fire

It takes a great effort for me not to think of things I see and experience throughout the day as metaphors for something. This is my tendency, but to paraphrase J.L. Borges, the idea that the mere mention of something, or the appearance of a metaphor for something can summon its existence is simply the stuff of novels, not of real life. Un-fortunately.

But anyway, I was in the gym on the treadmill, and there was a mirror right in front of me, only it went up to my neck. So for half an hour I was staring at my running body, watching my stiff t-shirt absorb pungent perspiration, not once seeing my face. The treadmill is already ripe for metaphor-dom; the idea of running and running and running and going absolutely nowhere, although your body responds as if you had been going for however long. In fact, you only actually change locations once you remove yourself from the machine, to go home and resume moving at normal speed, not on an elongated conveyor belt.

Too soon.

i'm o.k.

I'm sorry

i/b

always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always always


never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never never

"I've got pastures waiting in the woods........."

When I woke up this morning, it was 3 degrees outside.

I let myself have fun last night, and it was, not surprisingly to some, fun. And although I still had my usual morning emotional lapse, and tonight is likely going to be very difficult, I'm still glad I allowed myself to squirm out of the tight grip I seem to put around my mind, if only for a little while.

it's about the music.

Music has recently re-entered my life. I went to my first band practice in over three years, and of course it was embarassing playing solos like an awkward boy fumbling for the right words the first time he talks to a girl he's admired from afar, but after the whole process was over I kind of realized that music, unlike nearly everything else, has unlimited positive potential. Nothing bad can come from endlessly practicing, from creating sounds so effortlessly, stringing them together with the soft push of fingertips, from creating something that is all the more powerful because there are no words involved, just feelings, pure emotion, resonating from within.

O.K., so my talents arent exactly Coltranesque, and it's likely you're not going to feel anything all that special if you heard me play. The point is, I guess, I'm at a point now where the most important thing for me is to fill my hours with things that keep my mind above water and with plenty of air, and I guess it feels pretty good to be both doing that and creating art, something that I'm always hesitant to do, for some reason.

On another note (get it?), there's an album called "You Forgot it in People," by Broken Social Scene, and like good music, it's difficult to put into words what it's all about. Emotionally it's been a tough few weeks, but this album, for whatever reason, came out of nowhere for me and, in the span of 13 songs, adding up a little less than an hour, forced me to laugh, cringe, pine, relax, be filled with passion, be filled with self-doubt, and in the end, wonder, if life imitates art, as some say, whether it's at all a coincidence that all of those things can happen while listening to the same album. I don't think it is.

So in my new obsession, I read some reviews of the album, and one in particular really was very powerful. I kind of subscribe to the notion that "writing about music is like dancing about architecture," but I realized recently that a really good review can make listening to an album an even more transcendent, meaningful experience.

Some snippets that I particularly enjoyed:

"...Case in point: Broken Social Scene. No one wants to admit that they like a band that goes around calling themselves this-- a band who, judging from their artwork, stands around all day looking pensive, crouching, and feeling the music in dramatic grayscale...I already had them pegged! How could they not be the most unimaginative, bleak, whiny emo bastards in the whole pile?

I don't know. But this disc is nothing like you'd imagine. Not even almost. I've been over it again and again looking for some cause, some reason, anything, that would compel a band with this much unfiltered creativity and kinetic energy-- a band without even the slightest suggestion of tear-stained poetry or bedroom catharsis-- to fall victim to the worst possible Vagrant Records cliches. I can't find it. All I know is that when I press play, and this disc whirrs to life, it inexplicably sheds its crybaby facade and becomes... sort of infinite."

"...the holy grail for people like us is the record that combines outright experimentation and strong hooks, something that engages us mentally while appealing to the instincts that draw us toward pop immediacy.

This kind of music shouldn't be hard to come by; it's just that not many artists are able to perfect that balance.

Broken Social Scene have, and even made it seem effortless. I wish I could convey to you just how perfectly this record pulls off that balancing act, how incredibly catchy and hummable these songs are, despite their refusal to resort to pandering or oversimplicity."

Here's the link to the review:
http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/record_review/15682/Broken_Social_Scene_You_Forgot_It_in_People

I won't copy-paste how it ends, because it gave me chills the first time I read it, and it does every subsequent time (yes i've read it a few times.)

So I guess the underlying message here is that you do yourself a favor and find this album, some way, some how. It kind of spans every emotion one can use to react to music. I realize this is becoming kind of hyperbolic, but if you listen to this album and don't feel anything, for God's sake, check your pulse.

It's all gonna break!

I'm on the verge, I'll let you know when I've gotten there. The verge is gonna look like nothing but a plain.

i'm really happy I don't live in Arkansas

sup

Hey. It's been a while. Namaste. Hisashiburi.

I've been thinking about reality a lot lately. I heard Deepak Chopra, spirituality guru, say that reality is perception, and perception is in "here," pointing to his head. This, I'm sure, is no news to you, and it's not exactly an earth-shattering, time-altering statement, but the more I think about it, the deeper I go with it, the more it encompasses and the more ways it can be applied.

To say that one gets along with people who inhabit the same reality as theirs I don't think is an overstatement. Of course we all live in the same world but that only applies physically, and relationships based on simply inhabiting the same space begin to deteriorate, pretty early on, once one becomes aware of his own reality, i.e. likes, dislikes, passions, preferences, et cetera.

This is all nonsense.

Anyway, the point I wanted to get at is that we have an amazing amount of control over our own realities. Admittedly, there are certain moods and emotions produced by our minds/brains/souls that are innate. I have dubbed my own versions of these "Larry," and attempt to bid him a cheerful hello each time I see him. It is known as being an observer of oneself, and while the exercise is a bit like watching one's own life on TV (an endless hall of mirrors), it allows for an unblocked view of one's own existence, and the ability to perform one's own homemade remedies for the leaks and broken piping of one's psyche. One's toughest critic is oneself (at least it's that way for me), but in a sense I think that that particular critic has the hardest job of convincing that which is being critiqued (how are they separate?) to change. We like to think of ourselves as being above animals, but what I've learned is that most significant changes in one's behavior must come from practice and punishment - the punishment usually coming as a simple result of the attempted new behavior falling through and the old, destructive behavior regaining its tyrannical seat in between one's eyes, at the helm of the organism.

I have, in my power (and you in yours), the ability to look at any given situation in an innumerable amount of ways. Not unlike our own government, there are also countless "special-interest groups" (stay with me here) vying for their own influence. Who to pick? There's a lot of names for that process - soul? religion? philosophy?

The important thing, I suppose, is that although the world is quite an intimidating place, full of...well, everything...we have as much power over it as the other way around, in what we see and experience and accept as the world around us. Many of the answers are there, even though one may need to look around a few bends before getting a clear view of them. They're more afraid of us than we are of them.