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|Saturday, February 19th, 2005|
|Things Have Changed
Well, let's get down to it.
I've been fucked up for a while. I recorded being pretty upbeat at the end of October. Since then, some crazy things have happened to me, some of them not good. A major one: To my chagrin, in December, I allowed myself to violate many of what you might call my "principles" for what one person was offering me. That could never have been worth it and, it turns out, was, in this case, particularly
not worth it. Recollections from that entire episode make me cringe about twice every day.
In this great future, you can't forget your past.
If only that were my problem, Bob. Ah, well. In a way I'd like to be able to say I've given up hope of ever having a functional intellectual, affectionate, and sexual relationship with anyone, but hope springs eternal. As does the dashing of said hope, and rushing black despair. Ah, well.
Following the events of December, in January and early February I started to slide down into depression. I started to become particularly and even irrationally irritated by some people that I know and see frequently. As the same time, and later on as irritation was replaced by just misery, I began to feel that some of these people didn't want me around. At the time, then, it would have made sense just to walk away from it all with the logic that "I don't like you, you don't like me.". But the mind is a funny animal, and I didn't. I still don't know if that was the right decision or not. I hate to be where I'm not wanted, but, though I hate to admit it, I don't want to be right about that. Yeah, I admit it. I like being liked. Fucking shattering illusions all over
the shop tonight, aren't I?
Because of some of these things - a greater level of self absorbtion, doubt about whether the person actually cares if I live or die or not - I think I've treated some of you in a rather callous and offhand fashion at times. I apologise for that. The logic behind it was, essentially, in the words of my man Bob (the other one):
When you got nothin', you got nothin' to lose.
I'd like to be able to say that I think things are looking up / I'm turning over a new leaf / things are going to change, but right now (01:34AM 19/02/05
), I don't. I can only hope to ride it out, as we all must, a boat on the river.
|Friday, February 18th, 2005|
|Deadman's Journey / The Land Before The River
It's been a long night of listening to music
Hurling lyrics here and there
I'll spare you that
Stolen wine and olives
I can almost smell the burning again
Deep in America in 1960
You found an empty motel
Talked about Presidents
Goatsmilk candy and jackrabbits
But you didn't live to see
The end of your son's war
Would you rather have?
Would you have seen
Where Operation Igloo White was going?
Would you have wanted to?
I think you would.
I think you would.
|Wednesday, February 16th, 2005|
Enlightenment does not embrace the concept of "faux".
The term for the feeling of constantly being on the edge of a great discovery is called presque vu
What does it mean that there is a word for that?
Where are my maps and charts? The future like a black train burning across the land, down on you.
Standing on the dust of history on the floor of the universe, looking up into time.
A shattered moon. A block of salt. A council of wolves.
A concrete buddah. Can you polish concrete? Can you wax concrete and polish that?
|Monday, February 14th, 2005|
|The Sleeper Wakes
Dude, I don't know if you will recieve this, if you do it will quite possibly be a quater of an hour late.
Ever had Plum Wine? if the drinking experience is anything like plums, I want to try that shit.Duma says:
You know what is weird but cool? Green Ginger Wine.Duma says:
I doubt that Wine based on Plum would taste much like plum.Kisangani says:
What is Green Ginger Wine like?Kisangani says:
You're A Better Man Than I is such an awesome song.Duma says:
It's good. (x2)
Hah. You're A Better Man Than I is a great sound track to indescretion.Duma says:
Hella sneaking downstairs in the total dark to steal wine. Cutting pork pies during guitar bit. Realising which exact bit of the song is best while walking past cupboard etc.Duma says:
I think you have stolen too much wine.Kisangani says:
Hah. Not likely. This isn't even drinking, this is just putting an alcoholic sheen on things.Kisangani says:
Is it me or does Train Kept A Rollin' sound like nobody could hear what the other people were doing?Duma says:
Well, yeah. But they were all on drugs.Kisangani says:
It comes together by the middle, though. Good song.Kisangani says:
the lyrics of Shapes Of Things sounds like a cross between Love and The Beatles.Duma says:
Yes, it's another one of those ones with good bits and bad bits.
It feels a lot, lot later than it is.Kisangani says:
I feel sort of Out Of TimeKisangani says:
How so?Kisangani says:
it doesn't feel like 00:28, but it couldn't say if it feels later or earlier.
The sleeper wakes but the dreamer goes on dreaming.
Tomorrow, tomorrow comes today.
It's suprisingly hard work trying to find the exact best list of things to buy with this £35 Amazon gift voucher. I have 2 objectives:
1) Be left with as little change as possible
2) Not buy some crap
I'm playing around with various things, trying to end up with an interesting mix of things, specifically stuff/prices that would be hard to find off Amazon. Good contenders are: Bleed American
by Jimmy Eat World (because I've been nearly buying it for years
by Leftfield (because it has some good stuff on it and I don't think I can get is elsewhere), Gorillaz
by Gorillaz (ditto), DVD of The Big Lebowski
(good price on that), Tical
by Method Man / RZA (good price, hard to find), and one but not both of Things Fall Apart
and Do You Want More?
by The Roots (far better prices on Amazon than elsewhere that I've seen).
It doesn't help that the number of CDs that I want is proportional to how long I spend thinking about CDs, without limit!
One day I'll compile a complete list of all the CDs I want. Last time I gave up after about ~30 items in financial despair.
Damn. It's harder than you'd think.
Whether at Naishápur or Babylon,
Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run,
The Wine of Life keeps oozing drop by drop,
The Leaves of Life keep falling one by one.
The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, Verse IIX.
5th Edition, translated by Edward Fitzgerald
|This is the way the world ends
February 14 , 2005 00:09
February 14 , 2005 01:00
February 14 , 2005 01:19
February 14 , 2005 01:51
When tomorrow, tomorrow comes today.
|Saturday, February 12th, 2005|
|[The sky is a machine for making gods]
I can see - In the dark!
The opening notes of Obsession For Men
are absolutely the best thing I have ever heard.
Tonight I could see the black bulk of the moon behind the glowing white cresent against the sky. I could still see the black clouds on the horizon like a parade of elephants silhoutted against the yellowgreenblueblack sky to the west while Orion rose in the east.
I saw an invisible plane's lights fly out of the sunset lit clouds, heading north. I saw lavender and pink clouds against a turquoiseblue sky, and radiator heating-element copper-pink and grey clouds in a yellow sky.
Everyone should listen to Genius, the Warren Zevon greatest hits album.
A question I am fond of asking is "What's your favorite album?". It's usually harder to answer than "What's your favorite band?" and more complex than "What's your favorite song?". You've got to consider: Is all of the album good, or does it just have some standout tracks with filler? Does the album represent a significant work by an artist/group, or of the time it is from, or in your life? And so on. It's quite hard.
I've been working on it for myself. In no particular order:A Glorious Lethal Euphoria by The Mermen
. I love this album. I've been listening to it again recently for the first time in a few months and it is incredible. Intense, dense, evocative, complex instrumental music. It would be great solely on the basis of Obsession For Men
, which I think is the best thing I've ever heard, but, better still, it's all
great. Americana by The Offspring
. I like this for the fact that it is all of an even quality and uniform theme. Eclectic records are cool, but there is value in having an album that you can put on and leave on, in the right mood. Saying that you can put it on and leave it on
might give the impression that this is some kind of easy listening thing (assuming you don't know who The Offspring are, and can't infer anything from their name...). I don't like easy listening, or chillout. I have a moral objection to it. But that's a story for another day. Anyway. Americana
is pretty rockin' in an American-Punk way. It's got humour and some ideas behind it.Mutter by Rammstein
. Everything on this is good. Much of it is very evocative, some of it provocative, and all of it is bangen' maaaate. Yeah. When I want some serious noise to block the pain, or bring it, this is usually a good start. It's 2:11am. Goddamn I'm tired. Here is the rest.Solid Air by John Martyn
. Entroducing... by DJ Shadow
.Songs Of The Cows (EP) by The Mermen
. That's all I can think of at the moment, I'm sure I've forgotten some that I was thinking of earlier.
|Thursday, February 10th, 2005|
|Tuesday, February 8th, 2005|
Warm Grail-blue mornings in the swamp. The legend moon has gone to sleep, ancestral dreams have faded away, and the day is a rock under the sky. The forest is a shadow by the atomic highway. Don Johnson Ikkyu, smoking cold rose cigarettes, watches Joseph sitting by the payphone listening to a satellite aubade.
This unreal romance.
I'm angry that I'm failing in what I think I want to do, and I'm angry that I can't make myself do anything about it. I'm angry that I've allowed my life to be, to become, what it is.
I'm angry that I care what you think. I'm angry that I felt bad about being angry. I'm angry that I let myself believe that I could ever change, even when it was so obvious that I can't and that I wasn't changing. I'm angry that I wanted to change.
I'm angry that I'm writing this here. I'm angry that I'll waste energy being angry when there are no comments or when the comments are pointless.
I'm angry that I'll probably edit this post or delete it later. I'm angry that I'll think I was wrong later. I'm angry that I don't know who I am or what I am or what I want or what I need. I'm angry that
|Thursday, February 3rd, 2005|
|Tuesday, February 1st, 2005|
|Focus : Now
Wandering in the starry desert night between monoliths of solidified time, like pylons of blue glass pitted by the passage of ten million years. By one pillar stands a caribou, shaggy and dark, antlers spread like the branches of a tree, and a tiny coloured frog squats on the cold sand by it's hooves. Inside the pillar, half seen behind the cracks and scars of time, is a chimerical creature - a lion, then a snake, then a rooster, then-
"What is this?"
A raven, marked with old dried blood fading on the claws, settles on the caribou's antlers.
"This is the New American Century"
|Sunday, January 30th, 2005|
|Rage Against The MaCream
Hella suxx. Cream is reforming with Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, and Ginger Baker for 4 dates at the Royal Albert Hall in May. I was totally set to go, all planning telling G and so on and so on.
! No tickets on Ticketmaster! In fact, there are only tickets on dodgy websites for obscene prices. One site listed between £400 and £800, while another between £200 and £300. That fucking sucks.
|Friday, January 28th, 2005|
It occurred to me that I could do an LJ that was just the lyrics of Rockin' In The Free World, but I'm not going to.
|Thursday, January 27th, 2005|
|Someday our ocean will find its shore
A Red Mars poem that may be relevant:
Dying yellow pine trees on a hillside
Playing with the needles when the roots are sick
A black train bearing down on the future
I've noticed that a lot of people like to quote lyrics from songs as if they were some kind of scripture, that because they come from somebody else, and because they sound good, they are of divine providence. I seem to be one of them from the number of lyrics I quote just here. I don't know if that's the case, because often I intentionally quote things just because they sound good. Keep on rockin' in the free world.
Maybe everyone else is doing that and I just don't know it.
Talk talk talk talk. This LJ is talk talk talk. This entire LJ neighborhood, this LJ ghetto
of wallowing in self-obsession, of self-interest, of self
is talk talk talk talk talk talk talk.Your tears they tell me
There's really no way
Of ending your troubles
With things you can say.
-- Nick Drake, Time Has Told Me,
from Five Leaves Left.
If you ask me, Nick Drake's lyrics really are of divine providence.
|Undertones and overtones
I watched some of Child Of Our Time: Now We Are Five
the other day. It's not the sort of thing I usually watch, but I've seen a few episodes over the years. It doesn't feel like five years have passed since I watched the first one, but it is. An odd feeling. Child Of Our Time
is an ongoing documentary series that follows the development of 25 people from birth to the age of 21.
This episode was all about starting school. While I was watching it, I suddenly thought of Becks. It's probably because of what she's said once or twice about wishing she could be seven forever.
As these things happen, Becks was floating around in my mind after the programme finished and also today. I've been reflecting on an odd thing: I think Becks is cool, interesting, and attractive, but I don't
want to have- be in a- make- ... uh, fuck
her. That's pretty unusual for me. Even if I never do anything about it (but that's another matter). I'd really like to see her more often, talk to her, yeah, but there doesn't seem to be any lust component to that vector of urge.
Maybe it's because I know it could never work out. I seriously doubt that is the reason, though, even though it is true, because it would be the first time ever that logic had overruled lust. Ever.
While I was writing this, it occurred to me that maybe it's to do with the "I wish I could be seven forever" thing. That's interesting, but it ain't sexy, if you follow my meaning. Maybe that's it.
|Monday, January 24th, 2005|
|The burning wind fills my lungs
I'm trying to get a handle on my school work this week. I need to do this physics, which I have started, some art for Mr Riley, annotate some stuff for Mr Paul, and, significantly, put serious energy into my English coursework. In theory that's in for this week, but the hell Ima hand in my commentary any time soon. It all seems quite possible, as long as I do something every day.
I've started thinking about suicide again.
The method is almost always a gunshot to the head. That, I think, reflects the entire nature of the fascination: It isn't about death -I have no interest in hastening the onset of oblivion- it's about the event as a clinamen
, a violent, irreversible change. Swift, decisive change is what I want. Even so, it's disconcerting
to think about the pressure of the muzzle on your temple, the heft of it in your hand, the compressed energy.
In some ways I've been disappointed with my friends in recent weeks. To an extent this is just a reflection of my dissatisfaction with myself, but there's still something there. I often feel that my presence is tolerated rather than actually enjoyed. I kind of expect that, but it doesn't mean I have to like it, and holy mother of pussy
, I don't. Not just because, hell, I'd like people to like me, but because talking to people who have no interest in what you have to say is shit.
Something semi-relevant in the semi-intelligible words of Cypress Hill's B Real
:Sometimes I wish I was back home
But the incomprehensible show me
No love, they're phoney
And the Press say that my own people disown me
And the best way back
Is to keep your head straight, never inflate the cranium
They're too worried about their homies at the Palladium.
|Sunday, January 23rd, 2005|
|until the next dark stretch
from the land of the lost
Behold the white horse,
I've been thinking about the Edge recently. There's another kid that will never go to school
Never get to fall in love, never get to be cool.
Keep on rockin' in the free world
Keep on rockin' in the free world
The line between normal life, and a kind of sunset-colours intensity sinister other-life.I had a buddy at Khe Sahn
Fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone
Pushing that line is dangerous. But what's more dangerous is not pushing it hard enough
.Keep on rockin' in the free world
|Saturday, January 22nd, 2005|
Serious Mr. Xiu won there. The sex Johnson lost over that is your warm Havana application of long depressing history. The Brotherhood sent Arlo Bond. Contraindicated Novy-Taichung words laid a grail hold on reunion. Every history has an end, mostly at 6AM. Every shibboleth tastes the rock, and Japanese Man keeps the Doberman busy.
As hard as they are, the citizens of California's time of peace reap this passionate Romance Culture. Is it because of a fear of dying? -- Sam Shogun
You aren't back yet, but you will be when we get to the Diner. Flaming franchise proverbs from Jim's taste sellout. Swamp da complete space sensors, Gregorio. Witticism, dead step.
"Is he from-" I'm High! "- Fresno?"
The clique, the largest right on the underground world floor. And it's chemicals describe the drink. Solid, luscious Peter. The McWilliams iceberg: Håvamål-Tokyo light, tending to Fischer and Thorst.
"American Jackson," said the Goth, "your radio girl summer lights are fat." ASCII did for Jabez.
Be True To Trotsky Now, Girl
The carefully uncensored sister images reflect relations with Vespa in a busy Reactor. Inchoate, the Megiddo Emperor rests the nuclear bourbon on the table next to Virginia. Well, the Area Band lost, threw away the weapon at Fort Slipstream. Classic Leon Mako guitar there as as Sollog Pelsmith hammered out the lyrics to "Sleeping Is The Code"."
With roots for breakfast, it's off to Mir, you tool. There could be rotas, thought Twentieth Iblis, delicious amnesiac rotas rather than the angry Reservation Drunkard who was prepared and armed to fight to insist that his decree was followed.
The VasCo Characters Guide is now defunct. "How yo carry the world's lawyer, Yanqui." Blood's daydreamin' mornings, thinking of a detonation opera. The LAN may grace the Noah Festival. Apocalypse bra. Give it up for Niles Hornby Lawrence, the last honest tramp on this obscure island of secret love. The complete Mr. Smith Becoming Xiu stars San Quarto's Guthrie Hanford as Biff Smith!
Joke north, four beer Basque, doomed (still pretty) sadness.
Not from Heaven, or beyond. Born down in this Dead Man's town.
the Wallowing, a Journal