetheless. (Always wanted to use 'nonetheless' in a sentence.) Ok, enough putting off the actual review part.
Hmm. Not bad for a couple of middle-aged, homely ladies. I got into Indigo (i.e., heard their songs) only a couple of years ago, when I realized I had no 'happy-ish' songs in my collection, songs you can have a good time playing on your stoop and have people stop by and sing along. (other than Plastic Jesus). And I don't like country music. Folksy ballads I can take for 2 hours at a stretch, which I did last night. But hey, it is pretty amazing how synchronized their guitar playing is. And how you can still sound real good minus drums. Perfect harmonies, great acoustics. Not the foot stomping kind of music, but melodies you can sit and listen to in those plush seats. No pressure to stand up all the time and wave your hands. Just sit and clap (though that reminds me of being in a Southern Baptist church). And sip a cocktail, while looking at the chord changes (yes I was right in front, orchestra center). That's the point. An evening of relaxation, which again, self-imposed, trying not to give in to the urge to keep moving. Sure I could've stayed home, kicked up my feet and listened to Velvet Underground all night, but then I do that everyday.
Now I liked the singing, the guitar playing, they sounded real good- just like on the record if you have a good sound system. And quite fun in a quiet way, without the raging, or death wish lyrics. Amy Ray's alto blends real well with Emily Salier's sweeter tone, but then we all know that. They played a couple of songs from their new album Beauty Queen Sister - a strange (boring) song about horses or whatever (Feed and Water the Horses I think), another about their neighbor John, and the title (eponymous) song. Maybe more. Oh one song I can't recall - they resolved it like 4 times, each time the audience clapping, and they started over - so when the song actually got done, people hesitated. What a riot! (in my head of course). You shouldn't make asses of people who pay hard-earned money to see your show, either be good at creating anticipation and the unexpected, but don't trick them. Anyway, their old hits drew people to their shuffling feet - Hammer and Nail, Get Out the Map (now that was good), Shame on You, and some more that I don't know the names of. And of course they ended the show with Closer To Fine. Tamaam, as my folks would say.
Overall, a good show which didn't drive me to do whatever I'm driven to do. As expected.
Now I see I didn't mention anything about the opening band Shadowboxers. Well... kind of pop-ish, but again good harmonizing. Nothing got stuck in my head, and the audience's response was...American. Tepid, correct, polite.
So that's it. About the show. About the theater itself, well, it's ornate and pretty. Excellent acoustics. Water costs 5 bucks. Martini was $19. Well, it's not everyday you go there.
So this is quite an chore. But as part of my recent self-imposed self-disciplining, and month of doing things other than destruction, this is going to be it. Also, this is the first time ever I went to Beacon Theater, so now that's crossed off my bucket list. Should've instead gone to see Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, or Dream Theater the previous night, but meh, tix were beyond me after taxes. And I'm saving for the Evanescence concert. The sacrifices we make. Life sucks.
But a change nonetheless. (Always wanted to use 'nonetheless' in a sentence.) Ok, enough putting off the actual review part.
Hmm. Not bad for a couple of middle-aged, homely ladies. I got into Indigo (i.e., heard their songs) only a couple of years ago, when I realized I had no 'happy-ish' songs in my collection, songs you can have a good time playing on your stoop and have people stop by and sing along. (other than Plastic Jesus). And I don't like country music. Folksy ballads I can take for 2 hours at a stretch, which I did last night. But hey, it is pretty amazing how synchronized their guitar playing is. And how you can still sound real good minus drums. Perfect harmonies, great acoustics. Not the foot stomping kind of music, but melodies you can sit and listen to in those plush seats. No pressure to stand up all the time and wave your hands. Just sit and clap (though that reminds me of being in a Southern Baptist church). And sip a cocktail, while looking at the chord changes (yes I was right in front, orchestra center). That's the point. An evening of relaxation, which again, self-imposed, trying not to give in to the urge to keep moving. Sure I could've stayed home, kicked up my feet and listened to Velvet Underground all night, but then I do that everyday.
Now I liked the singing, the guitar playing, they sounded real good- just like on the record if you have a good sound system. And quite fun in a quiet way, without the raging, or death wish lyrics. Amy Ray's alto blends real well with Emily Salier's sweeter tone, but then we all know that. They played a couple of songs from their new album Beauty Queen Sister - a strange (boring) song about horses or whatever (Feed and Water the Horses I think), another about their neighbor John, and the title (eponymous) song. Maybe more. Oh one song I can't recall - they resolved it like 4 times, each time the audience clapping, and they started over - so when the song actually got done, people hesitated. What a riot! (in my head of course). You shouldn't make asses of people who pay hard-earned money to see your show, either be good at creating anticipation and the unexpected, but don't trick them. Anyway, their old hits drew people to their shuffling feet - Hammer and Nail, Get Out the Map (now that was good), Shame on You, and some more that I don't know the names of. And of course they ended the show with Closer To Fine. Tamaam, as my folks would say.
Overall, a good show which didn't drive me to do whatever I'm driven to do. As expected.
Now I see I didn't mention anything about the opening band Shadowboxers. Well... kind of pop-ish, but again good harmonizing. Nothing got stuck in my head, and the audience's response was...American. Tepid, correct, polite.
So that's it. About the show. About the theater itself, well, it's ornate and pretty. Excellent acoustics. Water costs 5 bucks. Martini was $19. Well, it's not everyday you go there.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
the door's open, but the ride it ain't free...
I promised myself a post on the Boss. Or rather a song of his that every one in their right and wrong minds should know the lyrics to: the classic Thunder Road.
The thing about thetruly greatest songs (or any other work of art for that matter) is that they draw us in and place us right in the middle of all the action, make us a part of it, we are in it, we are it. In Thunder Road, Springsteen is not just singing about his dreams, his love, or imploring his friend, it is our promises, and hopes that he is vocalizing.
The Born to Run album is definitive Springsteen - a masterpiece, and for all its heartache, it is so full of hope, unlike his later introspective and working-class-themed albums. Guess it is the youthfulness of it all. Happiness after all is just being with a girl/boy, having a car, and an open road. Let later albums (and growing older) question the direction of it all...but there's no need to think about that now,... right?
Thunder Road is the classic anthem for the dreamer, lover, and escapist in all of us. It is the opening song of the album, and is kind of like its vision statement. It asks of us a simple, yet crucial question 'Are you willing to take a chance?', and carries a hope, and sometimes urges, that we hold on to the dream -
'Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels'
This is a restless song, this is the yearning of youth, on the borderline of adulthood, wanting to grow up and escape, but still holding on to youthful aspirations - taking only the guitar, the car, and his girl on the journey. Yes, the only things that matter.
(So, what is in your backpack?)
And only Springsteen can make you see how simple and how incredibly hard it is to take that chance - in his phrasing of just a word:
'And my car's out back if you're ready to take that lo- -onng walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free...'
The lyrics are devastating, romantic, and encapsulate you in its redemption, the dream of a promised land that's at the end of this road. And all the fears that come with it, 'so you're scared, and you're thinkin' maybe we ain't young anymore'. Oh yeah...
For without risks, there are no rewards. And there is that promise of a better tomorrow, but no time to waste:
'You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets'
'All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow...'
Everyone knows what it's like to have these dreams, whose hearts we break to get there, the desperation of knowing, and not knowing. There are layers within the words that you get to glimpse with every listen, it's a fluid storyline, what you see depends on where you are on this journey. The lack of specificity in these beautiful lyrics makes this song not just Springsteen's, this is your song.
There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone on the wind,
So Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win
If that's not poetry, I don't know what is.
The thing about the
The Born to Run album is definitive Springsteen - a masterpiece, and for all its heartache, it is so full of hope, unlike his later introspective and working-class-themed albums. Guess it is the youthfulness of it all. Happiness after all is just being with a girl/boy, having a car, and an open road. Let later albums (and growing older) question the direction of it all...but there's no need to think about that now,... right?
Thunder Road is the classic anthem for the dreamer, lover, and escapist in all of us. It is the opening song of the album, and is kind of like its vision statement. It asks of us a simple, yet crucial question 'Are you willing to take a chance?', and carries a hope, and sometimes urges, that we hold on to the dream -
'Well the night's bustin' open, these two lanes will take us anywhere
We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels'
This is a restless song, this is the yearning of youth, on the borderline of adulthood, wanting to grow up and escape, but still holding on to youthful aspirations - taking only the guitar, the car, and his girl on the journey. Yes, the only things that matter.
(So, what is in your backpack?)
And only Springsteen can make you see how simple and how incredibly hard it is to take that chance - in his phrasing of just a word:
'And my car's out back if you're ready to take that lo- -onng walk
From your front porch to my front seat
The door's open but the ride it ain't free...'
The lyrics are devastating, romantic, and encapsulate you in its redemption, the dream of a promised land that's at the end of this road. And all the fears that come with it, 'so you're scared, and you're thinkin' maybe we ain't young anymore'. Oh yeah...
For without risks, there are no rewards. And there is that promise of a better tomorrow, but no time to waste:
'You can hide 'neath your covers and study your pain
Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets'
'All the redemption I can offer, girl, is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow...'
Everyone knows what it's like to have these dreams, whose hearts we break to get there, the desperation of knowing, and not knowing. There are layers within the words that you get to glimpse with every listen, it's a fluid storyline, what you see depends on where you are on this journey. The lack of specificity in these beautiful lyrics makes this song not just Springsteen's, this is your song.
There were ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road in the skeleton frames of burned-out Chevrolets
They scream your name at night in the street
Your graduation gown lies in rags at their feet
And in the lonely cool before dawn
You hear their engines roaring on
But when you get to the porch they're gone on the wind,
So Mary climb in
It's a town full of losers, I'm pulling out of here to win
If that's not poetry, I don't know what is.
Sunday, October 09, 2011
The road to recovery...
...is hardly paved, so when you fall, you break a lot of bones. And lose heart. Just don't take it out on your guitar. Use it to pave the way with songs. Bring along the songs, and let them carry you when you feel like you can't go on.
So here's the companion list for the long walk on this dust road. These songs make me stop thinking about everything else, and just listen...there's a newness in every listening. It's all about the beat, the melody, the riffs, the voices, emotions, and of course the words... So over to the Recovery List:
1. Bang Bang - Cher
Now this is a kick ass song though most people know the more mellow, yet ethereal cover by Nancy Sinatra used in the Kill Bill soundtrack. Cher gives this song a wildness, a wounded tiger quality.
2. Because the Night - 10,000 Maniacs
I like this version of Springsteen's / Patti Smith's original, Natalie Merchant conveys frustration, longing even, and some form of victory...something I can't define. Springsteen deserves a separate post. And yeah, the song's sexy.
3. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
Though I should be listening to "The Drugs Don't Work".
4. Rolling in the Deep - Adele
Wow,...this song makes me want to dance. Or throw things around. Strange song to dance to? For me dancing is foot stomping with a bit of head bobbing. So there.
5. As Tears Go By - The Rolling Stones
Simple melody, beautiful string arrangement, just lovely. A ballad that is kind of unexpected by the Stones.
6. Fallen - Sarah McLachlan
You'd be better off not listening to this one. But it reminds you of why you are here in the first place. This song is addictive, and may (or for sure) make you slip. So if you give in, it should be immediately followed by something more upbeat. Like Bruno Mars' Lazy Song for instance. Even if it's not your style.
So now I've to categorize the songs based on: 1. Must listen 2. Songs to avoid 3. To learn. Hmm..
#1 and #3 will take up a good 4 hours of your time everyday. These are the same 4 hours you would be under intense craving for substances. And now that the days are getting shorter, it is crucial to make this a habit before the dead of winter hits you.
I have now started listening to 'epic' songs - long drawn out music that tells a story either through the lyrics or creates one in your head - a kind of sonic image theater. There are also rules on how to listen to concept albums and such. First make a pot of coffee, black. Pour coffee into favorite mug.Turn on the music system or iPod, set to maximum volume. Lie down, wrap yourself in a warm blanket. Play song, slowly sip coffee, close your eyes (now this could cause some spillage now and then if you're a beginner). But close your eyes and soak in the music. This can also be done in the bathtub (without the blanket of course) if you have a bathtub. I don't. Coffee drinking in the bath is possible if you can make yourself a cap-coffee dispenser.
Anyway, In the Court of the Crimson King is an album by the King Crimson that needs to be listened to, in the closed eyes, coffee'ing way. Released sometime in 1969, this album is considered to be one of the best progressive rock albums, mixing jazz and classical elements into the standard rock/blues themes. Don't ask me what the songs are about, I haven't made sense of it yet, and actually don't want to. There are a lot of colors though, yellow jesters, purple piper, gray mornings, black queen, and 'Crimson King' of course... Well-worth your time. And someone who likes this, would obviously like Pink Floyd. And even if Meddle and Ummagumma is not everyone's cup of tea, it still shows a band's willingness to go down (or up) a musical curve. Even if they are experiments in sound with common household objects. After all, it led to The Dark Side of the Moon. So why complain?
Oh and need I say anything about David Bowie? And yes, the Yes. Queen. Guns 'N' Roses.
Another album I've been listening to is Scheherezade and Other Stories. Again progressive rock, 1975, by the band Renaissance (Annie Haslam). You really don't know when one song ends and the next one begins, so there is a bit of confusion regarding the parts. Listen to Trip to the Fair (10.5min), and Ocean Gypsy (also covered by Blackmore's Night).
For lyrical stories about the working class, Springsteen is the man, and his E Street band. His Born to Run album is the best ever in my opinion. Thunder Road, Jungleland just resonate... ok I've been listening to Thunder Road on repeat for the past week (and am right now). The live version with Melissa Etheridge (another great singer) is simply awesome - the harmonies are just perfect, their voices blend so well. Only Springsteen can sing in a higher key to accommodate Etheridge's range and still sound great. I was going to dedicate another post on this song... the lyrics, the music. I still might.
Another album to listen in its entirety is the Beatles Abbey Road - their last album, and the best in terms of structure, with the classic 16 minute Medley - I think there's about 18 measures of guitar solo, the first two bars by McCartney, followed by Harrison, then Lennon, then the sequence repeated twice. Very distinctive styles of playing ending with the memorable line... 'and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.' This is also the album that Alan Parsons worked on as the sound engineer, before he moved on to Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and his own work. About DSOM, what's to say that's not been said?
On further thought, this list needs to be further classified into Albums, Singles, Bands and so on, and I still wouldn't be able to compile everything. Gives me reason to keep writing about it as and when I listen to stuff, and oh learn to play some of the favorites on my guitar.
And no Sting, I haven't forgotten you.
So here's the companion list for the long walk on this dust road. These songs make me stop thinking about everything else, and just listen...there's a newness in every listening. It's all about the beat, the melody, the riffs, the voices, emotions, and of course the words... So over to the Recovery List:
1. Bang Bang - Cher
Now this is a kick ass song though most people know the more mellow, yet ethereal cover by Nancy Sinatra used in the Kill Bill soundtrack. Cher gives this song a wildness, a wounded tiger quality.
2. Because the Night - 10,000 Maniacs
I like this version of Springsteen's / Patti Smith's original, Natalie Merchant conveys frustration, longing even, and some form of victory...something I can't define. Springsteen deserves a separate post. And yeah, the song's sexy.
3. Bittersweet Symphony - The Verve
Though I should be listening to "The Drugs Don't Work".
4. Rolling in the Deep - Adele
Wow,...this song makes me want to dance. Or throw things around. Strange song to dance to? For me dancing is foot stomping with a bit of head bobbing. So there.
5. As Tears Go By - The Rolling Stones
Simple melody, beautiful string arrangement, just lovely. A ballad that is kind of unexpected by the Stones.
6. Fallen - Sarah McLachlan
You'd be better off not listening to this one. But it reminds you of why you are here in the first place. This song is addictive, and may (or for sure) make you slip. So if you give in, it should be immediately followed by something more upbeat. Like Bruno Mars' Lazy Song for instance. Even if it's not your style.
So now I've to categorize the songs based on: 1. Must listen 2. Songs to avoid 3. To learn. Hmm..
#1 and #3 will take up a good 4 hours of your time everyday. These are the same 4 hours you would be under intense craving for substances. And now that the days are getting shorter, it is crucial to make this a habit before the dead of winter hits you.
I have now started listening to 'epic' songs - long drawn out music that tells a story either through the lyrics or creates one in your head - a kind of sonic image theater. There are also rules on how to listen to concept albums and such. First make a pot of coffee, black. Pour coffee into favorite mug.Turn on the music system or iPod, set to maximum volume. Lie down, wrap yourself in a warm blanket. Play song, slowly sip coffee, close your eyes (now this could cause some spillage now and then if you're a beginner). But close your eyes and soak in the music. This can also be done in the bathtub (without the blanket of course) if you have a bathtub. I don't. Coffee drinking in the bath is possible if you can make yourself a cap-coffee dispenser.
Anyway, In the Court of the Crimson King is an album by the King Crimson that needs to be listened to, in the closed eyes, coffee'ing way. Released sometime in 1969, this album is considered to be one of the best progressive rock albums, mixing jazz and classical elements into the standard rock/blues themes. Don't ask me what the songs are about, I haven't made sense of it yet, and actually don't want to. There are a lot of colors though, yellow jesters, purple piper, gray mornings, black queen, and 'Crimson King' of course... Well-worth your time. And someone who likes this, would obviously like Pink Floyd. And even if Meddle and Ummagumma is not everyone's cup of tea, it still shows a band's willingness to go down (or up) a musical curve. Even if they are experiments in sound with common household objects. After all, it led to The Dark Side of the Moon. So why complain?
Oh and need I say anything about David Bowie? And yes, the Yes. Queen. Guns 'N' Roses.
Another album I've been listening to is Scheherezade and Other Stories. Again progressive rock, 1975, by the band Renaissance (Annie Haslam). You really don't know when one song ends and the next one begins, so there is a bit of confusion regarding the parts. Listen to Trip to the Fair (10.5min), and Ocean Gypsy (also covered by Blackmore's Night).
For lyrical stories about the working class, Springsteen is the man, and his E Street band. His Born to Run album is the best ever in my opinion. Thunder Road, Jungleland just resonate... ok I've been listening to Thunder Road on repeat for the past week (and am right now). The live version with Melissa Etheridge (another great singer) is simply awesome - the harmonies are just perfect, their voices blend so well. Only Springsteen can sing in a higher key to accommodate Etheridge's range and still sound great. I was going to dedicate another post on this song... the lyrics, the music. I still might.
Another album to listen in its entirety is the Beatles Abbey Road - their last album, and the best in terms of structure, with the classic 16 minute Medley - I think there's about 18 measures of guitar solo, the first two bars by McCartney, followed by Harrison, then Lennon, then the sequence repeated twice. Very distinctive styles of playing ending with the memorable line... 'and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.' This is also the album that Alan Parsons worked on as the sound engineer, before he moved on to Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and his own work. About DSOM, what's to say that's not been said?
On further thought, this list needs to be further classified into Albums, Singles, Bands and so on, and I still wouldn't be able to compile everything. Gives me reason to keep writing about it as and when I listen to stuff, and oh learn to play some of the favorites on my guitar.
And no Sting, I haven't forgotten you.
Fighting for sanity
Anybody under the influence knows how difficult it gets to quit something that makes you feel good. But there comes a time when that feeling passes and progresses to something quite sinister. A question that has no right answer is whether Hyde is the true nature of Jekyll or the other way round. Both or neither? Is someone's nature in-built, or carefully cultivated, or something that can be razed to the ground and rebuilt over and over?
Why do people use drugs or alcohol as a litmus test to pass judgement on someone's behavior? Is it fair to use these substances as the casting vote for a character test when it's a fact that they have a detrimental effect on a person?
Guess if you are a kinder, better person when you are high. Though the possibility of that is slim if such a possibility exists at all.
I believe the worst drug there is is alcohol. Because it is legitimate, socially acceptable, and it actually kills brain cells. In addition to ruining relationships. Which leads to further indulgence to forget the complete lack of companionship. It also makes you forget the things you enjoy. Like writing, playing music. The dying of hand eye coordination.
To fight this abuse, you need support. In its absence, you need tremendous control, and hold on to the memory of loss; the loss of friends, money, pleasure in music or sunrises. Your losses are what started all this mess, your losses are why you now want to stop. And you would need a lot of distractions to fill the time, to stop obsessing about not having a drink every minute. The fallout of trying to quit is the clarity of nightmares... which makes it so hard. Especially if the reason for drinking is to have a dreamless sleep (or the feeling of it).
The idea is to take it one hour at a time. For distractions, I now have a new playlist. Songs are analyzed, lyrics are memorized, and practiced.
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby...
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,
Carry that weight a long time...
Forever, most probably. But it is time to start fighting for things that matter.
Why do people use drugs or alcohol as a litmus test to pass judgement on someone's behavior? Is it fair to use these substances as the casting vote for a character test when it's a fact that they have a detrimental effect on a person?
Guess if you are a kinder, better person when you are high. Though the possibility of that is slim if such a possibility exists at all.
I believe the worst drug there is is alcohol. Because it is legitimate, socially acceptable, and it actually kills brain cells. In addition to ruining relationships. Which leads to further indulgence to forget the complete lack of companionship. It also makes you forget the things you enjoy. Like writing, playing music. The dying of hand eye coordination.
To fight this abuse, you need support. In its absence, you need tremendous control, and hold on to the memory of loss; the loss of friends, money, pleasure in music or sunrises. Your losses are what started all this mess, your losses are why you now want to stop. And you would need a lot of distractions to fill the time, to stop obsessing about not having a drink every minute. The fallout of trying to quit is the clarity of nightmares... which makes it so hard. Especially if the reason for drinking is to have a dreamless sleep (or the feeling of it).
The idea is to take it one hour at a time. For distractions, I now have a new playlist. Songs are analyzed, lyrics are memorized, and practiced.
Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby...
Boy, you're gonna carry that weight,
Carry that weight a long time...
Forever, most probably. But it is time to start fighting for things that matter.
Friday, October 07, 2011
mind games
The mind is a funny thing. The more we crave for change, the more our heads resist, resorting to conjuring images and sounds of the past, stuff we want to put behind us. Memories are surprising, it jumps at you when you least expect it. An 'onslaught'. Now that's a word that feels just right. From the Dutch 'aanslag', to slay. Memories do that. They do that. Always violent, even the good ones bring you to tears. Especially the good ones. Deceptive shape-shifters too, they erase, modify parts and bring up a whole new thing you think are yours. They are and aren't all at the same time.
Why do walks down the pier bring to mind bright orange-fire sunsets on the Corniche? I've never seen sunsets like that before or since.
And why do memories of sunsets lead to memories of long drives through the desert to Ruwais or Al Liwa and you wonder if you were seeing things - were those sand dunes or a brown river?
Why does early fall in New York remind you of specific December mornings in Bangalore, sipping a filter coffee under a jacaranda tree?
Why does staring at an aisle full of Pepperidge white, whole wheat, challah breads, and the umpteen other brands and types create a longing for a time when buying bread was simple? All you had to do was tag along with mom as she threw a Modern Bakery's white sandwich bread, and Lupark Danish butter. Not the million varieties of Landolakes - salted, unsalted, sticks, cubes, quarts, spreadable (spreadable?? sounds like a STD) etc..And what's with that american indian mascot on the package? (I first thought it was a picture of Nataraj. Now I remember to wear my glasses when I go shopping).
See what violence memories induced by grocery shopping cause to the gut?
Anyway, tonight seems to be the night for memories, memories that a few glasses of whiskey awakens, and a bottle of vodka hopes to put to rest. But don't discount the music. Just compound the memories as the night grows older.
Brain Damage, Coming Back To Life, Fallen, Ordinary World, No More I Love Yous, Nothin' Else Matters, the list seems endless, and the images... i should stop. dammit I still have demons in my room at night... and they're feeding on my resistance.
It's going to be a really long night.
Why do walks down the pier bring to mind bright orange-fire sunsets on the Corniche? I've never seen sunsets like that before or since.
And why do memories of sunsets lead to memories of long drives through the desert to Ruwais or Al Liwa and you wonder if you were seeing things - were those sand dunes or a brown river?
Why does early fall in New York remind you of specific December mornings in Bangalore, sipping a filter coffee under a jacaranda tree?
Why does staring at an aisle full of Pepperidge white, whole wheat, challah breads, and the umpteen other brands and types create a longing for a time when buying bread was simple? All you had to do was tag along with mom as she threw a Modern Bakery's white sandwich bread, and Lupark Danish butter. Not the million varieties of Landolakes - salted, unsalted, sticks, cubes, quarts, spreadable (spreadable?? sounds like a STD) etc..And what's with that american indian mascot on the package? (I first thought it was a picture of Nataraj. Now I remember to wear my glasses when I go shopping).
See what violence memories induced by grocery shopping cause to the gut?
Anyway, tonight seems to be the night for memories, memories that a few glasses of whiskey awakens, and a bottle of vodka hopes to put to rest. But don't discount the music. Just compound the memories as the night grows older.
Brain Damage, Coming Back To Life, Fallen, Ordinary World, No More I Love Yous, Nothin' Else Matters, the list seems endless, and the images... i should stop. dammit I still have demons in my room at night... and they're feeding on my resistance.
It's going to be a really long night.
Sunday, October 02, 2011
What happened last night
Funny how we choose to ignore what happens right in front of us. Like at 4am, all the cops came in and paramedics, whole lotta people screaming outside my door, and I was like 'aah it's saturday night again...' and just peeked outside (stubbed my nose and toes cuz the medics are big guys and the hallway is narrow).
Anyway, this chick (the ex gov's stepdaughter) - smashed a bottle on her guy's head. Man, blood on the floor, etc etc, and a couple of reporters, cops, the works. Apparently they had a major row, and he tried to strangle her, so she hit him with the bottle. Good.
Since I'm so short on my entertainment budget, I'd take anything right now. See here for what that news guy (nice friendly Canadian - is that redundant?) reported about it:
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/10/02/2011-10-02_daves_stepkid_in_bloody_battle.html
Times like this, I don't want to leave MacDougal St. Hey 'Marie C.", you got a mention :-)
Anyway, this chick (the ex gov's stepdaughter) - smashed a bottle on her guy's head. Man, blood on the floor, etc etc, and a couple of reporters, cops, the works. Apparently they had a major row, and he tried to strangle her, so she hit him with the bottle. Good.
Since I'm so short on my entertainment budget, I'd take anything right now. See here for what that news guy (nice friendly Canadian - is that redundant?) reported about it:
http://www.nydailynews.com/ny_local/2011/10/02/2011-10-02_daves_stepkid_in_bloody_battle.html
Times like this, I don't want to leave MacDougal St. Hey 'Marie C.", you got a mention :-)
On music making, song writing delusions
Anybody can play the guitar. On second thoughts, maybe not. If I were to apply that optimism to everything, then I'd have to believe that my old man can sing not just in B flat. (Maybe he'd do better at rap...). Or an eagle would have to consider the possibility that a sparrow could fly at ten thousand feet. Whatever. Not interested in discussing the infinite wonders of the human mind and what that means to the species in general.
So, starting over, not everyone can play the guitar, or whatever instrument of choice. But over time, anyone who does, can get better at it. Or worse. Like anything else, practice makes perfect. Point is, this 'perfection' is subjective. There is the question of style and sound. And the fact that no two guitars are the same in tone and depth even if they both belong to the same series of Martins or Taylors or the same tree.
At the same time, you can't blame a passable guitar for bad musicianship. But a good guitar can make you sound a smidgen better. Ramble ramble ramble.
There is one song that any aspiring guitarist worth his salt should know how to play. That is Stairway to Heaven. Now I know that is cliche, it is a song most of us learn in our teens to get into someone's pants. Or to show off at Guitar Center. But ever heard anyone play the entire song start to finish in any case? (Apart from the pros). Seriously, it is one cracking tune. And bloody hard to get right. And once you're past the doing things to get done stage, (note, I didn't include getting over the peacock stage - a slight narcissism and exhibitionism is a prerequisite to playing any instrument, it is why people play); it's time to really learn the song. Quite a lot of tricks in that tune, and a couple of basics of grunge rock. The chord progression is the standard that's in 90% of rock songs (Am - G- F), played different ways - you use the bar chords as well as the regular; you learn finger-picking (that arpeggiated intro), strumming, double-timing, how to slide and bend (the strings the strings) and a lot more... what an awesome solo too. Quite the workout for your fingers, hands, and feet. Quite technical. Quite emotional when you get it right...sniff..pass me the plectrum.
In the great Page's words on playing the ultimate rock anthem: "... the one thing you didn't do was speed up, because if you sped up you wouldn't be seen again. Everything had to be right on the meter all the way through. And I really wanted to write something which did speed up, and took the emotion and the adrenaline with it, and would reach a sort of crescendo. And that was the idea of it. That's why it was a bit tricky to get together in stages."
It is all about timing. Always was and always will be. And you have to keep at it no matter how long it takes to master all of it. If at all.
Still keeping at it. 1 year, 2months and counting.
Note: Two songs should never be played outside on your stoop. This is one. American Pie is the other.
So, starting over, not everyone can play the guitar, or whatever instrument of choice. But over time, anyone who does, can get better at it. Or worse. Like anything else, practice makes perfect. Point is, this 'perfection' is subjective. There is the question of style and sound. And the fact that no two guitars are the same in tone and depth even if they both belong to the same series of Martins or Taylors or the same tree.
At the same time, you can't blame a passable guitar for bad musicianship. But a good guitar can make you sound a smidgen better. Ramble ramble ramble.
There is one song that any aspiring guitarist worth his salt should know how to play. That is Stairway to Heaven. Now I know that is cliche, it is a song most of us learn in our teens to get into someone's pants. Or to show off at Guitar Center. But ever heard anyone play the entire song start to finish in any case? (Apart from the pros). Seriously, it is one cracking tune. And bloody hard to get right. And once you're past the doing things to get done stage, (note, I didn't include getting over the peacock stage - a slight narcissism and exhibitionism is a prerequisite to playing any instrument, it is why people play); it's time to really learn the song. Quite a lot of tricks in that tune, and a couple of basics of grunge rock. The chord progression is the standard that's in 90% of rock songs (Am - G- F), played different ways - you use the bar chords as well as the regular; you learn finger-picking (that arpeggiated intro), strumming, double-timing, how to slide and bend (the strings the strings) and a lot more... what an awesome solo too. Quite the workout for your fingers, hands, and feet. Quite technical. Quite emotional when you get it right...sniff..pass me the plectrum.
In the great Page's words on playing the ultimate rock anthem: "... the one thing you didn't do was speed up, because if you sped up you wouldn't be seen again. Everything had to be right on the meter all the way through. And I really wanted to write something which did speed up, and took the emotion and the adrenaline with it, and would reach a sort of crescendo. And that was the idea of it. That's why it was a bit tricky to get together in stages."
It is all about timing. Always was and always will be. And you have to keep at it no matter how long it takes to master all of it. If at all.
Still keeping at it. 1 year, 2months and counting.
Note: Two songs should never be played outside on your stoop. This is one. American Pie is the other.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Chasing Lights
There is no right way to deal with darkness, except to look for a sliver of light that escapes through the cracks. But sometimes there is none. In times like these, a short circuit happens, neurons misfire, airways get obstructed, and destruction ensues. Injuries are inflicted, towards the self and outside, and memories get erased, though all the wrong ones.
Things that worked earlier have no effect. The night light gives way to regular ones, the walks become longer, lying down to rest just hides the inability to get up. And just when you think it couldn't get worse, the gloom deepens. Because the part of the brain that thinks too much just informed you there is no reason for it, and the same part can't remember the last time you really laughed.
Not being able to recall moments of joy, or be happy for things accomplished becomes a problem. Doubting that you've ever achieved anything, or believing the pointlessness of it all is a problem. Sleep is dangerous in these times. It's worse than the memory erasure, cuz all that space gets replaced with high def images, and those stay. But it is still worth a try to change these or fill the emptiness with arcane facts, useless bits of data, like it takes 47 minutes at 6 miles an hour to walk twice across Christopher St Pier up to Horatio St, and take a circuitous route to Carmine St. As if that really matters. Because all that resounds for those 47 minutes is You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me. Not Hit Me Baby One More Time. Thank you old man in the sky. Sorry Brit. (Though I imagine it would help from oding on self-pity).
So now it's back to 'Let's waste time/ chasing cars/ around our head'. Talk about this little light of mine hiding inside shadows.
Things that worked earlier have no effect. The night light gives way to regular ones, the walks become longer, lying down to rest just hides the inability to get up. And just when you think it couldn't get worse, the gloom deepens. Because the part of the brain that thinks too much just informed you there is no reason for it, and the same part can't remember the last time you really laughed.
Not being able to recall moments of joy, or be happy for things accomplished becomes a problem. Doubting that you've ever achieved anything, or believing the pointlessness of it all is a problem. Sleep is dangerous in these times. It's worse than the memory erasure, cuz all that space gets replaced with high def images, and those stay. But it is still worth a try to change these or fill the emptiness with arcane facts, useless bits of data, like it takes 47 minutes at 6 miles an hour to walk twice across Christopher St Pier up to Horatio St, and take a circuitous route to Carmine St. As if that really matters. Because all that resounds for those 47 minutes is You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me. Not Hit Me Baby One More Time. Thank you old man in the sky. Sorry Brit. (Though I imagine it would help from oding on self-pity).
So now it's back to 'Let's waste time/ chasing cars/ around our head'. Talk about this little light of mine hiding inside shadows.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Three years... and counting
A lot seems to have happened, 'seems' cuz half the time I'm not even sure what's real. The darkness got violent at times, but we've become good pals, and go bingeing on everything together. We have a living arrangement with its usual ups and downs. Friends of the biped variety have had less patience and have gotten overwhelmed with this friend I keep, or keeps me, since he has an irritating habit of sneaking up on them and poof!(I included show cause clauses to curb this behavior, but no point), so they (the bipeds) have left. Winters have been long, Christmases were blizzards, springs had the occasional flights to someplace, summers were spent drinking hard and walking in circles.
Have I told you about my little blue radio? RayD is a good friend. He has a functioning brain unlike most people I know... (true, I don't know many people). But he reads me better and comes up with songs I hate myself for loving. Actually he is a sadistic bastard that makes me... um... suicidal? homicidal? depressive? manic? Check all.
B'cuz sometimes the ground caves in. The center doesn't hold.
Has it ever?
My iPod is another dear with a mind of his own, but I take the blame for that - after all I put all those songs in there, Hallelujah, Love Bites, Poison, Too Much Love Will Kill You, My Immortal... aah that order is suggestive... and I carry this guy with me. 'Shuffle' though, is a pretend function, I kind of figured out the algorithm to that one... now I know the order of shuffled songs if I start with a particular tune. Random is not exactly random.
So, anyway, it's been three years. In Gotham city. With or without my RayD and Pod men. Mostly with. Three years. That's the longest stretch I've stayed put in one place, without moving in and out of apartments like I'm prone to doing when I know it's goin' to be a long stretch... (must be the rent). But things are never a constant in this city, except perhaps for the morning coffee. Even that is unreliable, but I like it that way.
Constants are scary things. But I still need the coffee.
Three years and I've feared for my sanity on and off, for whatever's left of it. I've woken up wondering where I got the bruises, and scars (and why). I've discovered that coke in small doses is like viagra. I've read The English Patient 8 times cover to cover so far. I still watch the tango, and the manic Ferrari drive scenes in 'Scent of a Woman' every year. I listen to 'Where I Stood' everyday. I play Dido's Here With Me every night on my guitar. And know that despite over 60 hours (so far) of practicing Fast Car, I can't sing and play it well at the same time. I can never ever sing anything. I know Auden's 'Stop all the clocks...' by heart.
By heart, I haven't used that phrase in years, but yes, that poem I know by heart. I say it by heart in my head everytime I walk the piers and it is the one thing that brings tears to some forgotten pain.
......
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; .....
Never mind. Got distracted.
I haven't sky-dived (yet) cuz it was over a 100 bucks. I've paid 100 bucks for (apparently) jumping the turnstile. If I stop my daily quota of substances today, I could clear my loan in one year exactly. I could also die in that year from deprivation a la Winehouse, without the records and fame of course.
I've tried convincing friends to stay, keep talking, if only to get the noise out of my head and failed. Mr Pod puts sound in, he doesn't absorb the emanating static. So it's a weird key stuck between a diminished chord and G# in my head, and so irksome at times. I've been told to stop my obsessive humming at work more than twice. Maybe I hum wrong.
I've taken good care of my play list, the classics remain classics, newer perspectives and song-listening inclinations are carefully compiled in a separate folder. I am proud to say I have been faithful, and experimental at the same time. To Misters iPod and RayD Oh. Creates a lasting, mutually satisfying relationship. I now measure time in segments of crime shows. And I have learned that you know you're older when the nights seem longer than days.
Three years. The problem with anniversaries, passport expirations, and password changes is it forces you to consider time. Waves of new and past ghosts suddenly hound you and howl incessantly into the night. (Yes my ghosts are of the werewolf banshee types). The wails of were-bans.
And you never can seem to remember the loss, you only know the feeling.
Sure we know. The songs and obsessions tell you. And all the changes. The point is people don't really change. They just reveal the truth when they think no one is looking. Or reading. But we try. Someone who used to be afraid of the nightmares just sleeps with a night light. Or doesn't sleep at all.
And we all have a price to pay for giving up what is good for us.
Three years is a bitch.
Have I told you about my little blue radio? RayD is a good friend. He has a functioning brain unlike most people I know... (true, I don't know many people). But he reads me better and comes up with songs I hate myself for loving. Actually he is a sadistic bastard that makes me... um... suicidal? homicidal? depressive? manic? Check all.
B'cuz sometimes the ground caves in. The center doesn't hold.
Has it ever?
My iPod is another dear with a mind of his own, but I take the blame for that - after all I put all those songs in there, Hallelujah, Love Bites, Poison, Too Much Love Will Kill You, My Immortal... aah that order is suggestive... and I carry this guy with me. 'Shuffle' though, is a pretend function, I kind of figured out the algorithm to that one... now I know the order of shuffled songs if I start with a particular tune. Random is not exactly random.
So, anyway, it's been three years. In Gotham city. With or without my RayD and Pod men. Mostly with. Three years. That's the longest stretch I've stayed put in one place, without moving in and out of apartments like I'm prone to doing when I know it's goin' to be a long stretch... (must be the rent). But things are never a constant in this city, except perhaps for the morning coffee. Even that is unreliable, but I like it that way.
Constants are scary things. But I still need the coffee.
Three years and I've feared for my sanity on and off, for whatever's left of it. I've woken up wondering where I got the bruises, and scars (and why). I've discovered that coke in small doses is like viagra. I've read The English Patient 8 times cover to cover so far. I still watch the tango, and the manic Ferrari drive scenes in 'Scent of a Woman' every year. I listen to 'Where I Stood' everyday. I play Dido's Here With Me every night on my guitar. And know that despite over 60 hours (so far) of practicing Fast Car, I can't sing and play it well at the same time. I can never ever sing anything. I know Auden's 'Stop all the clocks...' by heart.
By heart, I haven't used that phrase in years, but yes, that poem I know by heart. I say it by heart in my head everytime I walk the piers and it is the one thing that brings tears to some forgotten pain.
......
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; .....
Never mind. Got distracted.
I haven't sky-dived (yet) cuz it was over a 100 bucks. I've paid 100 bucks for (apparently) jumping the turnstile. If I stop my daily quota of substances today, I could clear my loan in one year exactly. I could also die in that year from deprivation a la Winehouse, without the records and fame of course.
I've tried convincing friends to stay, keep talking, if only to get the noise out of my head and failed. Mr Pod puts sound in, he doesn't absorb the emanating static. So it's a weird key stuck between a diminished chord and G# in my head, and so irksome at times. I've been told to stop my obsessive humming at work more than twice. Maybe I hum wrong.
I've taken good care of my play list, the classics remain classics, newer perspectives and song-listening inclinations are carefully compiled in a separate folder. I am proud to say I have been faithful, and experimental at the same time. To Misters iPod and RayD Oh. Creates a lasting, mutually satisfying relationship. I now measure time in segments of crime shows. And I have learned that you know you're older when the nights seem longer than days.
Three years. The problem with anniversaries, passport expirations, and password changes is it forces you to consider time. Waves of new and past ghosts suddenly hound you and howl incessantly into the night. (Yes my ghosts are of the werewolf banshee types). The wails of were-bans.
And you never can seem to remember the loss, you only know the feeling.
Sure we know. The songs and obsessions tell you. And all the changes. The point is people don't really change. They just reveal the truth when they think no one is looking. Or reading. But we try. Someone who used to be afraid of the nightmares just sleeps with a night light. Or doesn't sleep at all.
And we all have a price to pay for giving up what is good for us.
Three years is a bitch.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
How to shoot somebody who outdrew you
This should be easy. they don't expect it. you're dead, remember?
(so they think. if they even waste a thought on you that is.)
it is easy. just rise from your grave now and then, as often as you please, and BOO. one of the perks of being dead is the possibility of resurrection. (into what reincarnation may not be your choice, though.) also, there's the element of surprise. aah, imagine the look on their faces.
it is easy. preferably use the same knife they used on you. it never loses its edge. only dulls their senses to apathy but what do you care about the effect?
easy peasy. prepare for a zombie fest, but refrain from outright murder of your darlings. after all, you need the perpetual rage to feed your starved soul.
talk about rage and revenge.
why you ask?
when you're shot dead, how can you love anymore? enough reason?
(apologies to Mr Cohen for 'wrongful' use of the phrase).
(so they think. if they even waste a thought on you that is.)
it is easy. just rise from your grave now and then, as often as you please, and BOO. one of the perks of being dead is the possibility of resurrection. (into what reincarnation may not be your choice, though.) also, there's the element of surprise. aah, imagine the look on their faces.
it is easy. preferably use the same knife they used on you. it never loses its edge. only dulls their senses to apathy but what do you care about the effect?
easy peasy. prepare for a zombie fest, but refrain from outright murder of your darlings. after all, you need the perpetual rage to feed your starved soul.
talk about rage and revenge.
why you ask?
when you're shot dead, how can you love anymore? enough reason?
(apologies to Mr Cohen for 'wrongful' use of the phrase).
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
About dreams
of the kind that happen when you are asleep...or think you are.
ever had one where your four year old self runs up to the mirror, sees a fat pig for a head and breaks it (the mirror I mean), but it (the big fat pig now) keeps reappearing in various shades of size, color, and expression, all accompanied with a BBCish crime series-Batman Begins at Inception to be Psycho kind of music?
All this in color, mind you. God forbid if the shards scratch your not-four year old 'sleeping' self...but then...
sigh... of course. Sleep is overrated.
ever had one where your four year old self runs up to the mirror, sees a fat pig for a head and breaks it (the mirror I mean), but it (the big fat pig now) keeps reappearing in various shades of size, color, and expression, all accompanied with a BBCish crime series-Batman Begins at Inception to be Psycho kind of music?
All this in color, mind you. God forbid if the shards scratch your not-four year old 'sleeping' self...but then...
sigh... of course. Sleep is overrated.
Monday, July 25, 2011
writing the wind
It must be the sounds in this place. She hears them clear, distinct. The chirping of that common sparrow by the trees, now by the edge of the bench where she sits; the wind through the trees, leaves falling, the slow waves incessant in their protest of being caged for others' pleasure. The waves. The waves. Though she prefers their wildness in other spaces, she makes do with these dammed waters. And the wind. The waves are just a distraction, a medium through which she can hear the wind.
What she actually prefers are mountains. And deserts. And... well, she can't stick to anything. Sticking needs two compatible surfaces, or one strong glue, neither of which she has in sufficient supply.
Water to escape, mountains to face, deserts to hope. We'll leave it at that.
It is the silence within everyday sounds she searches for. Or whatever's hidden in plain sight. This obsessive search started in some strange time even she can't recall. It must've been the summer after the sandstorm in the wadi. The day she heard the wind swirling inside a mirage. Though she did not feel it on her skin, there was the sound; the dry crackle, like intermittent short circuits inside the phantom waters up ahead on the dunes, parting it, like a lover's parched tongue on long-desired skin.
Now she sits here, trying to capture that moment when she first heard it. She knows it is futile; that the wind through these strange fattened lands have a color and sound different from what she knew. Here the wind cries at spires and windows that trap gods in their petrified states. Plaintive sighs. Yet it carries some memory of the desert, a longing for an infinite space, a desire to be wanton, free to howl or stay mute at will. For this place is just another form of a mirage.
What she actually prefers are mountains. And deserts. And... well, she can't stick to anything. Sticking needs two compatible surfaces, or one strong glue, neither of which she has in sufficient supply.
Water to escape, mountains to face, deserts to hope. We'll leave it at that.
It is the silence within everyday sounds she searches for. Or whatever's hidden in plain sight. This obsessive search started in some strange time even she can't recall. It must've been the summer after the sandstorm in the wadi. The day she heard the wind swirling inside a mirage. Though she did not feel it on her skin, there was the sound; the dry crackle, like intermittent short circuits inside the phantom waters up ahead on the dunes, parting it, like a lover's parched tongue on long-desired skin.
Now she sits here, trying to capture that moment when she first heard it. She knows it is futile; that the wind through these strange fattened lands have a color and sound different from what she knew. Here the wind cries at spires and windows that trap gods in their petrified states. Plaintive sighs. Yet it carries some memory of the desert, a longing for an infinite space, a desire to be wanton, free to howl or stay mute at will. For this place is just another form of a mirage.
Friday, July 15, 2011
old tunes...
And here I go again on my own
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time...
-Whitesnake
There's a danger in lovin' somebody too much
And it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are
Baby sometimes love just ain't enough...
-Patty Smyth, Don Henley
Goin' down the only road I've ever known,
Like a drifter I was born to walk alone
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time...
-Whitesnake
There's a danger in lovin' somebody too much
And it's sad when you know it's your heart they can't touch
There's a reason why people don't stay who they are
Baby sometimes love just ain't enough...
-Patty Smyth, Don Henley
Thursday, July 14, 2011
To slow down
I've been told to take it slow. A lot of times. 'Please relax', 'stop pacing, you're making me nervous', 'just lie down for a while longer', 'try to sleep', 'there's nothing wrong with stayin' in bed all day, both days over the weekend',... the list goes on. Oh and this one 'everything and everyone is slow and bores you, you think you are interesting?' was a nice one. And true. Touche.
What they don't know is that I AM slow, I do stay in bed all day both days on weekends (when I don't go for a walk), I don't have space in my room to pace, so I sit and netflix every (other) evening, I sit still on my stoop watching other people go by... how much more am I supposed to 'relax'? Sure, it does piss me off that my office desktop takes precisely 17 minutes to start up, 10 minutes to shut down (on good days), but I do sit very still and patient.
I AM very patient with others, and make exceptions for friends, ... until I don't. But this is usually 'cuz the compromise is not recognized and returned once a year at least. And then I get 'unreasonable' and lose them. My 'friends'. Baah. Nobody's loss either way. Not worth a post.
Strange thing is when the family, who you think are slow and decrepit, keep asking every week 'have you got a new job, a raise, a new place to stay, blah blah...'. Like a raise and new job happens everyday. Now can't they slow down?
But there is something to be said for slowness, a lot of people seem to be happy with it. Maybe that's it. I equate 'taking things slow' with contentment. And contentment for me means being stunted, not at peace, or satisfied. And of course doesn't everyone know when you hear 'Lets take things slow' actually translates to 'it's over, I don't like being with you anymore' ninety percent of the time? It means they need space and time from you, and preferably nothing to do with you at all, but don't have the balls to say it. Again, what a waste of time... but they're happy, how does it matter what I think? (Sometimes I think happiness is crawling inside the hollow of a dead tree trunk and hibernating. Or being dead).
If it were just semantics, then I have a point. To slow down means you are shutting down (physically) and shutting off (emotionally), creating a void between things and people. And asking another to slow down is like sentencing them to purgatory, to limbo. Like being stuck on a real slow, endless elevator ride that stops at every other floor but yours, and you're dying to get out.
Which could work both ways when it does stop - heaven or hell...but who among us dare presume it's heaven waiting at the end for us? Mostly hell, and limbo is just a practice zone.
On an upbeat (?) note, the only times being slow takes on a real worthwhile meaning is in a slow dance, and while playing an instrument. A slow dance is a surrender, a time to let go; and making music is more about the spaces between the notes than the notes themselves... even here most people misconstrue the meaning of the word 'rest'. It is not a time you do nothing, but doing something as simple and complicated as keeping the beat, it is a serious contemplation that creates a song, a heightened awareness of time.
Most of us can't do it.
What they don't know is that I AM slow, I do stay in bed all day both days on weekends (when I don't go for a walk), I don't have space in my room to pace, so I sit and netflix every (other) evening, I sit still on my stoop watching other people go by... how much more am I supposed to 'relax'? Sure, it does piss me off that my office desktop takes precisely 17 minutes to start up, 10 minutes to shut down (on good days), but I do sit very still and patient.
I AM very patient with others, and make exceptions for friends, ... until I don't. But this is usually 'cuz the compromise is not recognized and returned once a year at least. And then I get 'unreasonable' and lose them. My 'friends'. Baah. Nobody's loss either way. Not worth a post.
Strange thing is when the family, who you think are slow and decrepit, keep asking every week 'have you got a new job, a raise, a new place to stay, blah blah...'. Like a raise and new job happens everyday. Now can't they slow down?
But there is something to be said for slowness, a lot of people seem to be happy with it. Maybe that's it. I equate 'taking things slow' with contentment. And contentment for me means being stunted, not at peace, or satisfied. And of course doesn't everyone know when you hear 'Lets take things slow' actually translates to 'it's over, I don't like being with you anymore' ninety percent of the time? It means they need space and time from you, and preferably nothing to do with you at all, but don't have the balls to say it. Again, what a waste of time... but they're happy, how does it matter what I think? (Sometimes I think happiness is crawling inside the hollow of a dead tree trunk and hibernating. Or being dead).
If it were just semantics, then I have a point. To slow down means you are shutting down (physically) and shutting off (emotionally), creating a void between things and people. And asking another to slow down is like sentencing them to purgatory, to limbo. Like being stuck on a real slow, endless elevator ride that stops at every other floor but yours, and you're dying to get out.
Which could work both ways when it does stop - heaven or hell...but who among us dare presume it's heaven waiting at the end for us? Mostly hell, and limbo is just a practice zone.
On an upbeat (?) note, the only times being slow takes on a real worthwhile meaning is in a slow dance, and while playing an instrument. A slow dance is a surrender, a time to let go; and making music is more about the spaces between the notes than the notes themselves... even here most people misconstrue the meaning of the word 'rest'. It is not a time you do nothing, but doing something as simple and complicated as keeping the beat, it is a serious contemplation that creates a song, a heightened awareness of time.
Most of us can't do it.
Need for speed
Not the drug, not the old racing game, but just the noun or verb for rapidity in motion. I hate going at a slow pace...it's like being stuck on a C train as the A passes me by. (I mean the express A of course, so this example isn't applicable on weekends).
Waiting for someone to finish a sentence is torture. Might as well not speak, like me. If you've got nothing to say, and don't, then it's fine. Which is why I rather go places, bars and all, alone. Sure timing is everything, when it comes to telling a joke, a story, etc., and doing other things, but the point is, when it's done well, a moment doesn't feel wasted.
Wasted time. Waiting for someone to call, speak, mail, when you expect everything to have been done a week before...arrgh, why does no one realize that time is killing them, instead of the other way round? But I guess, since time is just a construct of the mind and our personal clocks tick-tock differently, I should be more amenable to this tardiness.
NO. Why should I, when there is a constant 24 hour day the last I heard? Oh Burnt Norton...
Waiting for someone to finish a sentence is torture. Might as well not speak, like me. If you've got nothing to say, and don't, then it's fine. Which is why I rather go places, bars and all, alone. Sure timing is everything, when it comes to telling a joke, a story, etc., and doing other things, but the point is, when it's done well, a moment doesn't feel wasted.
Wasted time. Waiting for someone to call, speak, mail, when you expect everything to have been done a week before...arrgh, why does no one realize that time is killing them, instead of the other way round? But I guess, since time is just a construct of the mind and our personal clocks tick-tock differently, I should be more amenable to this tardiness.
NO. Why should I, when there is a constant 24 hour day the last I heard? Oh Burnt Norton...
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present...
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present...
And whatever that means.
I am now analyzing the reasons for this rant about slowness. Here's what I've come up with so far:
1. I wasted a good portion of my short life doing nothing interesting... (maybe not, but it feels that way).
2. My brain works slow, so I move fast. The faster I move, I can escape this reality.
3. If I move slow, I could miss the action happening somewhere other than where I am.
...
The truth (however relative) is, this need to move fast hits when the moment is shared / linked with someone else. I eat, drink, walk faster when there is someone around... most times, the other person seems boring to me; or I feel I'm boring them, and when the latter feeling arises, I move even faster. (See, at least I care enough not to waste their time. Pat on back.) The anomaly is when boredom doesn't set in... rare, but yeah it does happen. Then I hang around, stop and stare, smell the roses or whatever.
But for now, time not spent doing something I like is wasted time. The truth (for real now) is that right now I'm waiting for someone to mail me something regarding work, but from past experience, this person has no concept of time. Sure they have more interesting or important things to do.
Not good enough. I'm the one always left in the lurch.
Not good enough. I'm the one always left in the lurch.
...And then one day you'll find,
Ten years have got behind you,
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun...
Sigh .... I understand you Floyd, and more than 10 years have got behind me since I first heard this song...
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
And I still haven't found what i'm lookin' for...
But it found me. On July 5, 2011. Soldier Field, Chicago. U2. A 'space-station' stage setup known as 'The Claw', Bono, Edge, Clayton, Mullen in sonic blast, ... and a buddy I haven't seen in almost 3 years. Beautiful Day, Sunday Bloody Sunday, With or Without You...and an unscheduled encore One Tree Hill with a plea from Bono: "if we screw up real bad, please don't put it on the Internet." Screw up? What screw up??
Crossed five state-lines in 24 hours, by air and road - DC to Philli to Chicago, thru Indiana, to Detroit. A wonder we got home alive, by 4am I was hallucinating, and A was sleep-driving.
All worth it, the exhaustion, sunburn, endless airport check-in lines with all its hassles, connecting flights, navigating strange streets, getting distracted by beautiful architecture, people,...
Awesome. To still be impulsive just when you think you have become an adult, and fear that you would never again do stuff unless you storyboard it first.
All worth it, the exhaustion, sunburn, endless airport check-in lines with all its hassles, connecting flights, navigating strange streets, getting distracted by beautiful architecture, people,...
Awesome. To still be impulsive just when you think you have become an adult, and fear that you would never again do stuff unless you storyboard it first.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Getting Away - notes from Woodstock, May 2011
There are times when we need to leave the madness behind where it belongs. That is, if you think madness is something that happens in the world around you as you sit in silence watching it go out of control, while you drink hot coffee.
But most times we just carry the insanity with us. For it is the only company we keep, or keeps us. Some BFF.
That weekend in May was not to escape madness, but the drudgery of a dead-end existence, a 9 to 5 job, the sameness of everything, to escape time that is not relative but a fixed number of hours. Enter Woodstock.
2 hours from the city to Poughkeepsie, another 45 minutes by car. (Should take the bus next time). Anyway, on the hottest afternoon of the year, I got there. And did nothing. That was the whole point of it I suppose. I did have plans, but shelved it for fall... if I will remember then. It is amazing just how much we forget. I forget.
Walked around the quaint little town, filled with tourists, hell's angels bikers, flea markets, music,.... and old, old locals. Where have all the young men gone? Never mind. Checked into Woodstock Lodge, about half a mile from the Village Green (though the walk seemed longer in the hot sun), not recommended by the locals (I wonder why), and the last one listed in the directory. And the only one that had rooms available for the night.
What a time! Apparently, this was the only lodge with a bar that stays open till 4am. The rest of Woodstock sleeps at 9pm at the latest. And there's nothing else to do than drink, play pool, dance with old men, and listen to their wild stories. Stories told in slow, drunken drawling voices; of their celebrity neighbors in the Catskills, of Billy Joel buying this guy dinner, then realizing he was broke..so he plays the piano all night (yeah yeah, the piano man's perpetual penury story seem to be the same all time, and how he makes up for it)... of going on gigs with old-time bands and singers...stories under a clear starry sky.
There was the Big Dipper, or is it the Little Dipper, or both? Right over my head. Stars are not something you notice in the city. And even if you do, well.. you don't stop and stare for long. Stars are for quiet places, when the music outside gets inside you, and deep voices tell you tales. And other times of solitude.
Slow. That's what this place is. Where time has no meaning except in the changing colors of the sky. Where early morning dew on the mountain looks like rising smoke or falling rain. Where you follow babbling brooks in the middle of trees to see hidden falls. Slow. Quiet. Peaceful? Not quite. Lonely? Not really. You carry your madness in a backpack.
Open drum circle
But most times we just carry the insanity with us. For it is the only company we keep, or keeps us. Some BFF.
That weekend in May was not to escape madness, but the drudgery of a dead-end existence, a 9 to 5 job, the sameness of everything, to escape time that is not relative but a fixed number of hours. Enter Woodstock.
2 hours from the city to Poughkeepsie, another 45 minutes by car. (Should take the bus next time). Anyway, on the hottest afternoon of the year, I got there. And did nothing. That was the whole point of it I suppose. I did have plans, but shelved it for fall... if I will remember then. It is amazing just how much we forget. I forget.
Walked around the quaint little town, filled with tourists, hell's angels bikers, flea markets, music,.... and old, old locals. Where have all the young men gone? Never mind. Checked into Woodstock Lodge, about half a mile from the Village Green (though the walk seemed longer in the hot sun), not recommended by the locals (I wonder why), and the last one listed in the directory. And the only one that had rooms available for the night.
What a time! Apparently, this was the only lodge with a bar that stays open till 4am. The rest of Woodstock sleeps at 9pm at the latest. And there's nothing else to do than drink, play pool, dance with old men, and listen to their wild stories. Stories told in slow, drunken drawling voices; of their celebrity neighbors in the Catskills, of Billy Joel buying this guy dinner, then realizing he was broke..so he plays the piano all night (yeah yeah, the piano man's perpetual penury story seem to be the same all time, and how he makes up for it)... of going on gigs with old-time bands and singers...stories under a clear starry sky.
There was the Big Dipper, or is it the Little Dipper, or both? Right over my head. Stars are not something you notice in the city. And even if you do, well.. you don't stop and stare for long. Stars are for quiet places, when the music outside gets inside you, and deep voices tell you tales. And other times of solitude.
Slow. That's what this place is. Where time has no meaning except in the changing colors of the sky. Where early morning dew on the mountain looks like rising smoke or falling rain. Where you follow babbling brooks in the middle of trees to see hidden falls. Slow. Quiet. Peaceful? Not quite. Lonely? Not really. You carry your madness in a backpack.
The Village Green
Hidden Falls
Millstream
The Blues Brothers taking a break
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Land of Lost Content - A.E. Houseman
Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?
That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Lazarus Soul
Dusk
the evening is purple red
and I wait for the music to drift in
through the broken ground.
i called, and though you were silent,
i knew you'd come.
Night
inside the madness a fire rises
burning holes in a sky, making space
for my future travel.
i wait, and see the desert you fear
to cross for nothing.
Midnight
it is all for nothing, your tears
won't revive bones sucked dry
in sandstorms.
i sleep inside a nightmare
with no refuge in hiding places
Dawn
it is not yet time, for words
that mean nothing to ears pierced
by shards of indifference.
i wait in silence in fire and darkness
to break through on my own.
the evening is purple red
and I wait for the music to drift in
through the broken ground.
i called, and though you were silent,
i knew you'd come.
Night
inside the madness a fire rises
burning holes in a sky, making space
for my future travel.
i wait, and see the desert you fear
to cross for nothing.
Midnight
it is all for nothing, your tears
won't revive bones sucked dry
in sandstorms.
i sleep inside a nightmare
with no refuge in hiding places
Dawn
it is not yet time, for words
that mean nothing to ears pierced
by shards of indifference.
i wait in silence in fire and darkness
to break through on my own.
Monday, June 06, 2011
Writing at night
I live over a bar and the bass booms all night through my floor. So it is definitely not the peace and quiet. Nights are not peaceful anyway. And peace never contributed to anything in the world. Without the big bang where would we all be? Would we even be?
I don't know. Do I even care?
But why write at night?
(Why write at all, but that's been done to death... in my head anyway...and plenty have pondered and written about it. But then, everything that has to be said, has been written already... that makes writing about anything at all a futile exercise).
Maybe writing is a kind of death - or at least it feels that way - how we pour out our life through our fingers and stain a couple of pages - a form of blood-letting in the hope of better health; redemption, salvation. And it's always in the longest nights of our lives we seek answers, dare to hope, love, or give in to fears or despair.
Maybe it is the darkness... under its cover, we can take refuge in our dreams and nightmares, without having others glimpse our inner demons. And face them on our own terms. Like making love in pitch dark that makes strangers out of partners and lovers out of strangers.
Night writing is after all just complicated Braille.
I don't know. Do I even care?
But why write at night?
(Why write at all, but that's been done to death... in my head anyway...and plenty have pondered and written about it. But then, everything that has to be said, has been written already... that makes writing about anything at all a futile exercise).
Maybe writing is a kind of death - or at least it feels that way - how we pour out our life through our fingers and stain a couple of pages - a form of blood-letting in the hope of better health; redemption, salvation. And it's always in the longest nights of our lives we seek answers, dare to hope, love, or give in to fears or despair.
Maybe it is the darkness... under its cover, we can take refuge in our dreams and nightmares, without having others glimpse our inner demons. And face them on our own terms. Like making love in pitch dark that makes strangers out of partners and lovers out of strangers.
Night writing is after all just complicated Braille.
Friday, April 01, 2011
Just people
Friends don't exist. What you thought was real, was actually just an adjective you bestowed some person in some insane moment of your life. And when it is over, you get angry with the person. But it's hardly their fault, they never called themselves 'friend' until you did. And some didn't even after.
You could be anyone else on the street. You don't matter.
Who you are angry with is just yourself. For allowing yourself to trust someone with some part of you that was important. Because you believed that for you, just for you, this thing would last... until death that is.
And then you realize it was never the same for the other person. They always lived life knowing the practical - that things change, nothing's permanent; and they treat you that way. Casual. Superficial. Kind. Understanding.
You could be anyone else on the street. You don't matter.
There's no such thing called friends. Only normal, practical people.
Friday, March 11, 2011
This is the end...
a long cold winter we had this year. everyone knows. and as much as you longed for a white christmas, and was overjoyed whenever it snowed, it was no fun the day after. morning afters are really never fun. everybody knows that. and it does take a while...
but it is over. like all good things. and bad things. like things. everything lasts for only a season, a fortnight, a day, a second. like everyone knows, nothing lasts.
absolutely nothing.
nobody.
so we have substances to make the moment last longer. just so we feel it lasts longer. but even that don't last. but it sure beats the hell out of relying on seasons and waiting for the sun to shine out your window.
and it wouldn't hurt that much if the ground falls from under your feet.
you could be flying.
and saving daylight.
though, if daylight needed saving, doesn't it mean the night is stronger, and better to rely on?
what the hell is this??
but it is over. like all good things. and bad things. like things. everything lasts for only a season, a fortnight, a day, a second. like everyone knows, nothing lasts.
absolutely nothing.
nobody.
so we have substances to make the moment last longer. just so we feel it lasts longer. but even that don't last. but it sure beats the hell out of relying on seasons and waiting for the sun to shine out your window.
and it wouldn't hurt that much if the ground falls from under your feet.
you could be flying.
and saving daylight.
though, if daylight needed saving, doesn't it mean the night is stronger, and better to rely on?
what the hell is this??
If only...
Come pick me up,
Take me out,
Fuck me up,
Steal my records,
Screw all my friends
Behind my back
With a smile on your face,
And then do it again
I wish you would...
...I wish I could...
- Ryan Adams
What the right words and song can do... without even trying...
Take me out,
Fuck me up,
Steal my records,
Screw all my friends
Behind my back
With a smile on your face,
And then do it again
I wish you would...
...I wish I could...
- Ryan Adams
What the right words and song can do... without even trying...
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Chances are...
A fight. A knock on the door. A phone call. Losing friends. An accident. The wrong words. Silence.
It may hurt like hell. You may not be able to imagine how you can exist in a world when it happens. And you may not survive.
But the unexpected is what changes our lives.
It may hurt like hell. You may not be able to imagine how you can exist in a world when it happens. And you may not survive.
But the unexpected is what changes our lives.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Requiem
Light many lamps and gather round his bed.
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
...
But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
- From The Death-Bed, Seigfried Sassoon
Lend him your eyes, warm blood, and will to live.
Speak to him; rouse him; you may save him yet.
...
But death replied: 'I choose him.' So he went,
And there was silence in the summer night;
Silence and safety; and the veils of sleep.
Then, far away, the thudding of the guns.
- From The Death-Bed, Seigfried Sassoon
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)