But Me and my friends all agree with each other; the lamp, my worn out shoelaces, the parcel in the low place, Kaki King's drummer, the pointless tone knob, the broken table leg, the special offer on soft drinks, the heating hole, my bewildered and antisocial phone, even the many-face mirror. We are all at a concordance.
This is all futile.
Sunday, 30 December 2007
Monday, 17 December 2007
"Reach out through the flame..."
This is what Mr. Plant tells us while he describes dancing in heaven. What a wonderful task for us all! How greatly we would benefit if we just forced ourselves through the searing pain of the fire as it licked around our wrists, with the sole intention of discovering something new and free on the outside...
Problem is, Rob, is that it's really hot. This isn't walk-in-the-park-on-a-summers-day-with-no-shirt-on temperature we're talking about. We're putting our hand towards the wall of flames and pulling back a good few times before we decide to throw ourselves straight into it.
So what happens when we do then? I'll tell you - We get burned. A lot.
Our skin peels back and we scream and we cry and we beat ourselves for ever considering such a preposterous idea in the first place. Still, we do see the outside, right? Totally. We see it, then we draw back from it, knowing it's within reach and then get even more bowled over when we realise that we might never get to spend any time out there because of all this pain.
I'm not trying to be negative. Really, I'm not, I just want to assure you all that I don't try to convince myself that I need to throw off the shackles of oppression to get to the next point. I think, the more I breathe, the more still I am, the more the fire dies down, the more I see of my surroundings and, gradually, I hope I'll be able to step over the line.
I think I know what I mean - I'm trying to convince myself that there's still potential for some of my dreams to work out. Maybe I'm being pretentious.
Regardless of how much this may read like a pile of fatuous arse-bilge, I stick by it, because otherwise I've got to start running at that bloody fire again.
'tonm
xx
Book of the Moment: n/a
Song of the Moment: "Road to Zion" by Damien Marley & Nas
Problem is, Rob, is that it's really hot. This isn't walk-in-the-park-on-a-summers-day-with-no-shirt-on temperature we're talking about. We're putting our hand towards the wall of flames and pulling back a good few times before we decide to throw ourselves straight into it.
So what happens when we do then? I'll tell you - We get burned. A lot.
Our skin peels back and we scream and we cry and we beat ourselves for ever considering such a preposterous idea in the first place. Still, we do see the outside, right? Totally. We see it, then we draw back from it, knowing it's within reach and then get even more bowled over when we realise that we might never get to spend any time out there because of all this pain.
I'm not trying to be negative. Really, I'm not, I just want to assure you all that I don't try to convince myself that I need to throw off the shackles of oppression to get to the next point. I think, the more I breathe, the more still I am, the more the fire dies down, the more I see of my surroundings and, gradually, I hope I'll be able to step over the line.
I think I know what I mean - I'm trying to convince myself that there's still potential for some of my dreams to work out. Maybe I'm being pretentious.
Regardless of how much this may read like a pile of fatuous arse-bilge, I stick by it, because otherwise I've got to start running at that bloody fire again.
'tonm
xx
Book of the Moment: n/a
Song of the Moment: "Road to Zion" by Damien Marley & Nas
Sunday, 9 December 2007
I am not too humble to tell you that I can't do this alone.
I'm not having a faith crisis. I think it's more of a confused daze.
Do you know the sensation you experience when you're struck across the head? Like, a real blow to the temple, thrown to the ground job? Well, when you try to open your eyes, there are flickering lights covering everything you see and a sharp hum rings in your ears, as if your senses are trying to reconfigure themselves after a risky pull-the-plug-from-the-back reboot procedure.
I'm there. I pray and believe it's heard, but I can't see any results because of everything imparing my view of what should be. That sounds too confusing;
I can't see anything working. I know it is, but I can't see it, because of the shock. There, that's it.
I know that things will change eventually - Note, I use the term change, because "get better" is not a guarantee. At some point, near or far, there will be a new spark, a new thing to either clear away some of the concussion or strike me once again. I know we are saveable. (That's probably a word...) We-Me-My Family-can be saved, pulled up out of the dark place and set on the ground once again, with the blue skies above us and the fresh air pouring into our lungs.
The thing is, it's really scary here, now, waiting for that. I trust it'll happen; I just bloody wish I knew what form it's going to take.
'tonm.
xxx
Book of the Moment: n/a
Song of the Moment: "Dance" by Robbie Seay Band
Do you know the sensation you experience when you're struck across the head? Like, a real blow to the temple, thrown to the ground job? Well, when you try to open your eyes, there are flickering lights covering everything you see and a sharp hum rings in your ears, as if your senses are trying to reconfigure themselves after a risky pull-the-plug-from-the-back reboot procedure.
I'm there. I pray and believe it's heard, but I can't see any results because of everything imparing my view of what should be. That sounds too confusing;
I can't see anything working. I know it is, but I can't see it, because of the shock. There, that's it.
I know that things will change eventually - Note, I use the term change, because "get better" is not a guarantee. At some point, near or far, there will be a new spark, a new thing to either clear away some of the concussion or strike me once again. I know we are saveable. (That's probably a word...) We-Me-My Family-can be saved, pulled up out of the dark place and set on the ground once again, with the blue skies above us and the fresh air pouring into our lungs.
The thing is, it's really scary here, now, waiting for that. I trust it'll happen; I just bloody wish I knew what form it's going to take.
'tonm.
xxx
Book of the Moment: n/a
Song of the Moment: "Dance" by Robbie Seay Band
Saturday, 8 December 2007
I think the "Christmas Joy" has been slightly detracted from.
I'm not being a fatalist or 'old and mature' or anything - I think what's happened is I've arrived home this weekend and expected everyone to be madly excited about Christmas. I guess I imagined the house would be full of the rich smells of mulled wine and mince pies, or that there'd be boxes overflowing with tinsel on the floor of the lounge just begging to have their contents strewn all over the house.
But they're all still in school here. I mean, I am too, technically, but i'm home for the weekend (though that may become the rest of the week, depending on how much help I can offer my Mum) because of this concert.
I suppose maybe I'm still subconsciously recognising that; Maybe a little voice in the back of my head is rying to remind me that there's still one academic week left for me to confront, so I can't put all my heart and soul into being a merry old soul.
Alternatively, tiredness is taking hold of me - I did, after all, get up at 6:30 this morning in order to catch a train which would get me home for 10:45. It was still brilliant, mind - Everytime I catch a train I enjoy the journey. In fact, I quite enjoyed the entire experience of getting up before everything else. I think it should be a once-a-week thing. Though certainly not every Saturday. No, that would be preposterous.
Now, wine and an evening.
Let's try and infuse the household with some Christmas spirit, eh?
'tonm.
xxxx
Book of the Moment: "Q magazine: Issue 258" - Q
Song of the Moment: "Airport Taxi Reception" - Sondre Lerche
But they're all still in school here. I mean, I am too, technically, but i'm home for the weekend (though that may become the rest of the week, depending on how much help I can offer my Mum) because of this concert.
I suppose maybe I'm still subconsciously recognising that; Maybe a little voice in the back of my head is rying to remind me that there's still one academic week left for me to confront, so I can't put all my heart and soul into being a merry old soul.
Alternatively, tiredness is taking hold of me - I did, after all, get up at 6:30 this morning in order to catch a train which would get me home for 10:45. It was still brilliant, mind - Everytime I catch a train I enjoy the journey. In fact, I quite enjoyed the entire experience of getting up before everything else. I think it should be a once-a-week thing. Though certainly not every Saturday. No, that would be preposterous.
Now, wine and an evening.
Let's try and infuse the household with some Christmas spirit, eh?
'tonm.
xxxx
Book of the Moment: "Q magazine: Issue 258" - Q
Song of the Moment: "Airport Taxi Reception" - Sondre Lerche
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Recording something well requires patience.
Unfortunately, this is something I tend to lack in and, as such, respond to problems quite spectacularly.
I mean, it's not like I can rapidly sort out the issues I'm having. In fact, it's nothing like that at all. I think maybe I have an underlying hatred for technology, that when something that's been invented to add ease to a process goes wrong, I can't help but feel massively short changed. I just want to be able to sit down, turn everything on, click that beautiful red button and record my little songs so that I can show 'em around.
Trust me, by tomorrow this will be a non-issue. I will have found an easy way around the problem at hand and will be thoroughly enjoying the entire recording process. Probably.
I just get concerned that it's stifling me, you know? I'm not saying I'm some fragile ball of creativity that needs careful nurturing or anything. I think it's just really easy for your attitude to take a hit when you're not actually concentrating on the song itself because the technology is messing you around. I can't sort it out, so I run out of recording time because it's too late or I'm going somewhere. Then I listen to music and all of the people who didn't have problems with their recording equipment and, consequentially, are now in the public eye with their music, expressing themselves and being paid for it.
I'd like to think it doesn't come down to that - I'm not just obsessed with playing to people or making a name for myself. If truth be told, the one I'm trying to record at the moment is a present for someone. No, I just want to be able to stop all this talk about producing music and actually get it done.
When I do, I'll tell you all about it, mark my words. I'll be so bloody relieved to have achieved something that I won't pause for a second.
For now though, let's call it "production time".
'tonm. xx
Book of the Moment: The instruction manual for a Behringer Xenyx 502.
Song of the Moment: "The Curious Tale of Jack Lemon" by The Abner
I mean, it's not like I can rapidly sort out the issues I'm having. In fact, it's nothing like that at all. I think maybe I have an underlying hatred for technology, that when something that's been invented to add ease to a process goes wrong, I can't help but feel massively short changed. I just want to be able to sit down, turn everything on, click that beautiful red button and record my little songs so that I can show 'em around.
Trust me, by tomorrow this will be a non-issue. I will have found an easy way around the problem at hand and will be thoroughly enjoying the entire recording process. Probably.
I just get concerned that it's stifling me, you know? I'm not saying I'm some fragile ball of creativity that needs careful nurturing or anything. I think it's just really easy for your attitude to take a hit when you're not actually concentrating on the song itself because the technology is messing you around. I can't sort it out, so I run out of recording time because it's too late or I'm going somewhere. Then I listen to music and all of the people who didn't have problems with their recording equipment and, consequentially, are now in the public eye with their music, expressing themselves and being paid for it.
I'd like to think it doesn't come down to that - I'm not just obsessed with playing to people or making a name for myself. If truth be told, the one I'm trying to record at the moment is a present for someone. No, I just want to be able to stop all this talk about producing music and actually get it done.
When I do, I'll tell you all about it, mark my words. I'll be so bloody relieved to have achieved something that I won't pause for a second.
For now though, let's call it "production time".
'tonm. xx
Book of the Moment: The instruction manual for a Behringer Xenyx 502.
Song of the Moment: "The Curious Tale of Jack Lemon" by The Abner
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
There's something so attractive about newspapers...
Okay, so help me with this one -
I'm enjoying another day outside of my house (an event which has gradually taken on a certain exclusivity since the beginning of term), wandering aimlessly in and out of market stalls, weaving my way past clipboard androids and the man trying to sell me an issue of the same magazine I bought off him 2 days ago. I occasionally enter the polished walls of an actual shop, in an attempt to stop myself from charging directly from one end of Commercial road to the other and then back again.
All the time, my eyes are wandering, shopping in their own right, examining each feature of every product. I know full well that my money is sparse yet my want for something to put in my bag to take home for my own is great. I won't steal - That's just stupid. It dirties the item, makes it worthless. So, my only real option is to remain vigilant, forever seeking that magical word:
"FREE"
Oh, bliss! A possession free of charge! The sweetest of all items in the city are those which don't even require me to brush my fingertips over the leather of my wallet. They are rare, however. I mean, fliers are numerous, but they have no substance. No, the real gems, the faithful constants, are underground newspapers.
Today's particular find is a monthly publication with the charming name, "The Stool Pigeon" - It's essentially an indie music review paper, up to date with developments in the silent world of the unsigned and out-of-chart performers of this world. I can't find any great flaws in it - Really communicative, relevant articles by more than capable writers with a real passion for what they love. It does get me thinking though...
Could I start one? You know, an underground publication?
I wouldn't want it to be anything major - I'm not looking to change the face of youth politics or "shout out" against the false social trends which fluctuate within our society of influential, weak-minded persons. I'm not well informed enough to be a source of new music knowledge either, regardless of how much I'd like to be. I sometimes think I could just write for people to enjoy. Nothing daring or really thought provoking - Just something to squeeze a tiny grin out of the stony faced student, whose many nights of excess have led to 5 hour days and a less-than-peachy perspective on things around them.
That's what I see these papers as - Little beams of light. Tiny novels for me to regard, take in and pass on; passages of words which stimulate my senses just long enough to tick the "Resolve Boredom" box in the deep recesses of my mind.
Maybe I'll have a crack at it - Last time I checked there were no laws against them, so why not use some of the free speech I seems to be quite happily ignoring?
'tonm.
xxx
Book of the Moment: I finished "Making History" by Stephen Fry. Give it a read. Stunner.
Song of the Moment: "Fox Fire Kilnamona" by Dean Magraw
I'm enjoying another day outside of my house (an event which has gradually taken on a certain exclusivity since the beginning of term), wandering aimlessly in and out of market stalls, weaving my way past clipboard androids and the man trying to sell me an issue of the same magazine I bought off him 2 days ago. I occasionally enter the polished walls of an actual shop, in an attempt to stop myself from charging directly from one end of Commercial road to the other and then back again.
All the time, my eyes are wandering, shopping in their own right, examining each feature of every product. I know full well that my money is sparse yet my want for something to put in my bag to take home for my own is great. I won't steal - That's just stupid. It dirties the item, makes it worthless. So, my only real option is to remain vigilant, forever seeking that magical word:
"FREE"
Oh, bliss! A possession free of charge! The sweetest of all items in the city are those which don't even require me to brush my fingertips over the leather of my wallet. They are rare, however. I mean, fliers are numerous, but they have no substance. No, the real gems, the faithful constants, are underground newspapers.
Today's particular find is a monthly publication with the charming name, "The Stool Pigeon" - It's essentially an indie music review paper, up to date with developments in the silent world of the unsigned and out-of-chart performers of this world. I can't find any great flaws in it - Really communicative, relevant articles by more than capable writers with a real passion for what they love. It does get me thinking though...
Could I start one? You know, an underground publication?
I wouldn't want it to be anything major - I'm not looking to change the face of youth politics or "shout out" against the false social trends which fluctuate within our society of influential, weak-minded persons. I'm not well informed enough to be a source of new music knowledge either, regardless of how much I'd like to be. I sometimes think I could just write for people to enjoy. Nothing daring or really thought provoking - Just something to squeeze a tiny grin out of the stony faced student, whose many nights of excess have led to 5 hour days and a less-than-peachy perspective on things around them.
That's what I see these papers as - Little beams of light. Tiny novels for me to regard, take in and pass on; passages of words which stimulate my senses just long enough to tick the "Resolve Boredom" box in the deep recesses of my mind.
Maybe I'll have a crack at it - Last time I checked there were no laws against them, so why not use some of the free speech I seems to be quite happily ignoring?
'tonm.
xxx
Book of the Moment: I finished "Making History" by Stephen Fry. Give it a read. Stunner.
Song of the Moment: "Fox Fire Kilnamona" by Dean Magraw
Tuesday, 4 December 2007
I feel like my fingers are tightly bound.
Don't worry - This isn't some obscure metaphor for the pressure of work or anything, though, if it were a stranger day, I'm sure I would stretch so far as to accept something akin to that as perfectly passable.
No, I genuinely get a sensation, fairly regularly in fact, which feels as though my fingers and toes are being either squished together and constricted or pulled apart from every direction, tonight's being the former. I twitch and fidget to try and rid myself of these tensions, but at the end of the day, the only real cure is to submit that the day has gone on far too long and my body is disagreeing with my wonderful idea of staying up until 3am and consuming lots of caffeine and sugar in the process.
(Not combined, mind you - It is a complete aberration to combine either tea of coffee with any form of sweetener, as far as the Citizens of the Palate are concerned.)
Yes, stress is tearing my body apart. Or at least it's certainly convinced my nerve endings that it's trying. I can't particularly put a finger on when it started. It's happened for years, and hasn't notably been worsened by recent, gutting events - I think maybe one day all of my neurones got together, decided they'd had quite enough of all this late-to-bed madness I seemed to enjoy and conspired to end it by tensing me up through every synapse they could find each time my eyelids flickered.
As it happens, it's not quite worked for them - If anything, I now stay up later than I ever used to and embrace my strange sensations as unique characteristics of my person. I think i may even be re-developing a twitch in the eye. The thing is, I don't directly relate this to stress. Lack of sleep, maybe, but that shouldn't always entail a stress issue, should it? Or is that the biological name? Here, I though stress was a psychological term when it was used with humans.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I don't sleep enough, this is true. I also drink too much coffee/tea and eat too much sugar. Conversely, I do listen to a lot of chillout/jazz and don't have any major health problems to speak of. Surely stress would be more obvious to me? I mean, I know that I can get really depressed sometimes, but I can get equally as joyful and hyperactive too!
I don't know. Maybe I'm just scared of the notion of stress affecting me. I get stressed, but i don't suffer from it.
There.
Whoever said you couldn't analyse your own state of health obviously didn't consider the key factors of ignorance and misinformation.
'tonm. x
Book of the Moment: "Making History" - Stephen Fry. p308
Song of the Moment: "Letter from God to Man" - Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip
No, I genuinely get a sensation, fairly regularly in fact, which feels as though my fingers and toes are being either squished together and constricted or pulled apart from every direction, tonight's being the former. I twitch and fidget to try and rid myself of these tensions, but at the end of the day, the only real cure is to submit that the day has gone on far too long and my body is disagreeing with my wonderful idea of staying up until 3am and consuming lots of caffeine and sugar in the process.
(Not combined, mind you - It is a complete aberration to combine either tea of coffee with any form of sweetener, as far as the Citizens of the Palate are concerned.)
Yes, stress is tearing my body apart. Or at least it's certainly convinced my nerve endings that it's trying. I can't particularly put a finger on when it started. It's happened for years, and hasn't notably been worsened by recent, gutting events - I think maybe one day all of my neurones got together, decided they'd had quite enough of all this late-to-bed madness I seemed to enjoy and conspired to end it by tensing me up through every synapse they could find each time my eyelids flickered.
As it happens, it's not quite worked for them - If anything, I now stay up later than I ever used to and embrace my strange sensations as unique characteristics of my person. I think i may even be re-developing a twitch in the eye. The thing is, I don't directly relate this to stress. Lack of sleep, maybe, but that shouldn't always entail a stress issue, should it? Or is that the biological name? Here, I though stress was a psychological term when it was used with humans.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it. I don't sleep enough, this is true. I also drink too much coffee/tea and eat too much sugar. Conversely, I do listen to a lot of chillout/jazz and don't have any major health problems to speak of. Surely stress would be more obvious to me? I mean, I know that I can get really depressed sometimes, but I can get equally as joyful and hyperactive too!
I don't know. Maybe I'm just scared of the notion of stress affecting me. I get stressed, but i don't suffer from it.
There.
Whoever said you couldn't analyse your own state of health obviously didn't consider the key factors of ignorance and misinformation.
'tonm. x
Book of the Moment: "Making History" - Stephen Fry. p308
Song of the Moment: "Letter from God to Man" - Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip
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