I'm driving out in a few hours. Pune - Bangalore - Mysore - Hassan - Bangalore - Goa - Pune is the plan at the moment and everything seems peachy.
Let it roll, baby, roll.
------------
(10th December 2010)
Back home now. Two weeks and about 3500 kilometres later, I'd have to say this road trip has been all sorts of epic. 4 days in Bangalore, 3 in Mysore, 3 in Hassan, 3 in Goa and most of that in my trusty and wonderful 5-speed Maruti 800, with the music turned up. Way up.
The weather has been fantastic. I can't explain it.
I don't have anything against rain... but you know that bit just before the clouds burst and for a few moments, everything seems to be in a suspended state of 'pleasant'? Well, somehow, the Weather Gods deemed it fit to serve us with those very moments... stretched out into fourteen exquisite days, all across the Deccan Plateau and Western Ghats. Quite.
On a related and very interesting note, there's a word to describe the smell of the earth after rain: Petrichor.
So yes, the drive was excellent. Other highlights include catching some terrific live music, from Dub FX to the happy chaps on the Goa jazz/blues/rock circuit... and some invigorating physical activity in the form of trekking and dancing and a ridiculously redeeming game of basketball.
My mind's been wandering a heck of a lot these past two weeks... and hopefully the posts to follow will have some evidence of that. For now, try these on for size:
1.
Uh 2.
And uh 3.
"Baby don't you understand... what you're doing to the man."
Salut.
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music. Show all posts
What's in a Letter? The A - Z game (17th November 2010)
I just had a thought. I was writing an email when I suddenly felt amused by how the words I chose in one sentence came together rather beautifully. The aesthetic of language is a very interesting trait and I've always found it fascinating when words are put together (sometimes intentionally) to form alliterations or statements that really sort of roll off the tongue nicely.
Now alliterations are many words using the same letter, so I thought about how it would be novel to use each letter of the alphabet instead, and form a single sentence. And I would do this using the letters in sequence. It must have already been done by someone at some point but I thought I might give it a go.
This was my first effort... and I have to say, it is a very exciting exercise and I recommend everyone try it. It's like a little adventure; the fun is in weaving the words together while following the one and only rule: A to Z.
I'll end with something Timothy Leary once said. It's a great thought and fits here, I think. It's used as a lyric in a song by Infected Mushroom.
Damn, I love that part when the beats slip in at "letters in between" and then the words trail off. Really hits home.
Turn on, tune in, drop out.
Now alliterations are many words using the same letter, so I thought about how it would be novel to use each letter of the alphabet instead, and form a single sentence. And I would do this using the letters in sequence. It must have already been done by someone at some point but I thought I might give it a go.
This was my first effort... and I have to say, it is a very exciting exercise and I recommend everyone try it. It's like a little adventure; the fun is in weaving the words together while following the one and only rule: A to Z.
A boy could derive extraordinary fun going hunting in jail; killing lemurs, monkeys, necrophiliacs or pedophiles, quietly reducing suspicion to underestimate various wicked xenophiles yearning Zen!I'm not sure why my brain turned to killing animals and perverts, but I feel as though this can also have some psychological significance, if used in tests. I have to say – the first half of the alphabet is easy... but the second half gets tricky. Especially because you're halfway through the sentence. And you can only go a few ways with XYZ!
I'll end with something Timothy Leary once said. It's a great thought and fits here, I think. It's used as a lyric in a song by Infected Mushroom.
"But they all do sort of the same thing, and that is rearrange what you thought was real, and... umm... they remind you of the beauty of pretty simple things.
You forget, because you're so busy going from A to Z that there's umm... twenty-four letters in between."
Damn, I love that part when the beats slip in at "letters in between" and then the words trail off. Really hits home.
Turn on, tune in, drop out.
Indiecision (22nd May 2010)
If everyone is Indie, is anyone Indie? Assess the significance of the idea of independence within popular music.
Abstract: Are labels and names and classifications slowly losing their significance to give room to free flowing multidimensional and interdisciplinary art that only uses those labels for their own promotion and publicity? The trick is stigma. We are now convinced that it is cool to be unusual, off the beaten path and exclusive. Less known is alluring. Calling something indie is like tagging it 'hep' and that unfortunate consequence is a result of this revisiting of the 1960s we seem to be going through. Awareness and getting "in touch with ourselves" seems to be the theme of the decade that has gone by, right from Chicken Soup For The Soul to that movie Crash.
I read somewhere about how the artist experience seems to be making a come back. In the 60s and 70s, the music was personal. People knew about the artists and their lives were a big part of the world. The late 70s disco and all through the 80s up until the late 90s showed us how it was about the music more than the people that made it. We were thinking about AIDS and the Berlin wall and liberalization and MC Hammer's can't touch this. We didn't care about MC Hammer. Or Salt n Peppa even though we DID want to talk about sex. We had mullets and watched Lethal Weapon and got career oriented. Computers and Chris Gardner.
Since 2000, we are now very interested in the music we buy. When I say buy, I mean invest our attention in. It's 2010 now and twitter acts as a way for our celebrities to give us a glimpse of who they really are. Following someone on twitter and seeing what they write about (read: John Mayer) makes you feel like it's your facebook home page and Mr. Mayer is just another friend talking about his last trip to the doctor and everything is getting personal again. If we like and understand the artist, his music is definitely something we're going to put on our iPods and in our cars. And then there's another side to it. Like the Gorillaz. Hiding behind those animated characters makes us curious.
Abstract: Are labels and names and classifications slowly losing their significance to give room to free flowing multidimensional and interdisciplinary art that only uses those labels for their own promotion and publicity? The trick is stigma. We are now convinced that it is cool to be unusual, off the beaten path and exclusive. Less known is alluring. Calling something indie is like tagging it 'hep' and that unfortunate consequence is a result of this revisiting of the 1960s we seem to be going through. Awareness and getting "in touch with ourselves" seems to be the theme of the decade that has gone by, right from Chicken Soup For The Soul to that movie Crash.
I read somewhere about how the artist experience seems to be making a come back. In the 60s and 70s, the music was personal. People knew about the artists and their lives were a big part of the world. The late 70s disco and all through the 80s up until the late 90s showed us how it was about the music more than the people that made it. We were thinking about AIDS and the Berlin wall and liberalization and MC Hammer's can't touch this. We didn't care about MC Hammer. Or Salt n Peppa even though we DID want to talk about sex. We had mullets and watched Lethal Weapon and got career oriented. Computers and Chris Gardner.
Since 2000, we are now very interested in the music we buy. When I say buy, I mean invest our attention in. It's 2010 now and twitter acts as a way for our celebrities to give us a glimpse of who they really are. Following someone on twitter and seeing what they write about (read: John Mayer) makes you feel like it's your facebook home page and Mr. Mayer is just another friend talking about his last trip to the doctor and everything is getting personal again. If we like and understand the artist, his music is definitely something we're going to put on our iPods and in our cars. And then there's another side to it. Like the Gorillaz. Hiding behind those animated characters makes us curious.
But then the music better be darn good if you're going to pull that off.
Anyway, my point is... I think you might want to explore indie as a cultural shift more than a genre. Is there really a distinction between indie and popular music?
Anyway, my point is... I think you might want to explore indie as a cultural shift more than a genre. Is there really a distinction between indie and popular music?
Or maybe indie is a means to describe music made by artists who really are about the music more than the sales and the propaganda. Which translates loosely to everyone who doesn't work with Timbaland. I mean, the ones that do are still out to have fun but maybe the indie scene is more about the art-form than Sunset Boulevard.
Sometimes the two mix... but not as often as when indie music crosses into popular territory.
Salvation - Citizen Cope (21st May 2010)
If there's one song that has never failed to get me to cringe my eyebrows, nod my head from side to side and use my unfortunately un-melodic voice to sing almost as though all the pain and anguish in the world has finally been understood and accepted by one solitary soul, it's this.
"Since I was the age to speak, Haven't you been listening? Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
It is heavy, it is poignant, it is moving. It is everything music is supposed to be. Each chord and each painstaking syllable used by Clarence Greenwood's beautifully unique voice manages to stir and shake everything inside me.
"I'm downstairs on the Motorola. You know, I got 3 golden bullets and I'm shooting for your soul. Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
You don't need to understand it. You just know it's there.
Like the blonde-headed kid with a left handed guitar.
"His first shot grazed my eye
I lost half of my sight and my first born's life
Yeah, the second shot knocked off my guitar moon
And it made my guitar kind of play out of tune
But I just kept strumming like I had nothing to lose
He turned the third on himself
'Cause the bastard knew.
Salvation. I'm calling. Salvation"
Put the gun down. Put the gun down. Put the gun down. Put the gun down.
Dog Days Are Over (15th May 2010)
I love how my dog pretends to ignore it when I take his bowl into the kitchen to fix him his lunch.
He just sits and looks at me from the corner of his eye (and then immediately looks away if he can tell that I am watching him) as if to suggest that he is oblivious to what's going on. Then, as I mash up his food into the required consistency, he looks at me big-eyed and waits for me to bring his bowl back to its home.
I think he does it because he thinks each meal is even more exciting if it's a surprise. He's all about the happy, this dog. If he had it his way, nobody would ever go away and every door would always be open. But all he really wants is for someone to be around and occasionally give life to his worn out toys.
Can I Pet Your Wolverine? (21st April 2010)
(wrote this on the bus to bombay a few days ago. gotta love the blackberry)
Hello and welcome to the show. My glasses are off and I find all sorts of clarity in the blur. The guitar solo in freebird is on and playing in full volume in my head. Boofuckingya.
What is it that you want? Ok sorry, I don't mean to pressure you. What you want is personal. Purse Anal. Ok.
So the visuals in this country are amazing. Without a doubt. We have hills and shit, goddamnit. I don't know other countries well enough, though. I ought to.
I'd be lying if I didn't say money is posing itself troublesome. Why can't I hang for a bit?
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
Musicians and film makers are doing it right. Bill Hicks was too. Peace and love, y'all. P and L. RnR too. Respect and representation.
Hey-ee-ayyy. There's something very magical about the subconscious. Heck, I don't want to call it the subconscious. Why can't it be undefined? Like God and piousness. Or the length of your penis.
There's a tipping point somewhere in your mind and I feel like I'm tipping all over the place. It either means I'm doing something right or completely and utterly wrong. But then Superfast Jellyfish by the Gorillaz comes on and it re-affirms my belief in transitive meaning. All hail King Neptune and his water breathers. Don't waste time with your net, our net worth is set.
Gotta have it.
Hello and welcome to the show. My glasses are off and I find all sorts of clarity in the blur. The guitar solo in freebird is on and playing in full volume in my head. Boofuckingya.
What is it that you want? Ok sorry, I don't mean to pressure you. What you want is personal. Purse Anal. Ok.
So the visuals in this country are amazing. Without a doubt. We have hills and shit, goddamnit. I don't know other countries well enough, though. I ought to.
I'd be lying if I didn't say money is posing itself troublesome. Why can't I hang for a bit?
What does it take to get a drink in this place?
Musicians and film makers are doing it right. Bill Hicks was too. Peace and love, y'all. P and L. RnR too. Respect and representation.
Hey-ee-ayyy. There's something very magical about the subconscious. Heck, I don't want to call it the subconscious. Why can't it be undefined? Like God and piousness. Or the length of your penis.
There's a tipping point somewhere in your mind and I feel like I'm tipping all over the place. It either means I'm doing something right or completely and utterly wrong. But then Superfast Jellyfish by the Gorillaz comes on and it re-affirms my belief in transitive meaning. All hail King Neptune and his water breathers. Don't waste time with your net, our net worth is set.
Gotta have it.
Gulp (15th March 2010)
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits
How much longer?
He looks out the window and the sky is seeping in
How much longer?
There she is, the woman he’s been waiting for.
All of a sudden, she’s here.
Stand up, he asked. His legs wouldn’t listen.
His legs just wouldn’t fucking listen.
Speak up, he thought and his mouth stayed shut.
His mouth just stayed fucking shut.
What’s the point, he settled, as he looked back out the window.
I’ll do this tomorrow, I will, I know it. It will be done.
Just another day now.
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits.
Then all of a sudden, they’re here.
His foot starts to kick, his legs spring up.
He advances.
His fist is clenched, his hands are swaying.
He comes to a halt.
His eyes are fixed, his stare is certain.
He’s certain. He is certain. Gulp.
He takes a quick look around and sees the office, lying dead in its eternity.
Of course, he thinks to himself. He needed out.
He smiles at her and says
“I’d like to carry on with my life now, thanks.
Which is to say… I quit.”
How much longer?
He looks out the window and the sky is seeping in
How much longer?
There she is, the woman he’s been waiting for.
All of a sudden, she’s here.
Stand up, he asked. His legs wouldn’t listen.
His legs just wouldn’t fucking listen.
Speak up, he thought and his mouth stayed shut.
His mouth just stayed fucking shut.
What’s the point, he settled, as he looked back out the window.
I’ll do this tomorrow, I will, I know it. It will be done.
Just another day now.
He sits and he stares and he stares and he sits.
Then all of a sudden, they’re here.
His foot starts to kick, his legs spring up.
He advances.
His fist is clenched, his hands are swaying.
He comes to a halt.
His eyes are fixed, his stare is certain.
He’s certain. He is certain. Gulp.
He takes a quick look around and sees the office, lying dead in its eternity.
Of course, he thinks to himself. He needed out.
He smiles at her and says
“I’d like to carry on with my life now, thanks.
Which is to say… I quit.”
Backwords (27th February 2010)
-Hi Atus, we seem to be running into each other often enough. How are you?
(long pause)
-Yeah, that’s right. You’re all about the pauses. Never mind then. Let’s get on with this.
We’re four months in now, even though it feels like much longer since I was cast away. Self imposition.
I’m sitting in the lobby of a fancy hotel working on a primitive laptop. Got my glasses on. Getting my groove on. Now where are the single malts and single ladies?
Who am I kidding. I need to regroup.
Boys, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Do you think you can manage?
Of course I can. There’s lots to do but they’re only just pedantic tasks. No real brainwork. What a pain.
People think this is a really big deal. I can’t seem to compute. It’s supposed to be a fun-filled EVENT. The word ‘Games’ is in it!
“Come out and play”, all sorts of sport, 70 countries, a big bonanza.
But no, involve the Man and bunches of Ministries and get everyone to hold their breath. Taking things seriously is everyone’s favourite game.
“This is the largest sporting event, second only to the Olympics”, and we’re bringing together countries originally brought together by colonialism. Right.
The eye of the storm is blind to me.
Here I am, taking each day as it comes, looking forward to the night and ensuring that there’s always good things in store the next day. It’s a survival tactic.
I’m in a big, unfamiliar city that is unfamiliarly becoming familiar to me.
Where am I? is a superb question to wake up to. Especially whilst driving by myself.
My constants of music, thought and energy assist in confusing me. Can’t help it.
This shit is bananas.
“You know it’s time that we grow old and do some shit”
- Broken Social Scene
(Listen to the version in the Bee Hives album. It's great. Plays in an awesome movie called Half Nelson)
-------
There is a space at work that is affectionately referred to as “The Stairs” where my associates and I indulge in some flippant conversation about whose boss said what to which underling and so on. We also turn our attention to nicotine and caffeine. Fun.
I was at The Stairs the other day with my wonderfully wonderful new-to-the-workplace Director. He’s a 60 year old man who has spent most of his life smiling politely in the hotel industry and is fluent in at least seven languages. Props. I don’t really think much of him in a professional light. I mean, I’m just looking to do my job and go home afterwards and I’d prefer it if there were a smaller number of people (that matter) having an opinion about my work. In any case, nice chap. Warm voice and his french is impeccable. He is also additionally charming because of his slightly awry sense of humour. It’s eccentric.
So we’re at The Stairs and he offers me a cigarette. I decline and so does my accomplice. We’re just giving him company, really. “You’re a good girl”, he concludes, directing his stare at my friend. And after a long enough pause, he adds-
“And I’m a bad boy.”
Warms my heart, it does. He talks about being consistently smokey since he was 12. Proud of it, he sparks off my desire to estimate how many cancersticks that actually amounts to. Over 350,000 which also translates to 700,000 rupees (considering the average price per cigarette, which, is obviously his information.) and before I finished playing with these numbers, he starts what seems like a completely disconnected story. Part of the ‘eccentricity I admire’, I dismiss – but Nay! “There was this American…” (here, you may note that he pauses to look into your soul, just to check if you’re paying attention, almost 5 times per sentence. His moustache covering his pout only makes the man cuter.) “standing near a car, smoking a cigarette. A sardar, like you (that’s me), asks him how long he’s been smoking and quickly works out the figures and says – ‘if you would have kicked this nasty habit of yours, you could have actually owned this car and the building you stand in front of!’ The American deftly responds, ‘This IS my car and that IS my building.’ The End.” He grins. I have absolutely no idea why. It’s marvellous.
Anecdote No. 2:
I was driving to the office this evening. To meet a colleague after her work hours so that we could have a drink and maybe do some shopping. On my way, the music reminds me of friends and times back home and so the calling begins. Whipping the phone out, I dial a good buddy and I laugh away as I drive into a major road. Hark! Police! The fellow gestures for me to stop. My first reaction is to wave my hand apologetically and decide whether I’m going to be driving away or stopping up ahead. I see him mount a motorcycle so I figure I’ll leave the exciting, high speed chase for another day.
I put on my sorry face and plead and show him all sorts of identification cards until he’s sore. He decides to let me off with a warning, which in his terms implies a smaller fine for a smaller crime. A crime I did not commit but it’s a mutual compromise that we’re happy to live with. He tells me the fine is a 100 and I’m alright with it. I open my smallet (small+wallet = new concept, great one at that) to discover that the beverage buying this afternoon left me with all of forty rupees. Damn, this could get complicated, I muse as he goes over to note down my registration. I’m going to have to go to an ATM and I don’t know how that’s going to fly with our crusader-man.
But wait! Over the past few months I’m sure I’ve made quite a collection with the spare change I accumulate now and again… and I dive into my dashboard tray to find all the thick coins I can. Two minutes and sixty rupees in circular stainless steel/ cupronickel later, I hand over my pittance and I’m free; free to do all the important things I told him I had set out to do which formed the basis of the illegal phone conversation I was having in the first place. (fib)
One important man to another, that’s how we do it, innit? :D
So yeah. Life in the capital is pretty sweet. I’m just not always in the mood, you know?
And this inability to teleport is something I think I’m never going to get over. I feel as though I’m regressing on so many levels as I move forward on the other ones.
Is that possible? What about that “once you learn to ride a bike” expression? I’m concerned that my writing is becoming more primitive and less coherent. Backwords.
Where’s the glue? I need to regroup.
One thing’s for sure – people here may be more legit, but they haven't broken any mould.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
(long pause)
-Yeah, that’s right. You’re all about the pauses. Never mind then. Let’s get on with this.
We’re four months in now, even though it feels like much longer since I was cast away. Self imposition.
I’m sitting in the lobby of a fancy hotel working on a primitive laptop. Got my glasses on. Getting my groove on. Now where are the single malts and single ladies?
Who am I kidding. I need to regroup.
Boys, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Do you think you can manage?
Of course I can. There’s lots to do but they’re only just pedantic tasks. No real brainwork. What a pain.
People think this is a really big deal. I can’t seem to compute. It’s supposed to be a fun-filled EVENT. The word ‘Games’ is in it!
“Come out and play”, all sorts of sport, 70 countries, a big bonanza.
But no, involve the Man and bunches of Ministries and get everyone to hold their breath. Taking things seriously is everyone’s favourite game.
“This is the largest sporting event, second only to the Olympics”, and we’re bringing together countries originally brought together by colonialism. Right.
The eye of the storm is blind to me.
Here I am, taking each day as it comes, looking forward to the night and ensuring that there’s always good things in store the next day. It’s a survival tactic.
I’m in a big, unfamiliar city that is unfamiliarly becoming familiar to me.
Where am I? is a superb question to wake up to. Especially whilst driving by myself.
My constants of music, thought and energy assist in confusing me. Can’t help it.
This shit is bananas.
“You know it’s time that we grow old and do some shit”
- Broken Social Scene
(Listen to the version in the Bee Hives album. It's great. Plays in an awesome movie called Half Nelson)
-------
There is a space at work that is affectionately referred to as “The Stairs” where my associates and I indulge in some flippant conversation about whose boss said what to which underling and so on. We also turn our attention to nicotine and caffeine. Fun.
I was at The Stairs the other day with my wonderfully wonderful new-to-the-workplace Director. He’s a 60 year old man who has spent most of his life smiling politely in the hotel industry and is fluent in at least seven languages. Props. I don’t really think much of him in a professional light. I mean, I’m just looking to do my job and go home afterwards and I’d prefer it if there were a smaller number of people (that matter) having an opinion about my work. In any case, nice chap. Warm voice and his french is impeccable. He is also additionally charming because of his slightly awry sense of humour. It’s eccentric.
So we’re at The Stairs and he offers me a cigarette. I decline and so does my accomplice. We’re just giving him company, really. “You’re a good girl”, he concludes, directing his stare at my friend. And after a long enough pause, he adds-
“And I’m a bad boy.”
Warms my heart, it does. He talks about being consistently smokey since he was 12. Proud of it, he sparks off my desire to estimate how many cancersticks that actually amounts to. Over 350,000 which also translates to 700,000 rupees (considering the average price per cigarette, which, is obviously his information.) and before I finished playing with these numbers, he starts what seems like a completely disconnected story. Part of the ‘eccentricity I admire’, I dismiss – but Nay! “There was this American…” (here, you may note that he pauses to look into your soul, just to check if you’re paying attention, almost 5 times per sentence. His moustache covering his pout only makes the man cuter.) “standing near a car, smoking a cigarette. A sardar, like you (that’s me), asks him how long he’s been smoking and quickly works out the figures and says – ‘if you would have kicked this nasty habit of yours, you could have actually owned this car and the building you stand in front of!’ The American deftly responds, ‘This IS my car and that IS my building.’ The End.” He grins. I have absolutely no idea why. It’s marvellous.
Anecdote No. 2:
I was driving to the office this evening. To meet a colleague after her work hours so that we could have a drink and maybe do some shopping. On my way, the music reminds me of friends and times back home and so the calling begins. Whipping the phone out, I dial a good buddy and I laugh away as I drive into a major road. Hark! Police! The fellow gestures for me to stop. My first reaction is to wave my hand apologetically and decide whether I’m going to be driving away or stopping up ahead. I see him mount a motorcycle so I figure I’ll leave the exciting, high speed chase for another day.
I put on my sorry face and plead and show him all sorts of identification cards until he’s sore. He decides to let me off with a warning, which in his terms implies a smaller fine for a smaller crime. A crime I did not commit but it’s a mutual compromise that we’re happy to live with. He tells me the fine is a 100 and I’m alright with it. I open my smallet (small+wallet = new concept, great one at that) to discover that the beverage buying this afternoon left me with all of forty rupees. Damn, this could get complicated, I muse as he goes over to note down my registration. I’m going to have to go to an ATM and I don’t know how that’s going to fly with our crusader-man.
But wait! Over the past few months I’m sure I’ve made quite a collection with the spare change I accumulate now and again… and I dive into my dashboard tray to find all the thick coins I can. Two minutes and sixty rupees in circular stainless steel/ cupronickel later, I hand over my pittance and I’m free; free to do all the important things I told him I had set out to do which formed the basis of the illegal phone conversation I was having in the first place. (fib)
One important man to another, that’s how we do it, innit? :D
So yeah. Life in the capital is pretty sweet. I’m just not always in the mood, you know?
And this inability to teleport is something I think I’m never going to get over. I feel as though I’m regressing on so many levels as I move forward on the other ones.
Is that possible? What about that “once you learn to ride a bike” expression? I’m concerned that my writing is becoming more primitive and less coherent. Backwords.
Where’s the glue? I need to regroup.
One thing’s for sure – people here may be more legit, but they haven't broken any mould.
B-A-N-A-N-A-S.
The Fix (2nd March 2008)
This is a song I wrote a long time ago about the first girl I ever loved and the break-up we endured. I suppose it can be said that I got the short end of the stick... but in retrospect, I think I learnt a lot about love and loss that year, and all of it is priceless to me now. Everyone goes through heartbreak... this was my rendition of the hope I felt in reconciliation and I guess now I feel okay to share it, since so much time has passed and so much comfort and closure has been achieved. I think the title is inspired by a book I was reading at the time, A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. Go get your fix.
THE FIX
It’s as though we met on a sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
And while it was all thick and thin,
And as we sipped on our juice and gin,
A timeless world we drifted in.
Things would move from stop to spin,
From high spirits to pantyhose,
From eyes to ears to lips to nose,
First times and many times and all the time we’d be
And everyone would know us - this girl and me.
From moments filled with love more than lust,
For all of it to turn to dust,
Or dissipate or transform or just plain go,
What we felt, did we even know?
All I’m saying is – you should’ve said so.
There were times I’d still see it in your eyes,
Other times I’d hope or even despise;
I looked at you the same and songs would know it,
Films would scream it and my face would show it.
Melancholy, despair, agony and pain,
I still love you, if it’s all the same.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still didn’t turn me away.
I don’t know how
To look at you now
And all the while
I fake a smile
And stop to pretend and pretend to stop
Through so many games I hip and hop.
Until finally I conclude through logic and reason
To love you still is pretty much treason.
But then it hits me hard and fast
I find myself caught in the past
Back to that warm sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still doesn’t turn me away.
I don’t know why it grew to be this way,
Life has no purpose I’d always say,
Except to create one and when I had you
It seemed so easy, so pure and true.
If you’re out there, and listening alone,
I want you to know you can come back home.
I’d greet you reluctantly with open arms,
We’d drive by sea, and country farms,
I’d hold you close and kiss your shoulder;
Every minute I’d grow stronger and bolder.
Grab your waist and bring you near,
Press my lips upon your ear,
“I love you so much”, I hope you know;
Then I’d wake up and let you go.
THE FIX
It’s as though we met on a sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
And while it was all thick and thin,
And as we sipped on our juice and gin,
A timeless world we drifted in.
Things would move from stop to spin,
From high spirits to pantyhose,
From eyes to ears to lips to nose,
First times and many times and all the time we’d be
And everyone would know us - this girl and me.
From moments filled with love more than lust,
For all of it to turn to dust,
Or dissipate or transform or just plain go,
What we felt, did we even know?
All I’m saying is – you should’ve said so.
There were times I’d still see it in your eyes,
Other times I’d hope or even despise;
I looked at you the same and songs would know it,
Films would scream it and my face would show it.
Melancholy, despair, agony and pain,
I still love you, if it’s all the same.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still didn’t turn me away.
I don’t know how
To look at you now
And all the while
I fake a smile
And stop to pretend and pretend to stop
Through so many games I hip and hop.
Until finally I conclude through logic and reason
To love you still is pretty much treason.
But then it hits me hard and fast
I find myself caught in the past
Back to that warm sunny day
Picture perfect in every way.
Chorus:
And that’s what keeps me fixed
All the stones and the sticks
Don’t seem to turn me away.
And every time it moved
Hot and cold it ensued
Still doesn’t turn me away.
I don’t know why it grew to be this way,
Life has no purpose I’d always say,
Except to create one and when I had you
It seemed so easy, so pure and true.
If you’re out there, and listening alone,
I want you to know you can come back home.
I’d greet you reluctantly with open arms,
We’d drive by sea, and country farms,
I’d hold you close and kiss your shoulder;
Every minute I’d grow stronger and bolder.
Grab your waist and bring you near,
Press my lips upon your ear,
“I love you so much”, I hope you know;
Then I’d wake up and let you go.
A Great Way to Spend Your Day (17th July 2008)
Hello and welcome to the show. My name is V and I am about to recount my experience with LSD. It’s hard to explain... but you need to know. This line will recur, but I assure you, that you need to know; in spite of it being hard to explain :D
We are all trippers, you and I, listening to different kinds of music. That’s what it seems to be about, and I guess it can be described this way. I hope you agree. But I guess that all I can hope for is that you’re listening to the song I’m listening to, at the moment. If I were to be foolish enough to hope in the first place, that is. You and I may even like the same type of music, but that doesn’t mean we need to be listening to the same song at the same time, and that minor difference, is what separates you from me. I cannot deny that you are separated from me. Well I cannot only because I can’t seem to imagine how. But however connected you and I may feel, it is only fleeting and temporary, as is ‘life’; and you can always walk out the door while tipping your hat to that statement. “C’est la vie” and all that. I seem to be brimming with wisdom right now... and it’s hard to explain.
But you need to know :D
Reality is this little party that you and I are attending. So is everyone else. So don’t forget to get fries with your steak, and make sure your glass is empty. Aside from all this rubbish I seem to be on about, I think what my friend here is trying to say, is that reality is what binds us. You and I. We are all left to our own devices, our own journeys, our lives and our Sunday ‘trips’ to the park... but what connects us and what brings us back is this ‘real’ stuff. See now, you may see pink and I see blue, but when we see red together, that’s what we can refer to as REALITY! You dig? Even if you don’t, what can I say? It’s hard to explain... but (you know how this goes:D)
Wait, what’s this? I came here to read about some trippy guy’s trip on trippy stuff! What’s all this real nonsense? Get to the flipping diamonds already, Lucy!
People will and do not believe me when I say I have done acid. Not that it’s a difficult thing to digest, but, oh wait; we’re not talking about the acid yet, are we? So yes, LSD. What it’s like. How does one describe it? Hmmm.
It is one massive mind game motherfucker. For the rest, and if you care to read up, the former portion of this story, I would politely ask you to imagine that I am referring to life. (Life being my topic of discussion). So yes, one large mind game. It is what it is, I’ll give you that. Perception in its truest sense. If there is a true sense, mind you. It basically gives you the freedom to do with your mind what you will. If you want colours then by jolly, you will see colours. Patterns and shapes galore, your trip will seem full of ups and downs and best of all, gives you the ultimate control to decide whether you’d like to see the up, or the down. And that control starts to slip from your fingers. You’re still in control, but less in control of what you would believe control to be. But no, don’t be nervous or wary. EMBRACE IT. Ride the fucking snake. (Yes, I’m still talking about life)
Your brain takes you from one moment to the next in the most elegant and organized fashion, and you see this pattern form in front of you, as each individual’s little autobiography, and it’s brilliant. But ah, with acid, you understand that it is in holding on to that loss of control that counts. “Stop tracing, start spacing”, as he put it.
Music comes alive on your trip. Well it did for mine, anyway. (No, I’m not done with life just yet). The notes and waves bounce around as you see the sound in its utmost clarity. Everything is b-e-yootiful. But this could just as well be me tripping. Haha honestly though, your trip is up to you. You come into it looking for gloom and despair, up comes a double order of depression with some melancholy on the side. But if you’re into it for the divine pursuit of happiness, boy! Do you have an amazing trip in store for you! As you drift in and out of reality, as you stray from exceeding forms of awareness to being absolutely, yet comfortably numb, you start to recognize and realize what it is you truly think it’s about. And that, dear reader, is another way of saying that your favourite artist is left on queue. So get to it. REVEL.
Yes, there are boundaries, yes, there are limits. The Coming Home at Five chapter is quite possibly the epitome of my trip-limit, but you move past it; you transcend. Take it as it comes buddy, and wave at the friendly folk that walk by... because TONIGHT, WE PARTY. Ladies and gentlemen, it really is your trip and I would much prefer to let the space do the talking. So please understand that it is hard to explain, but I cannot possibly stress on this any further - YOU NEED TO KNOW!
Oh, and about that acid. Well what can I say? It’s a great way to spend your day :D
We are all trippers, you and I, listening to different kinds of music. That’s what it seems to be about, and I guess it can be described this way. I hope you agree. But I guess that all I can hope for is that you’re listening to the song I’m listening to, at the moment. If I were to be foolish enough to hope in the first place, that is. You and I may even like the same type of music, but that doesn’t mean we need to be listening to the same song at the same time, and that minor difference, is what separates you from me. I cannot deny that you are separated from me. Well I cannot only because I can’t seem to imagine how. But however connected you and I may feel, it is only fleeting and temporary, as is ‘life’; and you can always walk out the door while tipping your hat to that statement. “C’est la vie” and all that. I seem to be brimming with wisdom right now... and it’s hard to explain.
But you need to know :D
Reality is this little party that you and I are attending. So is everyone else. So don’t forget to get fries with your steak, and make sure your glass is empty. Aside from all this rubbish I seem to be on about, I think what my friend here is trying to say, is that reality is what binds us. You and I. We are all left to our own devices, our own journeys, our lives and our Sunday ‘trips’ to the park... but what connects us and what brings us back is this ‘real’ stuff. See now, you may see pink and I see blue, but when we see red together, that’s what we can refer to as REALITY! You dig? Even if you don’t, what can I say? It’s hard to explain... but (you know how this goes:D)
Wait, what’s this? I came here to read about some trippy guy’s trip on trippy stuff! What’s all this real nonsense? Get to the flipping diamonds already, Lucy!
People will and do not believe me when I say I have done acid. Not that it’s a difficult thing to digest, but, oh wait; we’re not talking about the acid yet, are we? So yes, LSD. What it’s like. How does one describe it? Hmmm.
It is one massive mind game motherfucker. For the rest, and if you care to read up, the former portion of this story, I would politely ask you to imagine that I am referring to life. (Life being my topic of discussion). So yes, one large mind game. It is what it is, I’ll give you that. Perception in its truest sense. If there is a true sense, mind you. It basically gives you the freedom to do with your mind what you will. If you want colours then by jolly, you will see colours. Patterns and shapes galore, your trip will seem full of ups and downs and best of all, gives you the ultimate control to decide whether you’d like to see the up, or the down. And that control starts to slip from your fingers. You’re still in control, but less in control of what you would believe control to be. But no, don’t be nervous or wary. EMBRACE IT. Ride the fucking snake. (Yes, I’m still talking about life)
Your brain takes you from one moment to the next in the most elegant and organized fashion, and you see this pattern form in front of you, as each individual’s little autobiography, and it’s brilliant. But ah, with acid, you understand that it is in holding on to that loss of control that counts. “Stop tracing, start spacing”, as he put it.
Music comes alive on your trip. Well it did for mine, anyway. (No, I’m not done with life just yet). The notes and waves bounce around as you see the sound in its utmost clarity. Everything is b-e-yootiful. But this could just as well be me tripping. Haha honestly though, your trip is up to you. You come into it looking for gloom and despair, up comes a double order of depression with some melancholy on the side. But if you’re into it for the divine pursuit of happiness, boy! Do you have an amazing trip in store for you! As you drift in and out of reality, as you stray from exceeding forms of awareness to being absolutely, yet comfortably numb, you start to recognize and realize what it is you truly think it’s about. And that, dear reader, is another way of saying that your favourite artist is left on queue. So get to it. REVEL.
Yes, there are boundaries, yes, there are limits. The Coming Home at Five chapter is quite possibly the epitome of my trip-limit, but you move past it; you transcend. Take it as it comes buddy, and wave at the friendly folk that walk by... because TONIGHT, WE PARTY. Ladies and gentlemen, it really is your trip and I would much prefer to let the space do the talking. So please understand that it is hard to explain, but I cannot possibly stress on this any further - YOU NEED TO KNOW!
Oh, and about that acid. Well what can I say? It’s a great way to spend your day :D
The Stimulation (3rd October 2008)
Another piece stumbled upon whilst cleaning my room. Apparently I find a lot of time for personal literature during my exams :)
The Stimulation
Standing there, so unaware
A distant look, an onward stare
We meet with our eyes.
She intrigues me, excites me
I feel connecting, unrelenting
It’s as though reality deludes us.
And then I saw her face!
Now I’m a believer!
Haha so it’s raining outside as I sit indoors and write inane script on an inane piece of paper about development – general economics. C’est la vie, n’est pas?
The Stimulation
Standing there, so unaware
A distant look, an onward stare
We meet with our eyes.
She intrigues me, excites me
I feel connecting, unrelenting
It’s as though reality deludes us.
And then I saw her face!
Now I’m a believer!
Haha so it’s raining outside as I sit indoors and write inane script on an inane piece of paper about development – general economics. C’est la vie, n’est pas?
Fresh Prince of 6th Grade (1999-2000) (Re-written 27th September 2008)
This is possibly one of the earliest comic pieces I've written. I must have been 11 or 12 when I came up with this and proudly recollected my prepubescent talent on the back of my midterm exam paper since the front side was boring me with all sorts of economics questions! When I think of it now, I see a lot of clever satire used along with some hidden pop culture implications. e.g. the word gay applied derogatorily. Kids really do say the darndest things, eh? Haha so here it is -
I was walking down an alley when I heard a groan
So I went to check, it was Sylvester Stallone!
I was curious, so I asked him how
He said he was run over by a big fat cow!
I said, “Now?!” He said, “No, two hours back!”
“So you’ve been lying here all this time, is that a fact?”
He was like, “Yeah, it’s true.”
I said, “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
So I took him to the hospital quick and fast
The doctors said he wasn’t gonna last
I yelled, “Oh no! What the hell!”
“Oh well, this is going to be a crazy story to tell!”
So Stallone died, people were sad
I said, “Hell no! It ain’t so bad!”
So that’s it, that’s the whole thing
I want to write some more but I got nothing to sing.
So bye, see you and have a nice day,
And I pray to God that you aren’t gay!
I was walking down an alley when I heard a groan
So I went to check, it was Sylvester Stallone!
I was curious, so I asked him how
He said he was run over by a big fat cow!
I said, “Now?!” He said, “No, two hours back!”
“So you’ve been lying here all this time, is that a fact?”
He was like, “Yeah, it’s true.”
I said, “What the hell am I going to do with you?”
So I took him to the hospital quick and fast
The doctors said he wasn’t gonna last
I yelled, “Oh no! What the hell!”
“Oh well, this is going to be a crazy story to tell!”
So Stallone died, people were sad
I said, “Hell no! It ain’t so bad!”
So that’s it, that’s the whole thing
I want to write some more but I got nothing to sing.
So bye, see you and have a nice day,
And I pray to God that you aren’t gay!
Does he Fall or Fly? (18th September 2008)
(I wrote this at work one time on a little writing pad and only just found it while cleaning my room -1st January 2009)
The weather is exquisite.
There’s a soft breeze blowing that makes the trees sway ever so gently.
The green overwhelmed by the concrete, but still, everything is almost idyllic.
At least from where I’m sitting.
The droll and boring environment coupled with tremendously dull conversation makes for a delight to exit.
The filing of papers and the organization of the filing,
The post-its and the pens and Kangaroo’s punch,
All coloured vibrant pink, purple and blue,
Shiny and well coated but utterly monochrome.
Underneath all of the hustle
And behind all the bustle,
Sits a young man getting a feel of his surroundings.
An average young fellow probably yearning to earn
And earning to learn
And start a career that’s lucrative and profitable and enough to make a living
And more to save for later
And to buy a car and make rent
And pay for tuition and possibly, yes possibly,
Buy that motorcycle he always wanted.
But is he really that guy?
He sits
Bored out of his wits
How much longer must he smile politely at the woman sitting at the desk to the right in accounting who doesn’t look like she’s changed in days?
She’s probably just scared of change; to change.
She doesn’t want what he wants.
If he wants other things, why must he sit there?
You have to wait your turn and you have to play only after your cards are dealt and you can NOT put all your eggs in one basket, he is told.
But he can feel it. It’s his ace in the hole.
BIG OR BUST.
The breeze hits his face as he stares down twenty storeys.
HE JUMPS.
Does he fall or fly?
The weather is exquisite.
There’s a soft breeze blowing that makes the trees sway ever so gently.
The green overwhelmed by the concrete, but still, everything is almost idyllic.
At least from where I’m sitting.
The droll and boring environment coupled with tremendously dull conversation makes for a delight to exit.
The filing of papers and the organization of the filing,
The post-its and the pens and Kangaroo’s punch,
All coloured vibrant pink, purple and blue,
Shiny and well coated but utterly monochrome.
Underneath all of the hustle
And behind all the bustle,
Sits a young man getting a feel of his surroundings.
An average young fellow probably yearning to earn
And earning to learn
And start a career that’s lucrative and profitable and enough to make a living
And more to save for later
And to buy a car and make rent
And pay for tuition and possibly, yes possibly,
Buy that motorcycle he always wanted.
But is he really that guy?
He sits
Bored out of his wits
How much longer must he smile politely at the woman sitting at the desk to the right in accounting who doesn’t look like she’s changed in days?
She’s probably just scared of change; to change.
She doesn’t want what he wants.
If he wants other things, why must he sit there?
You have to wait your turn and you have to play only after your cards are dealt and you can NOT put all your eggs in one basket, he is told.
But he can feel it. It’s his ace in the hole.
BIG OR BUST.
The breeze hits his face as he stares down twenty storeys.
HE JUMPS.
Does he fall or fly?
Weather (5th June 2008)
When you’re not really sure
Of the words to explore
Or the reasons why you just cant forget her.
When you’re angry or sad
Or just plain confused
And you don’t really know the weather.
When you’re calm and composed
And find it easy to see
The truth in the lies and the lies of the free
Then give us a call
‘cos we’re really not so small
And for fuck’s sake, we can handle the weather.
If all you could say is
That’s not the way
Would that really do us any good?
If all you could do is
Sing a little blue
Would that really hit us like it should?
Tell us you bloody heathens, tell us
Tell us oh mighty martyrs, tell us
It’s clear to me now
The difference between how
And why we are who we make
But I say when I'm certain
And I'm certain when I say
We can handle the weather for fuck’s sake.
Of the words to explore
Or the reasons why you just cant forget her.
When you’re angry or sad
Or just plain confused
And you don’t really know the weather.
When you’re calm and composed
And find it easy to see
The truth in the lies and the lies of the free
Then give us a call
‘cos we’re really not so small
And for fuck’s sake, we can handle the weather.
If all you could say is
That’s not the way
Would that really do us any good?
If all you could do is
Sing a little blue
Would that really hit us like it should?
Tell us you bloody heathens, tell us
Tell us oh mighty martyrs, tell us
It’s clear to me now
The difference between how
And why we are who we make
But I say when I'm certain
And I'm certain when I say
We can handle the weather for fuck’s sake.
And then it hit me. (5th June 2008)
Good morning, he said, as he walked across the beach
A beautiful island completely out of reach.
Hey everybody, she cried, as she looked around
The house of mirrors hardly uttered a sound.
Oblivious and charming and intelligent and more
A large built man with a voice of proud
The mind of many, I’ve lost all score
No one’s allowed, no, no one’s allowed.
Hues of pink and purple and marks of black
Like that dog in the manger who’s never in danger
We trap it and grab it and occupy our sack.
Oh the joy of killing, the killing of joy
As that beast sodomizes fifty girls and a boy.
No this isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t what I planned
Concepts banned and ideas rejected
I grow indifferent and swim on the land.
And as I trudge along, it still seems connected.
Can I have another glass of cranberry juice?
Tick tick tock tick tock tick tock
Turquoise pajamas and a hefty tool
A fist the size of a twenty pound rock
And all that’s left is a crimson pool.
When the sound of a gun and the sound of a guitar
All seem to hit you and stir you and fix you
Thoughts mix threat and remorse and regret
Our eyes pop out and your mouth turns blue.
And then it hit me.
A beautiful island completely out of reach.
Hey everybody, she cried, as she looked around
The house of mirrors hardly uttered a sound.
Oblivious and charming and intelligent and more
A large built man with a voice of proud
The mind of many, I’ve lost all score
No one’s allowed, no, no one’s allowed.
Hues of pink and purple and marks of black
Like that dog in the manger who’s never in danger
We trap it and grab it and occupy our sack.
Oh the joy of killing, the killing of joy
As that beast sodomizes fifty girls and a boy.
No this isn’t what I wanted, this isn’t what I planned
Concepts banned and ideas rejected
I grow indifferent and swim on the land.
And as I trudge along, it still seems connected.
Can I have another glass of cranberry juice?
Tick tick tock tick tock tick tock
Turquoise pajamas and a hefty tool
A fist the size of a twenty pound rock
And all that’s left is a crimson pool.
When the sound of a gun and the sound of a guitar
All seem to hit you and stir you and fix you
Thoughts mix threat and remorse and regret
Our eyes pop out and your mouth turns blue.
And then it hit me.
Flow of Harmony (6th March 2008)
I know what digs underneath my skin
Even the shape my head is in.
I think about where I think I belong
I’m not quite sure it fits in a song.
So I know what it does and I know what I do
But something about this just doesn’t feel true.
I guess what I’m saying little buddy mister man
Can you work out the system and make me a plan?
Introspection reflection collection rejection
Dejection suggestion I don’t really know
The frame of my mind that I leave behind
So it’s all harmonious flow.
A circle of questions that move all around
Negligible content is what I have found
Thoughts of ethics my soul surrounds
Resonance? Or just plain sounds?
If I could perhaps stumble or subtly fall
Deep down inside a large rabbit hall
And it showed me creatures I never could see
And it showed how all them creatures were me.
Calculation circulation elation cremation
Station creation I can’t really tell
To be free of mind or mind of free
So it’s all harmonious spell.
Even the shape my head is in.
I think about where I think I belong
I’m not quite sure it fits in a song.
So I know what it does and I know what I do
But something about this just doesn’t feel true.
I guess what I’m saying little buddy mister man
Can you work out the system and make me a plan?
Introspection reflection collection rejection
Dejection suggestion I don’t really know
The frame of my mind that I leave behind
So it’s all harmonious flow.
A circle of questions that move all around
Negligible content is what I have found
Thoughts of ethics my soul surrounds
Resonance? Or just plain sounds?
If I could perhaps stumble or subtly fall
Deep down inside a large rabbit hall
And it showed me creatures I never could see
And it showed how all them creatures were me.
Calculation circulation elation cremation
Station creation I can’t really tell
To be free of mind or mind of free
So it’s all harmonious spell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)