Music

There is too much music for the sake of music.Yesterday I went for the Artists Unlimited show which was without a doubt the best live show I've ever been to. It was literally beautiful. After what felt like the longest time ever I heard music that made me realise why I love it so much in the first place. After growing progressively hostile towards music and the ruddy industry it's becoming I realised what it meant to me and what it was like some 8 years back when I first fell in love with it. This must be what it had been like, when music is just music and nothing personal which you degrade by attaching connotations and meanings. It's become too background noisish. There are hardly any times when I listen to it because I feel like it beause chances are I'm being forced to listen to music all day long, listen to people talk about music all day long and watch them try and peddle it.
Radio is an enemy, a ruthless enemy marching irressitably forward, and any resistance is hopeless. It forcefeeds us music regardless of whether we want to hear it, or whether we can grasp it with the result that music becomes just noise, a noise among other noises.

Am feeling easy in my skin & sin again. Methodically happy.

Sewage-water music & Ignorance

We won’t understand a thing about human life if we persist in avoiding the most obvious fact: that a reality no longer is what it was when it was. It can’t be reconstructed.
I imagine the feelings of two people meeting again after many years. In the past they spent some time together, and therefore they think they are linked together by the same experience, the same recollections. The same recollections? That’s where the misunderstanding starts: they don’t have the same recollections; each of them retains two or three small scenes from the past, but each has his own; their recollections are not similar; they don’t intersect; and even in terms of quantity they are not comparable: one person remembers the other more than he is remembered; first because memory capacity varies among individuals (an explanation that each of them finds acceptable), but also (and this is more painful to admit) because they don’t hold the same importance for each other. When F. saw G. at the airport, she remembered every detail of their long-ago adventure; G. remembered nothing. From the very first moment their encounter was based on unjust and revolting inequality.
The brevity of his life makes the sky a dark lid against which he will forever crack his head, to fall back onto earth, where everything alive eats and can be eaten.
She is lying on the bed alongside S; overexcited at the prospect of her rendezvous, she fears for her sleep; she already swallowed one sleeping tablet, she drowsed off and, waking in the middle of the night, she took another two, then out of despair, out of nervousness, she turned on a little radio beside her pillow. To get back to sleep she wants to hear a human voice, some talk that will seize her thoughts, carry her off to another place, calm her down, and put her to sleep; she switches from station to station but only music pours out from everywhere, sewage-water music, fragments of rock, of jazz, of opera, and it’s a world where she can’t talk to anybody because everybody’s singing and yelling, a world where nobody talks to her because everybody’s prancing around and dancing.

Np: Landslide- Fleetwood Mac

I took my love, I took it down
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
’till the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing’
cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
I’m getting older too

Oh, take my love, take it down
Climb a mountain and turn around
If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Will the landslide bring it down ?

If you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
Will the landslide bring it down?

Np: Shimmer - Fuel

She dreams a champagne dream
Strawberry surprise, pink linen and white paper

She says that love is for fools who fall behind

It’s too far away for me to hold

Guess I’ll let it go

If you take a song. Any. It usually spells out whatever you tried looking for or vaguely thought you could find.
Stop looking already.
Restructuring the future. I get this now. I get to do this. Rethink it all. Change it around. It's beautifully unknown. Just not knowing what I want it to be gives you so much. So many more options. Legit ones. And because this version of your future depends pretty much only on you it seems a lot scarier. Wonderful. We get to dream again.

Morning

Dry voice. Powdery wings. Flapping.
Olive and Gold dust.
I’m a little tired. I want the brown skin. It would be enough to settle for the harder lines. Brings out the grey better. To wipe crumbs off the side of her mouth.
My body has become home. I’m just so familiar with every inch, every crest and trough. It feels weathered, all the more comfortable. I’ve seen each cut and bruise. I bruise easily. I’ve seen it throw most of it off. It looks like me now, it feels like my room where I curl up and do my thing. I’m quite comfortable in it. And there’s the colour : )
I can still surprise myself. We did that together. We swung back into normalcy (well almost because there are certain things that aren’t being said anymore, not because of any inhibition but because they don’t hold true, atleast for you) rather easily. Like the time spent before this was just a mandatory period of confusion. I still can surprise myself.
Watching M on stage is brilliant. Their taste in music mostly doesn’t correspond with mine, but the way they simply perform is just beautiful to watch. They have such fun. They’re so confident. They’re such .. well professionals. Their vocalist has this voice the kinds of which aren’t very easy to come by. But it’s the bassist I’m in love with. They conform and conform beautifully. The typical righteousness of the Indian rocker, the whole identity crisis faced by the scene, the whole question of originality, none of it seems to affect them the least. So though they do this set which any other band would seem gauche trying to carry it off they come across as completely unpretentious. Then it’s simply about music and how they do it. Which is brilliant fun to watch.
Np: Led Zeppelin –Friends
I have hardly any of them left here. I have all these people I can spend time with, who gabble and gibble, and do it rather well too. But the people I had that very unique brand of fun with have in majority dispersed. All of the people missing in action had a wholly different perspective of everything. So even with the 4 of them left behind who earlier also were a very essential part of the Round Table there’s that thing that is amiss. It’s not them. It’s just that when you’re getting an entire rainbow and later take out some of the colours the colours left behind also aren’t part of a rainbow. They’re just green and red and yellow. By the way I don’t like rainbows one bit so that was an unfortunate example. I find them weird. Like oily bits of the sky.


Both N and I are getting good at the sleep deprivation. We get tired. Not sleepy. Her first show's coming up.

Usually when I get this tired of people in general one can expect something pretty drastic if not exciting to happen. But I wouldn't let go of the rope. A million and one defence mechanisms to still not let any of you know. Ugh.

Managed to make two good days sound so sullen. Breath of colour. Hopefully soon. And we never even got around to telling any of them about what had happened. One of the best kept secrets.
It works in ways very similar to the one we'd talked about earlier. Not quite same, but similar. White turns to brown. Ivory to olive. We were all relieved we didn't lose you. That would have been horrible. But now that we still have you we don't really know what to do with you. We don't like having to unnecessarily think about you. But we wouldn't want to lose you.

Word Warrior

I got sick of telling you everything. Not that I claimed to. The videos came out candid. And surprisingly gentle. And she said it all. Rather easily. But they won't last. Aesthetics is the operative word here.
I took the test and turns out my IQ is 156 and I'm a word warrior.
We use the most confusing ones available.
My sweetheart's back. Must go.

The Hours

Still there is this sense of missed opportunity. Maybe there is nothing, ever, that can equal the recollection of having been young together. Maybe it's as simple as that. He was the person she loved at her most optimistic moment.

The triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.

Here is the stout, practical heart that beats beneath; here are the watery lights of her being- deep pink lights, red-gold lights, glittering, unsteady; lights that gather and disperse; here are the depths of Her, the heart beneath the heart; the untouchable essence that a man ( Him of all people !)dreams of, yearns toward, searches for so desperately at night. Here it is in daylight, in Irie's arms.

Dreams

For the record it's been half an hour since I woke up from the dream. With the show and the floor and the game. And that girl who just does not shut up. I'm so resentful that she's taking up dream space now, and that too this particular one. And not saying anything distinct. Not concentrating on the game. And the ease. The ridiculous ease which probably can't be faked. 'Master of sceptre'.
It's been the longest time since I dreamt about this.


*companionable silence*

Boredom

Hello.
I'm bored. And sick of almost everything. But mainly bored.
Homer: Lisa, you're a Buddhist, so you believe in reincarnation. Eventually, Snowball will be reborn as a higher lifeform... like a snowman.
Pizza for everybody : )
Cranberry shots if you will.
Shiny, happy people.
Bleddy party balloons.