http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1JPWESillg
Like a Hurricane by Neil Young (Live 2001)
The weather here at certain times of the year can be very contrasting from one day to another. Yesterday was windy, sunny and warm and today was windy, cloudy and cold. The rain disappeared by early afternoon but it was nothing like yesterday. Secretly though I don't mind the damp and cool weather. I think I would be very much at home in places where it often rains, Dublin and London, England instantly come to mind. Speaking of weather, The Student of Weather by Elizabeth Hay is a good book. And speaking of books, I should be reading the books I got today at the used bookstore. I won't bore you, whoever you are, with my selections. More words, more characters and more stories but most importantly more escape routes.
I really don't have much to write about. But we are Tuesday people.
I don't have Swine Flu, that I know of. Mexico hasn't and will probably never interest me. Like a lot of things. Though a lot of other things interest me, but their moments are fleeting.
Soon Tuesday will be gone. So appropriately.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sF0bQBOsFM
Tuesday's Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Gone with the wind.
I wrote something the other day, a vague (aren't they all) piece comparing my own invisibility to that of a black hole.
A Black Hole Destination Fascinates Me
I have been defeated many times before
The branded loser in a game of winners
Rejection does not feel unnatural to me
A sight much like the sun, sky or moon
Their varying colours make it interesting
Without changes in seasons and scenery
I would be nothing except black or blue
A silent mute were it not for these words
The hateful daggers or the cupid arrows
Indecisive in my writing like my living
Momentarily passionate or disinterested
There were parts of me to share with you
I broke, wasted, misplaced or used them
No matter what happened they are gone
Leaving me empty like a withered river
The water was pristine before mankind
Our many births, deaths and their thirst
Have made it impossible for true purity
All our angels are just floating feathers
The mystery is in our minds and souls
Whether we believe or are unqualified
I doubt everything but factual science
Spirituality is nice in theory like love
There are those who will call me cold
Acrimonious for those more intelligent
Knowing big words means little though
Apathetic can fit well beside rejection
Perhaps one only comes with the other
Togetherness is not a specialty of mine
I have lived thirty springs feeling alone
There is not a lack of loving around me
A black hole destination fascinates me
Invisibility with a definition like ghosts
Should you believe or are unquantifiable
Our individual value often rises and falls
Depending on other people's assessments
They can paint us as villains or as heroes
A landscape of a lifetime will vary greatly
Good becomes bad and love becomes loss
I know myself and therefore accept myself
The beauty is scarred and is a wound itself
Naturally winning feels better than losing
Expecting defeat makes it more bearable
When you are no longer surprised by life
There are invisible ways to smile through.
26/04/09
Space could be our only escape from this earthly misery.
The sky has cleared enough for the setting sun to be observed or so it seems at quarter after seven. A few Counting Crows clips to end. We are nothing, if not predictable.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=22_S1ZvgkUY
When I Dream of Michelangelo (Live 2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nRdDrhToly0
Rain King with Augustana (Live April 27, 2009 Good Morning America)
There is never enough time to observe and listen but some people have more than enough time to talk.
john.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
"Better stand tall if you're gonna stand at all, and if you're gonna fall, well you might as well fall....."
I have recently discovered Jackie Greene and like his music. There is a link below to a live version of Uphill Mountain, the audio is amateur but still pretty good.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqkZH7jivIE
Without music, I'd be lost.
I tried to read East of Eden by John Steinbeck years ago but never got very far into it. I picked it up again last week and I am making some progress. I liked the passage below from it.
"Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man."
In other words without Lennon's ideas there would be no Lennon/McCartney songs and likewise. Everyone focuses on the group result but without its individuals, there would be nothing.
The sun has emerged late this afternoon and it has turned into a relatively nice day. Though it is still April cool but tomorrow is supposed to be in the low 20's and the high 20's for the weekend. I am sure a few more smiles will find their way onto mouths.
I lose interest very quickly these days. I usually look forward to watching the hockey playoffs but this year, I watch a few minutes and then decide to do something else. It isn't because the games aren't exciting because most of them are, it is just that I am not all that interested. Baseball has been a little better but I guess my heart is more in it.
I wrote the following yesterday, a piece from the prespective of an old and not necessarily bitter man, just reflective and honest in his opinions.
You Will Be Beautiful
The spring precipitation will bring summer chrysanthemums
Yellow, white, purple and red but not as exotic as a marigold
There is a garden in my memories where they can still bloom
A passing afternoon of a childhood spent chasing butterflies
Monarchs searching for lilacs or milkweeds and their nectar
I would never catch them and never really wanted to anyway
There are certain creations better left in their natural habitats
You will be beautiful in my book when it is finally completed
A novel character carefully pieced back together by moments
I will get a few of them wrong but my mind is not clearheaded
Confusion is often a result of aging and too much reminiscing
The poetic lyrics remain much more than the songs themselves
All the books we should have shared are piled neatly in a corner
Dust bothers me as it always has and so they will not be moved
I read them years ago during the days of my endless boredoms
Segregating myself from society and those who once knew me
Some of them are dead having finished their lives and now rest
My peace will not come because there was too much left unsaid
Apologies are as common as diseases when you get to be elderly
I am too stubborn like a rock refusing to crumble under a weight
You will be beautiful in June when your childhood dream arrives
With summer flowers arranged and carried by porcelain fingers
Handed to you graciously by innocently wide open brown eyes
The wonderment of happiness is universal on such celebrations
Vows might vary from different scriptures but their sums do not
Everything added up in true love leaves no squabbled left overs
I feed the ducks crumbs from the uneaten crusts of brown bread
They are mildly amused by me until nothing is left to give them
Returning to the water and leaving me to my old man routines
The daily walks when the weather is good enough for fragility
Normally there is a book to read while sitting down on a bench
But this afternoon it is raining and I have not brought it outside
Home and it is random relics of personal taste will have to do
I have been old most of my life and most would agree asocial
There are no familiar faces left here and you will be beautiful
When the light finally fades before my always brooding eyes.
22/04/09
"Light fades, becomes shade, you're holding on but you're slipping away, till I can't feel you anymore..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ij3eJL3ISA
Love at the End of the World by Sam Roberts Band
For those in Canada with Rogers digital cable, there is a free Sam Roberts Band concert on demand, channel 100 or 300. The concert is about half an hour and features mostly songs from their latest album Love at the End of the World.
And so it goes.
john.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqkZH7jivIE
Without music, I'd be lost.
I tried to read East of Eden by John Steinbeck years ago but never got very far into it. I picked it up again last week and I am making some progress. I liked the passage below from it.
"Our species is the only creative species, and it has only one creative instrument, the individual mind and spirit of a man. Nothing was ever created by two men. There are no good collaborations, whether in music, in art, in poetry, in mathematics, in philosophy. Once the miracle of creation has taken place, the group can build and extend it, but the group never invents anything. The preciousness lies in the lonely mind of a man."
In other words without Lennon's ideas there would be no Lennon/McCartney songs and likewise. Everyone focuses on the group result but without its individuals, there would be nothing.
The sun has emerged late this afternoon and it has turned into a relatively nice day. Though it is still April cool but tomorrow is supposed to be in the low 20's and the high 20's for the weekend. I am sure a few more smiles will find their way onto mouths.
I lose interest very quickly these days. I usually look forward to watching the hockey playoffs but this year, I watch a few minutes and then decide to do something else. It isn't because the games aren't exciting because most of them are, it is just that I am not all that interested. Baseball has been a little better but I guess my heart is more in it.
I wrote the following yesterday, a piece from the prespective of an old and not necessarily bitter man, just reflective and honest in his opinions.
You Will Be Beautiful
The spring precipitation will bring summer chrysanthemums
Yellow, white, purple and red but not as exotic as a marigold
There is a garden in my memories where they can still bloom
A passing afternoon of a childhood spent chasing butterflies
Monarchs searching for lilacs or milkweeds and their nectar
I would never catch them and never really wanted to anyway
There are certain creations better left in their natural habitats
You will be beautiful in my book when it is finally completed
A novel character carefully pieced back together by moments
I will get a few of them wrong but my mind is not clearheaded
Confusion is often a result of aging and too much reminiscing
The poetic lyrics remain much more than the songs themselves
All the books we should have shared are piled neatly in a corner
Dust bothers me as it always has and so they will not be moved
I read them years ago during the days of my endless boredoms
Segregating myself from society and those who once knew me
Some of them are dead having finished their lives and now rest
My peace will not come because there was too much left unsaid
Apologies are as common as diseases when you get to be elderly
I am too stubborn like a rock refusing to crumble under a weight
You will be beautiful in June when your childhood dream arrives
With summer flowers arranged and carried by porcelain fingers
Handed to you graciously by innocently wide open brown eyes
The wonderment of happiness is universal on such celebrations
Vows might vary from different scriptures but their sums do not
Everything added up in true love leaves no squabbled left overs
I feed the ducks crumbs from the uneaten crusts of brown bread
They are mildly amused by me until nothing is left to give them
Returning to the water and leaving me to my old man routines
The daily walks when the weather is good enough for fragility
Normally there is a book to read while sitting down on a bench
But this afternoon it is raining and I have not brought it outside
Home and it is random relics of personal taste will have to do
I have been old most of my life and most would agree asocial
There are no familiar faces left here and you will be beautiful
When the light finally fades before my always brooding eyes.
22/04/09
"Light fades, becomes shade, you're holding on but you're slipping away, till I can't feel you anymore..."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ij3eJL3ISA
Love at the End of the World by Sam Roberts Band
For those in Canada with Rogers digital cable, there is a free Sam Roberts Band concert on demand, channel 100 or 300. The concert is about half an hour and features mostly songs from their latest album Love at the End of the World.
And so it goes.
john.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
"A baby sleeps in all our bones, so scared to be alone......."
A song walking us through the seasons of nature and the lessons of our losses.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGPzyGIaw0E
Passing Afternoon by Iron and Wine
I suppose Tuesday's are becoming my blog writing days, or simply just a way to pass some of the afternoon. Yesterday it rained like it is supposed to on Mondays and in April. Today the clouds are prominent but the rain has ceased for the time being. A strong breeze chills despite the sun's efforts to warm. A pair of small birds, I wish I knew the name of, maybe sparrows, are dancing about on a table outside. The music of their soul, I can't hear but the music of their voice momentarily distracts me. But now they have flown off and I am left to my thoughts, as I usually am.
We make decisions as adults, unimaginable to those we would have made as children. For as children there seemed to be reasons, big or small, for each decision. Not playing with certain other children usually occurred because they were mean, older or younger. We had our group of friends and disagreements were common but hardly complex. But as we grow up and create our complexities, relationships become hard to sustain. There are endless number of people who have not spoken to family members, friends and former lovers for years. The reasons in the end are not as complex as they seem in the present but in the present they are reasons enough. So we drift, fade and disappear appropriately. This is human nature for some of us, and for others it is foreign and inhuman. Finding fault for anything is also human nature but maybe fault is not always needed. One person might expect and want things to remain the same, whereas the other person does not feel the same. Personally I am more than a little lost lately but it has mostly been this way for a long time. There are times when I can feel everything and there are times when I feel nothing. I used to use the kindness inside of me and now I do not want to. I am an entirely selfish person but I do so only for the protection of myself. I fear, expect and I am paranoid of a personal destruction. This does not make me any less selfish but I do not use my selfishness to manipulate others for personal gain, like some people do. The people who when you do offer your kindness, fail to return it when they could have very easily the next day. Instead money is exchanged out of friendship and time passes, many endless numbered days and the matter lingers but is not resolved. There are countless examples of people who have been used and we all use each other in some form. I am far from morally good but refuse to form personal connections anymore. This also might seem inhuman and unusual but might not really be either of them. I fail at friendships and maintaining them, becoming a terrible gardener is not hard because neglect is easily done. I am sure if I should grow old, I will regret but I already regret more than I could have possibly imagined as a child. People will leave you alone, if you give them enough reasons and being alone is what I know best. The only person you have to lie to is yourself, and doing so becomes so easy, it is like there is only truth. There might be uneven blame to spread but before any of us begin we have already lost.
The other day I watched the movie Snow Angels with its emotionally troubled characters and dysfunctional situations. I thought it was a good enough movie to watch and there is information about it below. I often come to movies randomly because they appear and linger on demand, and finally out of boredom I watch them. There is a perfect example in this movie of a man who's life has spiralled completely out of control and aided by alcohol he is unable to deal with his losses and rejections.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0453548/
As I often do, I search Youtube for the latest Counting Crows videos. Today I came across a pair of vintage concert clips from 1994, Perfect Blue Buildings and Round Here, it is hard to believe those songs have been with me for 15 years now and will remain should I grow old. They are below along with some other selections.
Perfect Blue Buildings (15/04/1994 Germany)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hdd_jaGm6_c
Round Here (15/04/1994 Germany)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcs9l1dGMJ0
St. Robinson in his Cadillac Dream (2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHZ9CecKY_o
Have You Seen Me Lately? (Woodstock 1999)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bv3Bdh9jNRk
Washington Square (27/03/2009 Australia)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8GSHg_aybk
Miami (Telluride Festival 2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqnSsxq-KP8
Today I finished reading The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji, which I enjoyed and have returned to East of Eden by Steinbeck. I think I need to read more of the classic books.
It seems I only write a couple of pieces a week now and the last two since my last blog are below.
I don't have much of an explanation as to what they are about, I don't put much care into their crafting and often get bored in the middle of them. I am sure the results prove this.
A Cardboard Novelty Cheque
The Wednesday afternoon has clouded over
Spring birds accompany the Decemberists
I have placed the Flying Troutman's down
A feeling inside of me remains unexplained
There are never enough answers left for me
Each question leads to another and another
I spend too much time walking in triangles
This is a tad easier than spinning in circles
Everything is relative in a life of confusion
Similar shapes, sizes, colours and textures
Appear everywhere in nature and society
Distinguishing them has become difficult
I do not observe what used to be simple
Complicating anything with insecurities
A man paranoid of being seen as a failure
Self disappointment hurls itself in mirrors
The reflection is one of infinite gloominess
Late November and early December days
I am void like a cardboard novelty cheque
One written as a joke and out of kindness
There are not enough zero's to desire me
Beauty is only a memory of women gone
Unique bodies unwrapped from clothes
Minds drunk on pleasure and anticipation
A climax spilling across limbs and sheets
Exhausted bodies needing breezes of air
I would like a window to see the world
Nothing of Hollywood but real images
Those which seem very foreign to me
Nairobi, Moab and the Salinas Valley
Places of my books and distractions
I am forever trying to remain present.
15/04/09
The Scary Paranoia
A probable picture of emptiness
I silently stare out the windows
April rain has fallen all day long
The way it always does in spring
Necessary nourishment for growth
I ponder my own maturing process
The transformation from boy to man
A methodical move out of happiness
Withdrawing behind closed curtains
Limited by introspective revelations
I should have learned to free myself
Instead a deep trap is barricading me
The scary paranoia of living or dying
Factually being alive means nothing
When you are not participating in life
I have been going through the motions
Most of my time spent as a grown up
Feeling everything and nothing at all
Absorbing people or absconding them
Every love has become mute or distant
Imagining beauty is no longer possible
I lack words to describe faces or eyes
They are full of hope so foreign to me
Cape Town on the tip of the Atlantic
A wavy blueness before Africa's red
April rain is still falling and feeding
I remain absolutely silent like always
There has to be a way to understand
What really scares me about myself
Potential being reached and exceeded
Or a destructive desire for self failure.
20/04/09
Well enough time has passed and enough words have been written. The evening is approaching and the rain is supposed to follow. Much like eyes across the page of a novel.
john.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UGPzyGIaw0E
Passing Afternoon by Iron and Wine
I suppose Tuesday's are becoming my blog writing days, or simply just a way to pass some of the afternoon. Yesterday it rained like it is supposed to on Mondays and in April. Today the clouds are prominent but the rain has ceased for the time being. A strong breeze chills despite the sun's efforts to warm. A pair of small birds, I wish I knew the name of, maybe sparrows, are dancing about on a table outside. The music of their soul, I can't hear but the music of their voice momentarily distracts me. But now they have flown off and I am left to my thoughts, as I usually am.
We make decisions as adults, unimaginable to those we would have made as children. For as children there seemed to be reasons, big or small, for each decision. Not playing with certain other children usually occurred because they were mean, older or younger. We had our group of friends and disagreements were common but hardly complex. But as we grow up and create our complexities, relationships become hard to sustain. There are endless number of people who have not spoken to family members, friends and former lovers for years. The reasons in the end are not as complex as they seem in the present but in the present they are reasons enough. So we drift, fade and disappear appropriately. This is human nature for some of us, and for others it is foreign and inhuman. Finding fault for anything is also human nature but maybe fault is not always needed. One person might expect and want things to remain the same, whereas the other person does not feel the same. Personally I am more than a little lost lately but it has mostly been this way for a long time. There are times when I can feel everything and there are times when I feel nothing. I used to use the kindness inside of me and now I do not want to. I am an entirely selfish person but I do so only for the protection of myself. I fear, expect and I am paranoid of a personal destruction. This does not make me any less selfish but I do not use my selfishness to manipulate others for personal gain, like some people do. The people who when you do offer your kindness, fail to return it when they could have very easily the next day. Instead money is exchanged out of friendship and time passes, many endless numbered days and the matter lingers but is not resolved. There are countless examples of people who have been used and we all use each other in some form. I am far from morally good but refuse to form personal connections anymore. This also might seem inhuman and unusual but might not really be either of them. I fail at friendships and maintaining them, becoming a terrible gardener is not hard because neglect is easily done. I am sure if I should grow old, I will regret but I already regret more than I could have possibly imagined as a child. People will leave you alone, if you give them enough reasons and being alone is what I know best. The only person you have to lie to is yourself, and doing so becomes so easy, it is like there is only truth. There might be uneven blame to spread but before any of us begin we have already lost.
The other day I watched the movie Snow Angels with its emotionally troubled characters and dysfunctional situations. I thought it was a good enough movie to watch and there is information about it below. I often come to movies randomly because they appear and linger on demand, and finally out of boredom I watch them. There is a perfect example in this movie of a man who's life has spiralled completely out of control and aided by alcohol he is unable to deal with his losses and rejections.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0453548/
As I often do, I search Youtube for the latest Counting Crows videos. Today I came across a pair of vintage concert clips from 1994, Perfect Blue Buildings and Round Here, it is hard to believe those songs have been with me for 15 years now and will remain should I grow old. They are below along with some other selections.
Perfect Blue Buildings (15/04/1994 Germany)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hdd_jaGm6_c
Round Here (15/04/1994 Germany)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcs9l1dGMJ0
St. Robinson in his Cadillac Dream (2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vHZ9CecKY_o
Have You Seen Me Lately? (Woodstock 1999)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bv3Bdh9jNRk
Washington Square (27/03/2009 Australia)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_8GSHg_aybk
Miami (Telluride Festival 2007)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqnSsxq-KP8
Today I finished reading The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji, which I enjoyed and have returned to East of Eden by Steinbeck. I think I need to read more of the classic books.
It seems I only write a couple of pieces a week now and the last two since my last blog are below.
I don't have much of an explanation as to what they are about, I don't put much care into their crafting and often get bored in the middle of them. I am sure the results prove this.
A Cardboard Novelty Cheque
The Wednesday afternoon has clouded over
Spring birds accompany the Decemberists
I have placed the Flying Troutman's down
A feeling inside of me remains unexplained
There are never enough answers left for me
Each question leads to another and another
I spend too much time walking in triangles
This is a tad easier than spinning in circles
Everything is relative in a life of confusion
Similar shapes, sizes, colours and textures
Appear everywhere in nature and society
Distinguishing them has become difficult
I do not observe what used to be simple
Complicating anything with insecurities
A man paranoid of being seen as a failure
Self disappointment hurls itself in mirrors
The reflection is one of infinite gloominess
Late November and early December days
I am void like a cardboard novelty cheque
One written as a joke and out of kindness
There are not enough zero's to desire me
Beauty is only a memory of women gone
Unique bodies unwrapped from clothes
Minds drunk on pleasure and anticipation
A climax spilling across limbs and sheets
Exhausted bodies needing breezes of air
I would like a window to see the world
Nothing of Hollywood but real images
Those which seem very foreign to me
Nairobi, Moab and the Salinas Valley
Places of my books and distractions
I am forever trying to remain present.
15/04/09
The Scary Paranoia
A probable picture of emptiness
I silently stare out the windows
April rain has fallen all day long
The way it always does in spring
Necessary nourishment for growth
I ponder my own maturing process
The transformation from boy to man
A methodical move out of happiness
Withdrawing behind closed curtains
Limited by introspective revelations
I should have learned to free myself
Instead a deep trap is barricading me
The scary paranoia of living or dying
Factually being alive means nothing
When you are not participating in life
I have been going through the motions
Most of my time spent as a grown up
Feeling everything and nothing at all
Absorbing people or absconding them
Every love has become mute or distant
Imagining beauty is no longer possible
I lack words to describe faces or eyes
They are full of hope so foreign to me
Cape Town on the tip of the Atlantic
A wavy blueness before Africa's red
April rain is still falling and feeding
I remain absolutely silent like always
There has to be a way to understand
What really scares me about myself
Potential being reached and exceeded
Or a destructive desire for self failure.
20/04/09
Well enough time has passed and enough words have been written. The evening is approaching and the rain is supposed to follow. Much like eyes across the page of a novel.
john.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
"I got some things I can't tell anyone, got some things I just can't say, they're the kind of things no one knows about..."
The return of my ramblings come with a good live version of Speedway by Counting Crows. You can check it out below.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWuC2m3OlA8
I think we are all thinking about getting out and I know we all have things we can't tell anyone.
April has arrived since my last blog entry and with it came the very welcoming start of the baseball season. The game, its history and its statistics will always hold a place in my heart. A place slightly deeper than my country's national game and its own history. Though there is sadness starting this season with the deaths of a young rookie, a forgotten colourful character and the old voice of a team. The journey from 1-162 in baseball is never easy like the journey from 1-100 in life. Only baseball fades before winter and many of us struggle into our winter.
I find a lot of comfort from nature but have failed to properly appreciate it so far this spring. There seems to be something missing, not outside, but inside of me. The loss of spirit or the breaking of soul. Should such things become lost or broken. I suppose I should make more of an effort but right now my heart is not in it very much. I hope to find a smile by May.
I have been listening to a lot of Teddy Thompson lately, he is a British folk and country musician and producer. I love his country like voice and for some reason it reminds me of the great Roy Orbison. His father Richard Thompson was listed in the top 20 all-time guitarists by Rolling Stone and his mother was one top British folk artists of the 1970's. Below are links to some of Teddy's songs along with a Counting Crows cover of Meet on the Ledge by his father's band Fairpoint Convention recorded live with Dutch group Blof.
Meet on the Ledge (Counting Crows and Blof)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWuC2m3OlA8
Change of heart (Teddy Thompson on Letterman)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLMDIOUlB1E
In My Arms (acoustic)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gzb77AALN08
We Can Work It Out (Beatles cover with Martha Wainwright)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCnvWHZd4Ro
I haven't done much "poetic" writing lately either. Below are the last two pieces I have written.
No Similarity
I am a damaged person
Parts of me need repair
They have been stressed
With too many thoughts
Burdened by life and love
The self-hatred and hurt
Have scarred too deeply
I am lacking something
While missing everything
Spring brings its newness
All my laughter is ancient
Colour faded like a picture
The one of a boy smiling
Looking off at the horizon
Seeing a kite flying above
Green and red on blue sky
I will forget this child soon
There will be no similarity
When he looks back at me
On a cold November night
Most likely a rainy Tuesday
For adults need their misery
Mine is a strange adaptation
Taken without a prescription
Nature could cure my soul
Love would nurture my heart
Words should smooth my mind
But stubbornly and struggling
I try and disappear like a boy
Who should never see himself
As a frowning man over thirty.
11/04/09
After writing the piece above I came upon this passage in one of the books I am reading. The passage below is from The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji.
"There are wonderful moments sometimes - a splash of colour, the sweet taste of icy kulfi on a Sunday afternoon, the feel of hot steam on the face and arms from a gasping locomotive - that stand out purely in themselves, sparkles of childhood memory scattered loosely in the consciousness. They need not tell a story, yet moments lead from one to another in this tapestry that is one's life; and so we feel bound, unhappy adults, to look past and around those glimmer points in our desperate search for nuance and completeness, for coherence and meaning."
Statistical Anomalies
My spirit feels like it has died
I am in mourning for its return
A friendly and witty disposition
Lacking my current disillusion
Shunning the light for darkness
I have always embraced spring
This year it is receiving nothing
No admiration of April's tulips
The colours spread like a quilt
One knitted loving by old hands
With eyes squinting and crying
Time hardens and softens hearts
Or it softens and hardens hearts
I am not sure about very much
People love despite not trusting
Until love cannot survive alone
There is nothing left to be done
Except returning to our old self
Relearning how happiness works
Finding ways to smile naturally
When all movements seem odd
Living can be a foreign concept
After beating ourselves senseless
With doubts about being worthy
Should anyone stumble upon us
Swimming in the puddles of rain
Formed by April's lasting clouds
Those postponing baseball games
Making weird statistical anomalies
Only a entire season would correct
I used to be a rubber armed pitcher
Always happy playing and laughing
Overly competitive and committed
Now very little holds my attention
A few fleeting minutes of normalcy
Until my doubts return full fledged
Distracting me from accomplishing
Anything out of my potential talents
Failure is disgusting like a raw fish
But in the water it is still beautiful
Success is living through any day
Learning to feel better at the end
When the blinds are pulled closed
Leaving us with our own loneliness
Knowing it does not have to be so
Because it has not always been so.
14/04/09
On the weekend I watched Synecdoche, New York and I thought it was brilliant. The movie is as mentally challenging as Charlie Kaufman's other works Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation and Being John Malkovich. But I felt this one was superior because of the performance of Philip Seymour Hoffman as a morose theatre director. Kaufman's movie makes us wonder if we are in the present or the past and if we are awake or dreaming. We could be everything at once and we could be everyone at once. Samatha Morton is also very strong in this movie and information about the movie is below.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0383028/
I suppose I should return to a book, a song or a movie. The Flying Troutman's by Miriam Toews is holding my attention the best, so it should get some glances before the Jays game.
More than enough.
john.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWuC2m3OlA8
I think we are all thinking about getting out and I know we all have things we can't tell anyone.
April has arrived since my last blog entry and with it came the very welcoming start of the baseball season. The game, its history and its statistics will always hold a place in my heart. A place slightly deeper than my country's national game and its own history. Though there is sadness starting this season with the deaths of a young rookie, a forgotten colourful character and the old voice of a team. The journey from 1-162 in baseball is never easy like the journey from 1-100 in life. Only baseball fades before winter and many of us struggle into our winter.
I find a lot of comfort from nature but have failed to properly appreciate it so far this spring. There seems to be something missing, not outside, but inside of me. The loss of spirit or the breaking of soul. Should such things become lost or broken. I suppose I should make more of an effort but right now my heart is not in it very much. I hope to find a smile by May.
I have been listening to a lot of Teddy Thompson lately, he is a British folk and country musician and producer. I love his country like voice and for some reason it reminds me of the great Roy Orbison. His father Richard Thompson was listed in the top 20 all-time guitarists by Rolling Stone and his mother was one top British folk artists of the 1970's. Below are links to some of Teddy's songs along with a Counting Crows cover of Meet on the Ledge by his father's band Fairpoint Convention recorded live with Dutch group Blof.
Meet on the Ledge (Counting Crows and Blof)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWuC2m3OlA8
Change of heart (Teddy Thompson on Letterman)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLMDIOUlB1E
In My Arms (acoustic)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gzb77AALN08
We Can Work It Out (Beatles cover with Martha Wainwright)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hCnvWHZd4Ro
I haven't done much "poetic" writing lately either. Below are the last two pieces I have written.
No Similarity
I am a damaged person
Parts of me need repair
They have been stressed
With too many thoughts
Burdened by life and love
The self-hatred and hurt
Have scarred too deeply
I am lacking something
While missing everything
Spring brings its newness
All my laughter is ancient
Colour faded like a picture
The one of a boy smiling
Looking off at the horizon
Seeing a kite flying above
Green and red on blue sky
I will forget this child soon
There will be no similarity
When he looks back at me
On a cold November night
Most likely a rainy Tuesday
For adults need their misery
Mine is a strange adaptation
Taken without a prescription
Nature could cure my soul
Love would nurture my heart
Words should smooth my mind
But stubbornly and struggling
I try and disappear like a boy
Who should never see himself
As a frowning man over thirty.
11/04/09
After writing the piece above I came upon this passage in one of the books I am reading. The passage below is from The In-Between World of Vikram Lall by M.G. Vassanji.
"There are wonderful moments sometimes - a splash of colour, the sweet taste of icy kulfi on a Sunday afternoon, the feel of hot steam on the face and arms from a gasping locomotive - that stand out purely in themselves, sparkles of childhood memory scattered loosely in the consciousness. They need not tell a story, yet moments lead from one to another in this tapestry that is one's life; and so we feel bound, unhappy adults, to look past and around those glimmer points in our desperate search for nuance and completeness, for coherence and meaning."
Statistical Anomalies
My spirit feels like it has died
I am in mourning for its return
A friendly and witty disposition
Lacking my current disillusion
Shunning the light for darkness
I have always embraced spring
This year it is receiving nothing
No admiration of April's tulips
The colours spread like a quilt
One knitted loving by old hands
With eyes squinting and crying
Time hardens and softens hearts
Or it softens and hardens hearts
I am not sure about very much
People love despite not trusting
Until love cannot survive alone
There is nothing left to be done
Except returning to our old self
Relearning how happiness works
Finding ways to smile naturally
When all movements seem odd
Living can be a foreign concept
After beating ourselves senseless
With doubts about being worthy
Should anyone stumble upon us
Swimming in the puddles of rain
Formed by April's lasting clouds
Those postponing baseball games
Making weird statistical anomalies
Only a entire season would correct
I used to be a rubber armed pitcher
Always happy playing and laughing
Overly competitive and committed
Now very little holds my attention
A few fleeting minutes of normalcy
Until my doubts return full fledged
Distracting me from accomplishing
Anything out of my potential talents
Failure is disgusting like a raw fish
But in the water it is still beautiful
Success is living through any day
Learning to feel better at the end
When the blinds are pulled closed
Leaving us with our own loneliness
Knowing it does not have to be so
Because it has not always been so.
14/04/09
On the weekend I watched Synecdoche, New York and I thought it was brilliant. The movie is as mentally challenging as Charlie Kaufman's other works Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation and Being John Malkovich. But I felt this one was superior because of the performance of Philip Seymour Hoffman as a morose theatre director. Kaufman's movie makes us wonder if we are in the present or the past and if we are awake or dreaming. We could be everything at once and we could be everyone at once. Samatha Morton is also very strong in this movie and information about the movie is below.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0383028/
I suppose I should return to a book, a song or a movie. The Flying Troutman's by Miriam Toews is holding my attention the best, so it should get some glances before the Jays game.
More than enough.
john.
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