http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mduT5PlLRgU
Blanket Of Ghosts by Dustin Kensrue
So as pleasurable as yesterday's weather was today's weather is turning as nasty as can be expected for late November in Canada. Right now there is a combination of freezing rain and snow assaulting my window. The wind picked up immensely from the time I stopped for tea and browsed through the downtown market. I love the uniqueness of the market compared with the typical environment of a regular grocery store. Or the sure abundance of a super store, you (or at least me) can get lost.
My laptop is back working today, I turned it on and the screen actually came on. Go figure, I was actually looking forward to shopping for a new one. Though now I hope I can get some more time out of this one. Must be frugal in these uncertain times.
So I spent the last half of the morning and the early afternoon reading Elle by Douglas Glover. Did I mention that I was up before the sun again this morning. My weekend sleeping has actually been normal, Friday in bed before 10 and up before 6, Saturday in bed shortly after 10 and up shortly after 6. I guess this is what happens when you avoid parties and bars on the weekend. It is actually nice and I could get used to it during the coming winter months.
The following passages are from Elle.
"I have made many mistakes. I blame printed books for this, a recent invention which has led us to solitary pleasures: reason, private opinions, moral relativism, Lutheranism and masturbation."
"I must truly be in the fabled Land of the Dead. I am certainly not anywhere I ever expected to be at this stage in life - in Canada, pregnant, lying on the ice next to a white bear inside whose body I have taken refuge, naked except for the blood, slime and offal coating my body and the oddly attractive scattering of feathers glued to my skin, with a large dead dog tonguing my face and a strange man wearing tennis racquets on his feet standing over me."
Well I guess it is nearly time for my Sunday nap before work. The featured song by Dustin Kensrue seems appropriate enough for a day like today. I wouldn't mind waking up in a place where it is spring time, I doubt it would be heaven though.
jr.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
"But all the things I keep inside myself they vanish in the air, if you tell me that you'll wait for me, I'll say I won't be here....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWKlOOhG2sA
Daylight Fading by Counting Crows
The weather today was about as pleasurable as it gets here in late November. The sky was scattered with white clouds, not the usual depressing grey clouds associated with November's leaving, in between them a summer blueness and not the usual depressing blueness associated with December's arriving. The wind was still chilly, the air was still crisp and the ground still icy. Despite all of this, the sun made various appearances throughout the day, filtering its not so familiar way down upon a Saturday in late November. The temperature was even above freezing, a good day for tea and books.
I will never boast of much in this life but quietness quite possibly I could. I came across this poem written in 1925 by Jorge Luis Borges in the front of The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, and I thought it was perfect for me.
Boast of Quietness
Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious then meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland in the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.
Jorge Luis Borges (1925)
Today I realized a few things, a couple I will share below. Too many people don't respect your personal space out in public, they must naturally assume you want their presence close to you. How wrong they are.
Smoking is the most disgusting habit in the world, everything about it reeks of tastelessness. My father has smoked all my life and I am glad I didn't inherit this habit.
If I were an island, I would be an isolated one. No bigger than 36X36 with a leafy tree in the middle. The island would be perfectly angled for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, I would take pleasure in their colours, knowing there is no one who can spoil them.
I am a very indecisive person when it comes to certain and probably irrelevant things, but very decisive when it comes to more relevant things. It is not the big things in life I struggle with, it is the smaller things, the things I observe and wish I could capture more completely. Choosing books to read and deciding what to eat are given more thought than possible relationships, those I don't have to think about they are easily disregarded. There is no possibility, my mind is stubborn and the timing is never right. Will the timing ever be right, most likely not. Of course I am being a complete hypocrite, saying I am looking for love but knowing right now I could never return the love. I think I want a woman to admit that I am someone who could be loved and for now this would be enough. I am not serious enough or strong enough to follow through on really opening myself up. Here, it is easy, these are words like an almost infinite number of them out in the world. But what do they really mean, I suppose nothing if the writer of them gives them little merit.
Back to my indecisiveness regarding books. I finally finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, a strangely prosed book about a school of clones and their body part donations. The struggle for them knowing what they are and what their life is about. Raising questions about how the artificially created can contain the same internal doubts as those naturally conceived. The following is a passage from near the end of the book. "I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how I think it is with us."
The other books I am in the process of reading are The Secret River by Kate Grenville, Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, Elle by Douglas Glover and The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. I am further into The Secret River but Elle is really good, I just bought it today and have enjoyed the first 50 pages. I liked the following passage from it. "I know that I shall die upon this alien shore, this coastline of mystery, this place called Canada. I don't want to die. I like fucking and food and reading books and arguing with my tutor and waking up with the sun pouring in the window in the morning." A small thing like fucking threatened by a bigger thing called love. A singular story about certain characters threatened by the largeness of death.
The following clips are from Counting Crows performance at Sound Stage in April of this year.
"I guess I bought a gun because it impresses all the little girls I see and then they all wanna sleep with me..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fu7WMpQplkY
1492
"Boston gets cold this time of year, seems like each day leaves me numb, I gotta get out of here, go walking in the sun...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPliNBkzsS8
Los Angeles
"You can wash your face and hands in the stream of my anger, it's as bright as white paper and as dark as a girl....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWEqunWtfyg
Insignificant
"She says she doesn't love me, like, like she's acting but it's as if she isn't talking cause Mr. Lincoln's head is bleeding on the front row while she's speaking..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm8arqByspQ
Cowboys
"I loved like a fountain and it left me with nothing, just memories of walking through Washington Square..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ea6mX7RL4HU
Washington Square
"Wash your eyes clear of anything, make them empty circles, dress yourself in black or gray...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPr2hhhQHQ8
On Almost Any Sunday Morning
"I see God upon the ceiling I see angels overhead and he seems so close as he reaches out his hand but we are never quite as close as we are led to understand...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lyw0ikr50RE
When I Dream Of Michelangelo
"I watched all of the same parades as they passed on the days that you wish you'd stayed.."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZFPMKQBFhM
You Can't Count On Me
"We've wasted time running scared now autumn's fire is ashes on the breeze and it spins away like dust on pearls as winter comes to usher in the evening..." (How absolutely true)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBEUNayD-GU
Le Ballet D'Or
"A picture of Amsterdam, bare trees under glass framed in the grey and white afternoon light of a winter long past..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZ5WAyLhc5M
On A Tuesday In Amsterdam Long Ago
"If you wait for what's coming and you listen to her lies, then she'll say the things you need to hear and the only one who'll disappear is you..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3g5iuHFW7c
Come Around
The measure of any artist should be how passionate and emotional they are about their art. Adam Duritz's passion for his music is amazing, whether you are a fan or not and accompanied by his band they can tear you apart raw for the better of your soul. On A Tuesday In Amsterdam is proof enough.
I suppose I should ramble about other things. The terror attacks in India were dramatic and compelling news coverage. The world is not a safe place and on any given day, we could all be put in the wrong place at the wrong time, simply because of where we were born. The world though has always been this way, the English, the Spanish, the French and the Romans, haven't they all been killed because of where they came from, not to forget the Africans.
Here in Canada we have once again been thrown into political uncertainty because of Stephen Harper's arrogance and failure to admit there are economic problems in Canada. I hope the talks of the opposition parties forming a coalition to defeat the government and become the government turn into reality. Stephane Dion might become Prime Minister under this Liberal and NDP union but they need the support of the Bloc. I find this all very intriguing, with old cronies like Chretien and Broadbent brokering the deal. We don't need another election, because it costs too much and will produce much the same result as October's. What we need is a working government without Harper's King of the World mentality, he is but a man in a democracy. A democracy which could find itself flipped on its head with an unprecedented coalition government not directly elected by the people. Though anything but Conservative is fine by me. Of course Harper will cry foul and undemocratic, but it is within the rules of our democracy, as I hope the Governor General gets the chance to tell the people of Canada.
My laptop is not working, it is so annoying. I hate using this PC because it is slow and sucks. Everything here seems trivial and a waste of time. Okay, it isn't that slow, but it isn't my laptop. My personal go anywhere tool of communication with the world, what communication I chose to keep. Anyway, until it is fixed, writing is out of the question, this blog will be limited as it seems to be already and even email writing and answering are cumbersome at best. I am sure it is just another excuse to become introverted and introspective.
"And the truth of it is, I wonder am I beautiful enough for you to kiss me true.."
http://www.iheartmusic.net/mp3/HawksleyWorkman-SeptemberLily.mp3
September Lily by Hawksley Workman
It isn't September and I haven't seen a lily in a long time but September Lilly has been stuck in my head all afternoon. I listened to the brilliant song earlier in the day and it has lingered with me beyond the daylight and its fading. The disappearance after the appearance of the rarely seen brilliant colours of a November Canadian sunset. At least for me. Of course, the daylight has been fading with each passing day and we are left trying to recover our satellites. The thoughts which orbit us, inhibit us and define us, whether accurately or inaccurately, partially or completely, only when we are completed will our orbit be truly defined.
john.
Daylight Fading by Counting Crows
The weather today was about as pleasurable as it gets here in late November. The sky was scattered with white clouds, not the usual depressing grey clouds associated with November's leaving, in between them a summer blueness and not the usual depressing blueness associated with December's arriving. The wind was still chilly, the air was still crisp and the ground still icy. Despite all of this, the sun made various appearances throughout the day, filtering its not so familiar way down upon a Saturday in late November. The temperature was even above freezing, a good day for tea and books.
I will never boast of much in this life but quietness quite possibly I could. I came across this poem written in 1925 by Jorge Luis Borges in the front of The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, and I thought it was perfect for me.
Boast of Quietness
Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious then meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of the same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland in the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword, the willow grove's visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn't expect to arrive.
Jorge Luis Borges (1925)
Today I realized a few things, a couple I will share below. Too many people don't respect your personal space out in public, they must naturally assume you want their presence close to you. How wrong they are.
Smoking is the most disgusting habit in the world, everything about it reeks of tastelessness. My father has smoked all my life and I am glad I didn't inherit this habit.
If I were an island, I would be an isolated one. No bigger than 36X36 with a leafy tree in the middle. The island would be perfectly angled for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, I would take pleasure in their colours, knowing there is no one who can spoil them.
I am a very indecisive person when it comes to certain and probably irrelevant things, but very decisive when it comes to more relevant things. It is not the big things in life I struggle with, it is the smaller things, the things I observe and wish I could capture more completely. Choosing books to read and deciding what to eat are given more thought than possible relationships, those I don't have to think about they are easily disregarded. There is no possibility, my mind is stubborn and the timing is never right. Will the timing ever be right, most likely not. Of course I am being a complete hypocrite, saying I am looking for love but knowing right now I could never return the love. I think I want a woman to admit that I am someone who could be loved and for now this would be enough. I am not serious enough or strong enough to follow through on really opening myself up. Here, it is easy, these are words like an almost infinite number of them out in the world. But what do they really mean, I suppose nothing if the writer of them gives them little merit.
Back to my indecisiveness regarding books. I finally finished Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, a strangely prosed book about a school of clones and their body part donations. The struggle for them knowing what they are and what their life is about. Raising questions about how the artificially created can contain the same internal doubts as those naturally conceived. The following is a passage from near the end of the book. "I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how I think it is with us."
The other books I am in the process of reading are The Secret River by Kate Grenville, Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky, Elle by Douglas Glover and The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. I am further into The Secret River but Elle is really good, I just bought it today and have enjoyed the first 50 pages. I liked the following passage from it. "I know that I shall die upon this alien shore, this coastline of mystery, this place called Canada. I don't want to die. I like fucking and food and reading books and arguing with my tutor and waking up with the sun pouring in the window in the morning." A small thing like fucking threatened by a bigger thing called love. A singular story about certain characters threatened by the largeness of death.
The following clips are from Counting Crows performance at Sound Stage in April of this year.
"I guess I bought a gun because it impresses all the little girls I see and then they all wanna sleep with me..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fu7WMpQplkY
1492
"Boston gets cold this time of year, seems like each day leaves me numb, I gotta get out of here, go walking in the sun...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPliNBkzsS8
Los Angeles
"You can wash your face and hands in the stream of my anger, it's as bright as white paper and as dark as a girl....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cWEqunWtfyg
Insignificant
"She says she doesn't love me, like, like she's acting but it's as if she isn't talking cause Mr. Lincoln's head is bleeding on the front row while she's speaking..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vm8arqByspQ
Cowboys
"I loved like a fountain and it left me with nothing, just memories of walking through Washington Square..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ea6mX7RL4HU
Washington Square
"Wash your eyes clear of anything, make them empty circles, dress yourself in black or gray...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPr2hhhQHQ8
On Almost Any Sunday Morning
"I see God upon the ceiling I see angels overhead and he seems so close as he reaches out his hand but we are never quite as close as we are led to understand...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lyw0ikr50RE
When I Dream Of Michelangelo
"I watched all of the same parades as they passed on the days that you wish you'd stayed.."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EZFPMKQBFhM
You Can't Count On Me
"We've wasted time running scared now autumn's fire is ashes on the breeze and it spins away like dust on pearls as winter comes to usher in the evening..." (How absolutely true)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBEUNayD-GU
Le Ballet D'Or
"A picture of Amsterdam, bare trees under glass framed in the grey and white afternoon light of a winter long past..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZ5WAyLhc5M
On A Tuesday In Amsterdam Long Ago
"If you wait for what's coming and you listen to her lies, then she'll say the things you need to hear and the only one who'll disappear is you..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U3g5iuHFW7c
Come Around
The measure of any artist should be how passionate and emotional they are about their art. Adam Duritz's passion for his music is amazing, whether you are a fan or not and accompanied by his band they can tear you apart raw for the better of your soul. On A Tuesday In Amsterdam is proof enough.
I suppose I should ramble about other things. The terror attacks in India were dramatic and compelling news coverage. The world is not a safe place and on any given day, we could all be put in the wrong place at the wrong time, simply because of where we were born. The world though has always been this way, the English, the Spanish, the French and the Romans, haven't they all been killed because of where they came from, not to forget the Africans.
Here in Canada we have once again been thrown into political uncertainty because of Stephen Harper's arrogance and failure to admit there are economic problems in Canada. I hope the talks of the opposition parties forming a coalition to defeat the government and become the government turn into reality. Stephane Dion might become Prime Minister under this Liberal and NDP union but they need the support of the Bloc. I find this all very intriguing, with old cronies like Chretien and Broadbent brokering the deal. We don't need another election, because it costs too much and will produce much the same result as October's. What we need is a working government without Harper's King of the World mentality, he is but a man in a democracy. A democracy which could find itself flipped on its head with an unprecedented coalition government not directly elected by the people. Though anything but Conservative is fine by me. Of course Harper will cry foul and undemocratic, but it is within the rules of our democracy, as I hope the Governor General gets the chance to tell the people of Canada.
My laptop is not working, it is so annoying. I hate using this PC because it is slow and sucks. Everything here seems trivial and a waste of time. Okay, it isn't that slow, but it isn't my laptop. My personal go anywhere tool of communication with the world, what communication I chose to keep. Anyway, until it is fixed, writing is out of the question, this blog will be limited as it seems to be already and even email writing and answering are cumbersome at best. I am sure it is just another excuse to become introverted and introspective.
"And the truth of it is, I wonder am I beautiful enough for you to kiss me true.."
http://www.iheartmusic.net/mp3/HawksleyWorkman-SeptemberLily.mp3
September Lily by Hawksley Workman
It isn't September and I haven't seen a lily in a long time but September Lilly has been stuck in my head all afternoon. I listened to the brilliant song earlier in the day and it has lingered with me beyond the daylight and its fading. The disappearance after the appearance of the rarely seen brilliant colours of a November Canadian sunset. At least for me. Of course, the daylight has been fading with each passing day and we are left trying to recover our satellites. The thoughts which orbit us, inhibit us and define us, whether accurately or inaccurately, partially or completely, only when we are completed will our orbit be truly defined.
john.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
"So now it's come to this, contrived but competent and your eyes see the clouds and you wonder, if you'll love again........"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRGuRQk1t7k
Lonely People by Hawksley Workman
Writing this blog during the week is becoming harder and harder. I am really struggling with being functional outside of my work hours. Working midnights is making me lazy and giving me excuses not to write. I don't know if I am really tired of if I am scared of being tired at work. So I think I over sleep to compensate for my fear of this. I should be able to sleep from 9am to 4pm and get up refreshed but I don't feel it. Realistically it is 7 hours of sleep like 11pm to 6am as a normally scheduled person might get but it feels different. I would like to think it is just a reflection of the depressing nature of November especially now that we are under blankets of snow. Though I do not really know, I think it might just be an excuse for me to hide from the world. I have been more social lately though on the weekends, perhaps too much. It seems like there has been something on the menu every weekend for the last month or two. The next two weekends I have nothing planned, and plan on relaxing in my solitary nature. Used bookstore browsing, people watching, tea drinking and poem writing. Not that events like yesterdays wedding of a friend aren't fun because they are. As more and more of them get married, it will be easier for me to indulge in my solitary aspirations.
"Love is a ghost train howling on the radio......."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAW7rWjwwkg
Ghost Train by Counting Crows (Live Atlantic City, NJ September 2007)
I wrote the following this afternoon.
In The Honour Of Self
The snow has begun to accumulate
November shovels towards December
Winter and its hibernation are upon us
Days devoid of sunlight and its nutrients
We attend parties drowning in alcohol
Some of us know what we are celebrating
While the rest of us are just passing time
Until we can find someone to sleep beside
The person who is more than an excuse
When we are asked about them by friends
A mistake easily admitted after waking up
With our sex limp and greedily satisfied
Though we are quickly erect under covers
Slipping between consequences and actions
Satisfaction trumped by our relentless boredom
Again and again we take what is before us
In the honour of self there is only disgrace
Morals are abandoned in favour of more sin
Pleasure comes in small gushes and screams
Followed by a cold November basement silence
Foreign house sounds join a pounding headache
The band playing nothing sweet or full of love
All the noise is regret’s secret weapon against us
We know things are wrong and sex solves nothing
As Kathleen sings prior to Mr. Ritter’s folk medley
I listen to the music on another Sunday afternoon
When there should be more for me than this room
Not my ugliness transformed hideously by new shame
No wonder love does not reside in my mirror reflection
There is only a weathered face and its disappointments
A mind full of possibilities but a history full of mistakes
Those of youth are easily reconciled but repeated ones
They squeak like an out of tune violin in a grungy bar
Where we take our impression of beauty and break it
Piece by piece until there is no woman who can save us
Without being disgusted by our previous engagements
A filth unable to be wiped clean by our better intentions
Relentless boredom is life’s most dangerous state of mind
We are left slipping between covers without knowing why.
11/23/08
"Closed eyes, closed heart, now baby that ain't much of a start, some other time, some other place and maybe with a prettier face......."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LuICnFr-gs
Prettier Face by Hawksley Workman
Last week I finished reading The Inheritance Of Loss and now have moved onto The Secret River by Kate Grenville. The following is from it, a contrast to the poem above.
"The night became the best part of every day. Now they had a bed to themselves, she loved to curl around him, a candle guttering on the stool. Her breasts lolled out in a way that shocked and aroused him. She would peel a tangerine and feed him the segments slippery from her own warm mouth, and when they had done all the things with tangerines and mouths that could be done, and the candle had snuffed itself out in a pool of tallow, they lay together and told each other stories."
Lonely People and Prettier Face are from Hawksley Workman's new album Los Manlicious, which contains 13 songs but only 9 of them are new songs. Prettier Face, The City Is A Drag, Oh You Delicate Heart and Piano Blink are also on this year's earlier release Between The Beautifuls. This brings down Los Manlicious because as fans we already have these songs on a collection, so it is a little disappointing. Also the songs other than When You Gonna Flower and Lonely People aren't on the same level as the songs on Between The Beautifuls. Perhaps Hawksley was going after a different and edgier sound, to me it is not as appealing as the lush melodies of Between The Beautifuls.
Ghost Train can be found on Counting Crows debut album August and Everything After, a very good collection of songs. Each of which I have heard in many forms over the years, thus is the evolution of a live band.
Also the music of Kathleen Edwards was playing during my writing this afternoon, thus the mention of her in the poem and following that was a song from Josh Ritter. From time to time I like to include what I am listening to into what I am writing. Subconciously there has to be some influence.
Well I suppose I should ramble on as it has become Sunday night. Yes, all I want to do is sleep through the darkness and back into the light.
jr.
Lonely People by Hawksley Workman
Writing this blog during the week is becoming harder and harder. I am really struggling with being functional outside of my work hours. Working midnights is making me lazy and giving me excuses not to write. I don't know if I am really tired of if I am scared of being tired at work. So I think I over sleep to compensate for my fear of this. I should be able to sleep from 9am to 4pm and get up refreshed but I don't feel it. Realistically it is 7 hours of sleep like 11pm to 6am as a normally scheduled person might get but it feels different. I would like to think it is just a reflection of the depressing nature of November especially now that we are under blankets of snow. Though I do not really know, I think it might just be an excuse for me to hide from the world. I have been more social lately though on the weekends, perhaps too much. It seems like there has been something on the menu every weekend for the last month or two. The next two weekends I have nothing planned, and plan on relaxing in my solitary nature. Used bookstore browsing, people watching, tea drinking and poem writing. Not that events like yesterdays wedding of a friend aren't fun because they are. As more and more of them get married, it will be easier for me to indulge in my solitary aspirations.
"Love is a ghost train howling on the radio......."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAW7rWjwwkg
Ghost Train by Counting Crows (Live Atlantic City, NJ September 2007)
I wrote the following this afternoon.
In The Honour Of Self
The snow has begun to accumulate
November shovels towards December
Winter and its hibernation are upon us
Days devoid of sunlight and its nutrients
We attend parties drowning in alcohol
Some of us know what we are celebrating
While the rest of us are just passing time
Until we can find someone to sleep beside
The person who is more than an excuse
When we are asked about them by friends
A mistake easily admitted after waking up
With our sex limp and greedily satisfied
Though we are quickly erect under covers
Slipping between consequences and actions
Satisfaction trumped by our relentless boredom
Again and again we take what is before us
In the honour of self there is only disgrace
Morals are abandoned in favour of more sin
Pleasure comes in small gushes and screams
Followed by a cold November basement silence
Foreign house sounds join a pounding headache
The band playing nothing sweet or full of love
All the noise is regret’s secret weapon against us
We know things are wrong and sex solves nothing
As Kathleen sings prior to Mr. Ritter’s folk medley
I listen to the music on another Sunday afternoon
When there should be more for me than this room
Not my ugliness transformed hideously by new shame
No wonder love does not reside in my mirror reflection
There is only a weathered face and its disappointments
A mind full of possibilities but a history full of mistakes
Those of youth are easily reconciled but repeated ones
They squeak like an out of tune violin in a grungy bar
Where we take our impression of beauty and break it
Piece by piece until there is no woman who can save us
Without being disgusted by our previous engagements
A filth unable to be wiped clean by our better intentions
Relentless boredom is life’s most dangerous state of mind
We are left slipping between covers without knowing why.
11/23/08
"Closed eyes, closed heart, now baby that ain't much of a start, some other time, some other place and maybe with a prettier face......."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LuICnFr-gs
Prettier Face by Hawksley Workman
Last week I finished reading The Inheritance Of Loss and now have moved onto The Secret River by Kate Grenville. The following is from it, a contrast to the poem above.
"The night became the best part of every day. Now they had a bed to themselves, she loved to curl around him, a candle guttering on the stool. Her breasts lolled out in a way that shocked and aroused him. She would peel a tangerine and feed him the segments slippery from her own warm mouth, and when they had done all the things with tangerines and mouths that could be done, and the candle had snuffed itself out in a pool of tallow, they lay together and told each other stories."
Lonely People and Prettier Face are from Hawksley Workman's new album Los Manlicious, which contains 13 songs but only 9 of them are new songs. Prettier Face, The City Is A Drag, Oh You Delicate Heart and Piano Blink are also on this year's earlier release Between The Beautifuls. This brings down Los Manlicious because as fans we already have these songs on a collection, so it is a little disappointing. Also the songs other than When You Gonna Flower and Lonely People aren't on the same level as the songs on Between The Beautifuls. Perhaps Hawksley was going after a different and edgier sound, to me it is not as appealing as the lush melodies of Between The Beautifuls.
Ghost Train can be found on Counting Crows debut album August and Everything After, a very good collection of songs. Each of which I have heard in many forms over the years, thus is the evolution of a live band.
Also the music of Kathleen Edwards was playing during my writing this afternoon, thus the mention of her in the poem and following that was a song from Josh Ritter. From time to time I like to include what I am listening to into what I am writing. Subconciously there has to be some influence.
Well I suppose I should ramble on as it has become Sunday night. Yes, all I want to do is sleep through the darkness and back into the light.
jr.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
"On certain Sundays in November when the weather bothers me I empty drawers of other summer's......"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBMfrWlpbsM
Hard Candy by Counting Crows (Live on Good Morning America 2008)
I suppose when Adam Duritz wrote Hard Candy, the certain Sunday in November could have been a day like today. A day where the weather is overcast, the wind is cool, the sky is grey or black and the sun is a memory. A memory of summer unfolded by postcards, pictures and letters.
I tried to watch Bon Cop, Bad Cop last night but only made it through half an hour before my eyes got the better of me. I was up before six am this morning and there is very little to do this early on a Sunday. I tried to go back to sleep but it didn't work, so I spent much of the morning reading and sipping tea at one of the many Starbucks here. I actually wrote something, which will be below later. It is nothing great or significant, it felt weird writing and I think the result is rusty. I spent some of the afternoon shopping for something to wear for an upcoming wedding and my afternoon nap was semi successful. Because the work week begins shortly, got to love working midnights.
Just Another
Her skin smelled like cinnamon
The Sunday snow swirled outside
Her mouth tasted like tangerines
The November rain ceased yesterday
Autumn has finally become too cold
Winter is now among us like strangers
I need to start rearranging my heart
Making way for someone to occupy it
They have to be here and not a memory
Remembering is a way of losing again
I am done being haunted by women
Who would never have dreamt of me
Just another man looking for beauty
Without being able to offer it himself
The Sunday snow suddenly halts outside
Allowing the rare November sun to shine
Another face has caught my attention
I could never get behind her framed eyes
Just another world unable to be explored
The planets of women are plentiful on Earth
Billions of satellites orbiting their surfaces
Each individually locked like a treasure box
Once opened it might be empty of gems
Or it could be full of life’s most rare gift
A person to spend every variety of day with
No matter the weather unfolding outside
Our thoughts would be commingled inside
A world completely ours with its secrets
The things no one else would ever know
Every love is unique and not imagined
Unreciprocated it is only a lacking fantasy
A thing not worth remembering too much
The person might be special but so are you.
11/16/08
"Take a message to your head, just stay beside her in the bed, you were so stupid to believe in things you couldn't see...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZByH7y5FxGE
On Almost Any Sunday Morning by Counting Crows (Live Paris 2008)
The following is another passage from The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai. "After the initial excitement was over, it often became obvious that the love was gone; for affection was only a habit after all, and people, they forgot, or they became accustomed to its absence." Love is only a habit, and once the habit is broken, the love is gone. This is absolutely true. Of course, the habit could return.
"I don't believe in Sundays and I don't believe in anything at all...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lFm4juaVswQ
Sundays by Counting Crows (Live Iowa 2008)
It is a sad state when we don't believe in anything, especially the ability of anyone loving us.
john.
"I want to touch you for my self-respect..."
Hard Candy by Counting Crows (Live on Good Morning America 2008)
I suppose when Adam Duritz wrote Hard Candy, the certain Sunday in November could have been a day like today. A day where the weather is overcast, the wind is cool, the sky is grey or black and the sun is a memory. A memory of summer unfolded by postcards, pictures and letters.
I tried to watch Bon Cop, Bad Cop last night but only made it through half an hour before my eyes got the better of me. I was up before six am this morning and there is very little to do this early on a Sunday. I tried to go back to sleep but it didn't work, so I spent much of the morning reading and sipping tea at one of the many Starbucks here. I actually wrote something, which will be below later. It is nothing great or significant, it felt weird writing and I think the result is rusty. I spent some of the afternoon shopping for something to wear for an upcoming wedding and my afternoon nap was semi successful. Because the work week begins shortly, got to love working midnights.
Just Another
Her skin smelled like cinnamon
The Sunday snow swirled outside
Her mouth tasted like tangerines
The November rain ceased yesterday
Autumn has finally become too cold
Winter is now among us like strangers
I need to start rearranging my heart
Making way for someone to occupy it
They have to be here and not a memory
Remembering is a way of losing again
I am done being haunted by women
Who would never have dreamt of me
Just another man looking for beauty
Without being able to offer it himself
The Sunday snow suddenly halts outside
Allowing the rare November sun to shine
Another face has caught my attention
I could never get behind her framed eyes
Just another world unable to be explored
The planets of women are plentiful on Earth
Billions of satellites orbiting their surfaces
Each individually locked like a treasure box
Once opened it might be empty of gems
Or it could be full of life’s most rare gift
A person to spend every variety of day with
No matter the weather unfolding outside
Our thoughts would be commingled inside
A world completely ours with its secrets
The things no one else would ever know
Every love is unique and not imagined
Unreciprocated it is only a lacking fantasy
A thing not worth remembering too much
The person might be special but so are you.
11/16/08
"Take a message to your head, just stay beside her in the bed, you were so stupid to believe in things you couldn't see...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZByH7y5FxGE
On Almost Any Sunday Morning by Counting Crows (Live Paris 2008)
The following is another passage from The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai. "After the initial excitement was over, it often became obvious that the love was gone; for affection was only a habit after all, and people, they forgot, or they became accustomed to its absence." Love is only a habit, and once the habit is broken, the love is gone. This is absolutely true. Of course, the habit could return.
"I don't believe in Sundays and I don't believe in anything at all...."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lFm4juaVswQ
Sundays by Counting Crows (Live Iowa 2008)
It is a sad state when we don't believe in anything, especially the ability of anyone loving us.
john.
"I want to touch you for my self-respect..."
Saturday, November 15, 2008
"This is Detroit, see the skyline, a commotion on the assembly line, raise a glass to the Ambassador as she's moving you to the dance floor.........."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfBk7URJAIA
Detroit '67 (Live) by Sam Roberts
I guess I have not wrote an entry in over a week. This is what happens when you do more living and less blogging. So I also guess this is a good thing.
Last Thursday was Brian's mother's funeral, Friday's I have dinner at my grandparents, Saturday we went to Caesar's Windsor Casino during the day, across the border into Detroit for the Red Wings game and back to Windsor for the bars. It was a long and fun day, but very tiring being up nearly 24 hours. Sunday night to Friday morning I worked, enough said there. I slept or tried to sleep longer this past week, November has this affect on me or perhaps it was Saturday. It took until Thursday before I felt like I could survive on less than 6 hours of sleep. Last night after dinner with my grandparents we played some poker and headed out to Thorny Devil, it was a fun night. The majority of my friend's like me have names which begin with the letter J and last night I had conversations with a girl named Jennifer, one named Jenn, another named Jenna, along with old friend named Jen. It is like we all congregate together in our own J world. I was very tired today and slept off my hangover. Outside the rain which was a constant for almost 24 hours straight has turned to snow and it looks like November in Southern Ontario often does. A blanket of snow covering a fading canvas of coloured leaves.
Now I am listening to Keane, having given up on the Leafs tonight, down 4-0. Though I think I will pick up the energy a little by switching over to some We Are Scientists. I don't feel like writing anything beyond this, I suppose I should but having not written anything creative in a while it is easier not to write. Maybe after this I can find a movie on demand to watch.
"The comet is coming between me and the girl who could make it all clean, out there in the shadow of a modern machine walks St. Robinson in his Cadillac dream..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5lYjaJD2c8
St. Robinson In His Cadillac Dream (Live July 2008) by Counting Crows
I do not know if it is a comet but something has always come between me and the girl who could make everything right. It is most likely me, a fear of rejection, a fear of failure, a fear of no longer needing to look and a fear of happiness. Can you be afraid of happiness? I suppose you could be or more importantly I could be. Though I am generally content these days and will never be one of those overly happy people. Smiling and laughing are becoming more common and I guess that is a good starting point. I am also stubborn and until I feel my life is worth sharing, it won't be. I guess this also makes me selfish. I think I will stop digging now and uncovering the things I know about myself.
"So over the hills he'd climb, just to see her there in time, just to watch the sun shine through her dress, the sweet soldier's daughter..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLi5EIiU3hY
Soldier's Daughter (Live) by Tonic
Tonic was such a good band, at least Emerson's has continued with some great solo material.
I am still reading The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, I am about half way through, the story set party in India is good so far. I did though Friday pick up The Secret River by Kate Grenville, a story set in Australia, which I am looking forward to reading.
The following passage is from The Inheritance of Loss. "But so fluid a thing was love. It wasn't firm, he was learning, it wasn't a scripture; it was a wobbliness that lent itself to betrayal, taking the mold of whatever he poured into it. And in fact, it was difficult to keep from pouring it into numerous vessels. It could be used for all kinds of purposes...He wished it were a constraint. It was truly beginning to frighten him."
Wobbliness, enough said.
jr.
Detroit '67 (Live) by Sam Roberts
I guess I have not wrote an entry in over a week. This is what happens when you do more living and less blogging. So I also guess this is a good thing.
Last Thursday was Brian's mother's funeral, Friday's I have dinner at my grandparents, Saturday we went to Caesar's Windsor Casino during the day, across the border into Detroit for the Red Wings game and back to Windsor for the bars. It was a long and fun day, but very tiring being up nearly 24 hours. Sunday night to Friday morning I worked, enough said there. I slept or tried to sleep longer this past week, November has this affect on me or perhaps it was Saturday. It took until Thursday before I felt like I could survive on less than 6 hours of sleep. Last night after dinner with my grandparents we played some poker and headed out to Thorny Devil, it was a fun night. The majority of my friend's like me have names which begin with the letter J and last night I had conversations with a girl named Jennifer, one named Jenn, another named Jenna, along with old friend named Jen. It is like we all congregate together in our own J world. I was very tired today and slept off my hangover. Outside the rain which was a constant for almost 24 hours straight has turned to snow and it looks like November in Southern Ontario often does. A blanket of snow covering a fading canvas of coloured leaves.
Now I am listening to Keane, having given up on the Leafs tonight, down 4-0. Though I think I will pick up the energy a little by switching over to some We Are Scientists. I don't feel like writing anything beyond this, I suppose I should but having not written anything creative in a while it is easier not to write. Maybe after this I can find a movie on demand to watch.
"The comet is coming between me and the girl who could make it all clean, out there in the shadow of a modern machine walks St. Robinson in his Cadillac dream..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5lYjaJD2c8
St. Robinson In His Cadillac Dream (Live July 2008) by Counting Crows
I do not know if it is a comet but something has always come between me and the girl who could make everything right. It is most likely me, a fear of rejection, a fear of failure, a fear of no longer needing to look and a fear of happiness. Can you be afraid of happiness? I suppose you could be or more importantly I could be. Though I am generally content these days and will never be one of those overly happy people. Smiling and laughing are becoming more common and I guess that is a good starting point. I am also stubborn and until I feel my life is worth sharing, it won't be. I guess this also makes me selfish. I think I will stop digging now and uncovering the things I know about myself.
"So over the hills he'd climb, just to see her there in time, just to watch the sun shine through her dress, the sweet soldier's daughter..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mLi5EIiU3hY
Soldier's Daughter (Live) by Tonic
Tonic was such a good band, at least Emerson's has continued with some great solo material.
I am still reading The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai, I am about half way through, the story set party in India is good so far. I did though Friday pick up The Secret River by Kate Grenville, a story set in Australia, which I am looking forward to reading.
The following passage is from The Inheritance of Loss. "But so fluid a thing was love. It wasn't firm, he was learning, it wasn't a scripture; it was a wobbliness that lent itself to betrayal, taking the mold of whatever he poured into it. And in fact, it was difficult to keep from pouring it into numerous vessels. It could be used for all kinds of purposes...He wished it were a constraint. It was truly beginning to frighten him."
Wobbliness, enough said.
jr.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
"Tell me I got here at the right time, if I did it's probably the first time....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzf8QcZLXh4
Here At The Right Time by Josh Ritter
The cafeteria at work where I spend around an hour a night has music playing and it plays pretty good stuff. The other night I heard Trouble by Ray LaMontagne, Round Here by Counting Crows and the song above by Josh Ritter. His music has really grown on me over the past year.
Americans have elected Barack Obama as their first black President. The bigger significance of this is that they have elected a leader, someone who can work to bring together what is still a very divided country. A country with a lot of problems and a country that will need everyone as part of the solution. A historic President for historical times.
The division of America is still very evident by looking at the electoral map. Obama won mostly northern and coastal states both on the Atlantic and Pacific, McCain won Heartland and southern states. Obama won the biggest states New York and California. McCain won Wyoming 2-1, close to what Obama won New York by. I have a feeling race is still a major factor through the middle of America and it will take some serious work to bring everyone together. The voter turnout was close to 64%, the highest since 1908. Congratulations to all Americans who made their choice, this time you have made the right choice at the right time.
It has been a hectic start to the week but I did finish reading The Gathering by Anne Enright and it is a very good book. There is a comment in the book about how people don't change but are simple revealed to us through time. This might be absolutely true but change is possible, whether it is just another part of ourselves being revealed not only to others but to ourselves. Now it is onto the next book, The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai.
Below are a couple of live Counting Crows clips complete with audience singing from last week's concerts in New Jersey.
All My Friends
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxQA8zQN7Uk
Blues Run The Game
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyZMhyL6EaE
So begins another night.
john.
Here At The Right Time by Josh Ritter
The cafeteria at work where I spend around an hour a night has music playing and it plays pretty good stuff. The other night I heard Trouble by Ray LaMontagne, Round Here by Counting Crows and the song above by Josh Ritter. His music has really grown on me over the past year.
Americans have elected Barack Obama as their first black President. The bigger significance of this is that they have elected a leader, someone who can work to bring together what is still a very divided country. A country with a lot of problems and a country that will need everyone as part of the solution. A historic President for historical times.
The division of America is still very evident by looking at the electoral map. Obama won mostly northern and coastal states both on the Atlantic and Pacific, McCain won Heartland and southern states. Obama won the biggest states New York and California. McCain won Wyoming 2-1, close to what Obama won New York by. I have a feeling race is still a major factor through the middle of America and it will take some serious work to bring everyone together. The voter turnout was close to 64%, the highest since 1908. Congratulations to all Americans who made their choice, this time you have made the right choice at the right time.
It has been a hectic start to the week but I did finish reading The Gathering by Anne Enright and it is a very good book. There is a comment in the book about how people don't change but are simple revealed to us through time. This might be absolutely true but change is possible, whether it is just another part of ourselves being revealed not only to others but to ourselves. Now it is onto the next book, The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai.
Below are a couple of live Counting Crows clips complete with audience singing from last week's concerts in New Jersey.
All My Friends
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxQA8zQN7Uk
Blues Run The Game
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyZMhyL6EaE
So begins another night.
john.
Monday, November 3, 2008
"Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder, I'm a friend....."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uKPFBr_Nqc
Cry by James Blunt
Death does not care about the children.
It enters their lives and takes away someone they love but they don't really understand it. At least, until they are older and the loss has faded but not the sense of it.
Yesterday my sister's husband's mother died at 60. She had cancer which triggered a massive heart attack. I couldn't imagine losing my own mother at any age, it will be beyond hard. The sadest part of it all is the effect it will have on my sister's 3 children, 9, 4 and 3. The 9 year old will understand but to what completeness, I wonder. As for the other 2, they will vaguely know there is something different. I still have 3 of my 4 grandparents, both parents and feel blessed, especially as I get older. They can have a huge influence on your life, and are appreciated more as you get older, to lose any of them, when you are still young is to lose more than you realize.
I wrote the following yesterday, before hearing the news.
Our Destination Of Observation
The early afternoon air is crisp
Typical of a Sunday in November
London feels hushed like a baby
Its residents still trying to sleep
Looking to taking advantage of time
The extra hour given back from spring
I am not among these dreaming people
My body does not follow a normal pattern
You could easily conclude it is appropriate
Being peculiar does not worry me anymore
I am trying to embrace its positive qualities
Knowing escaping it is never going to happen
There is a loneliness to being a human being
Most friends and lovers disappear eventually
Leaving us alone in a field of fading colours
Autumn’s residue becoming winter’s heart
Unproductive and unwilling to reproduce
The emotions necessary for maintaining love
A long hibernation made worse by its coldness
Where blackbirds sing but are rarely spotted
Their songs carry for miles over frozen lands
Following the lonely wanderers like myself
Until we reach our destination of observation
A corner coffee shop or a basement tavern
Places where we can hide among people
Needing to be seen but wanting invisibility
The familiarity of a warm or cold beverage
All of our memories being swallowed with them
Only to be regurgitated with our next breath
There is no absconding certain cycles of life
We are forced to be an accomplice to their crime
Guilt will bury us in the end and it will carry us
Should there be another life beyond this one
An answer to all the emptiness and loneliness
The beauty of a woman appreciated too late
Long after her eyes have departed your reflection
A face you are tired of looking at for thirty years.
11/02/08
"angels fall like rain......and love is all of heaven away......."
The clip below is a rare live performance of the Ghost In You by Counting Crows with Adam and David in full pre-Halloween costume.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhMQQzUSp00
The children will be loved.
"and love will not fade away....."
john.
Cry by James Blunt
Death does not care about the children.
It enters their lives and takes away someone they love but they don't really understand it. At least, until they are older and the loss has faded but not the sense of it.
Yesterday my sister's husband's mother died at 60. She had cancer which triggered a massive heart attack. I couldn't imagine losing my own mother at any age, it will be beyond hard. The sadest part of it all is the effect it will have on my sister's 3 children, 9, 4 and 3. The 9 year old will understand but to what completeness, I wonder. As for the other 2, they will vaguely know there is something different. I still have 3 of my 4 grandparents, both parents and feel blessed, especially as I get older. They can have a huge influence on your life, and are appreciated more as you get older, to lose any of them, when you are still young is to lose more than you realize.
I wrote the following yesterday, before hearing the news.
Our Destination Of Observation
The early afternoon air is crisp
Typical of a Sunday in November
London feels hushed like a baby
Its residents still trying to sleep
Looking to taking advantage of time
The extra hour given back from spring
I am not among these dreaming people
My body does not follow a normal pattern
You could easily conclude it is appropriate
Being peculiar does not worry me anymore
I am trying to embrace its positive qualities
Knowing escaping it is never going to happen
There is a loneliness to being a human being
Most friends and lovers disappear eventually
Leaving us alone in a field of fading colours
Autumn’s residue becoming winter’s heart
Unproductive and unwilling to reproduce
The emotions necessary for maintaining love
A long hibernation made worse by its coldness
Where blackbirds sing but are rarely spotted
Their songs carry for miles over frozen lands
Following the lonely wanderers like myself
Until we reach our destination of observation
A corner coffee shop or a basement tavern
Places where we can hide among people
Needing to be seen but wanting invisibility
The familiarity of a warm or cold beverage
All of our memories being swallowed with them
Only to be regurgitated with our next breath
There is no absconding certain cycles of life
We are forced to be an accomplice to their crime
Guilt will bury us in the end and it will carry us
Should there be another life beyond this one
An answer to all the emptiness and loneliness
The beauty of a woman appreciated too late
Long after her eyes have departed your reflection
A face you are tired of looking at for thirty years.
11/02/08
"angels fall like rain......and love is all of heaven away......."
The clip below is a rare live performance of the Ghost In You by Counting Crows with Adam and David in full pre-Halloween costume.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhMQQzUSp00
The children will be loved.
"and love will not fade away....."
john.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
"Well I've been here before, sat on a floor in a grey grey mood, where I stay up all night and all I write is a grey grey tune..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7-rjHU-EOxU
Grey Room by Damien Rice
Halloween has come and gone, I did nothing, absolutely nothing. November is here now, my least favourite month, though it is supposed to be fairly nice early next week. Tonight or actually tomorrow morning the clocks go back and we gain an hour but ultimately lose an hour of daylight. This is what drags me down, especially working nights, I get home in the dark and wake up in the dark. There is little light to absorb unless I want to alter my sleeping patterns. Such is life, lots of vitamin C and D, and happy thoughts. Whatever those are.
Last night I watched Burn After Reading, it was quirky and interesting, not quite what I expected. John Malkovich makes the movie, he is brighter than all the other stars in the movie. The tangled mess that the plot becomes seems like it might not be possible but even this didn't spoil the fun of watching it unfold. Below is a link to information on the movie directed by the Coen brothers. The movie isn't as good as The Big Lebowski or as bad as the Ladykillers, bad being a relative term for the Coen brothers. It also certainly isn't in the same ballpark as No Country For Old Men, albeit they are different types of movies.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0887883/
I wrote the following last night, much along the same lines as my earlier comments about November.
The Depressing Darkness Before Winter
My thoughts are of a fragile nature
There is no hope left in their creation
All my sources of inspiration are dead
November will arrive in a couple hours
The depressing darkness before winter
I am a creature of debilitating habits
Constantly trying to facilitate changes
Without actually accomplishing anything
All my best plans end up broken or worse
Leaving me older, colder and more alone
Wisdom has not come along with my aging
I feel less intelligent than I really should be
Carrying around a body riddled with scars
A face no longer able to smile or even laugh
Every muscle aches without knowing why
The hurt goes below skin and through bone
I do not know where it ends or where it started
There is no name to blame for my mind’s shame
A woman has not left me scorned beyond repair
They have all been graceful while leaving my heart
I put them where they never wanted to end up
Birds trapped in the cage of my constant loneliness
Our freedom is the only thing worth fighting for
When very little in this life makes much sense
Suffocation is no way for a breathing being to die
There are too many people dying like this everyday
Men and women giving but not receiving love back
Reciprocation is the main ingredient in true happiness
Rarely do we find it before it begins fading to black
The moment might only last the length of a slow dance
Time for And I Love Her to become more than a song
Reality rises us up like a balloon into the atmosphere
Before we sink back into the ground like a heavy rock
Marking our final resting place with a few poetic words
Their beauty carved into stone and covered with snow
Waiting as familiar fingers occasionally wipe them off
The words might be read over for a few fleeting years
Before everyone we knew are like us dead and gone
Being fragile is only a natural part of being human.
10/31/08
Below are the some of the pictures I promised, only three weeks after they were taken. The weather was better, I was happier, and for a moment I felt inspired. How fleeting a moment this was, now it is back to grey rooms and the art created within them. At least Damien can make grey sound beautiful.
jr.
Grey Room by Damien Rice
Halloween has come and gone, I did nothing, absolutely nothing. November is here now, my least favourite month, though it is supposed to be fairly nice early next week. Tonight or actually tomorrow morning the clocks go back and we gain an hour but ultimately lose an hour of daylight. This is what drags me down, especially working nights, I get home in the dark and wake up in the dark. There is little light to absorb unless I want to alter my sleeping patterns. Such is life, lots of vitamin C and D, and happy thoughts. Whatever those are.
Last night I watched Burn After Reading, it was quirky and interesting, not quite what I expected. John Malkovich makes the movie, he is brighter than all the other stars in the movie. The tangled mess that the plot becomes seems like it might not be possible but even this didn't spoil the fun of watching it unfold. Below is a link to information on the movie directed by the Coen brothers. The movie isn't as good as The Big Lebowski or as bad as the Ladykillers, bad being a relative term for the Coen brothers. It also certainly isn't in the same ballpark as No Country For Old Men, albeit they are different types of movies.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0887883/
I wrote the following last night, much along the same lines as my earlier comments about November.
The Depressing Darkness Before Winter
My thoughts are of a fragile nature
There is no hope left in their creation
All my sources of inspiration are dead
November will arrive in a couple hours
The depressing darkness before winter
I am a creature of debilitating habits
Constantly trying to facilitate changes
Without actually accomplishing anything
All my best plans end up broken or worse
Leaving me older, colder and more alone
Wisdom has not come along with my aging
I feel less intelligent than I really should be
Carrying around a body riddled with scars
A face no longer able to smile or even laugh
Every muscle aches without knowing why
The hurt goes below skin and through bone
I do not know where it ends or where it started
There is no name to blame for my mind’s shame
A woman has not left me scorned beyond repair
They have all been graceful while leaving my heart
I put them where they never wanted to end up
Birds trapped in the cage of my constant loneliness
Our freedom is the only thing worth fighting for
When very little in this life makes much sense
Suffocation is no way for a breathing being to die
There are too many people dying like this everyday
Men and women giving but not receiving love back
Reciprocation is the main ingredient in true happiness
Rarely do we find it before it begins fading to black
The moment might only last the length of a slow dance
Time for And I Love Her to become more than a song
Reality rises us up like a balloon into the atmosphere
Before we sink back into the ground like a heavy rock
Marking our final resting place with a few poetic words
Their beauty carved into stone and covered with snow
Waiting as familiar fingers occasionally wipe them off
The words might be read over for a few fleeting years
Before everyone we knew are like us dead and gone
Being fragile is only a natural part of being human.
10/31/08
Below are the some of the pictures I promised, only three weeks after they were taken. The weather was better, I was happier, and for a moment I felt inspired. How fleeting a moment this was, now it is back to grey rooms and the art created within them. At least Damien can make grey sound beautiful.
jr.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)