wandering star

summer has begun, and the air contains the same fragrant cool greenness i remember from last year, and the year before. birds both familiar and not join together in their choral cacophony, a near-constant accompaniment to the sun's dance across the sky. shadows are cast on mountainfaces and bedsheets by shaking leaves, drifting clouds. the swirling of ephemeral lost souls caught out of the eye's corner a second too late. in the dampness of twilight an eerie orchestra of chirping frogs illuminate the forested soundscape. these sounds more than any other contribute to that peculiar feeling of a cocoon being constructed all around me, whether starry night-colored or blisteringly iridescent with the violent impulse of new. life.

each season of each year seems to contain the same incarnations of self, like four continuous trajectories which differ only in where they stand amidst the elements. my sun self, the summer self, is when my age technically advances in number. the spring self rests in its annual hibernation. memories flood back triggered by the exact impact of the sun at high noon, as heat is only this intense when it hugs me from its current position; by the exact cool warmth, or warm coolness, of water now fit for swimming when i plunge myself into its depths against my skin's first desires. the moon shows her face to me when i need her embrace, and mysteriously is kept from me when my strength is to be found within.

my capacity to wield wisdom grows and shrinks inward and shoots up after rains and is killed off with disease at irregular intervals, and that is all part of the cycle. i accept the fact that i will keep feeling lost, even after i thought i've been found. i accept that being lost is not the end, and that to remain found i will need to work harder to retain my memories of success with greater accuracy, rather than those of failure.

i sit on the porch of my mind and watch the passing wind, like a mountain. i thank those who have graced my life and are no longer here. i learn the lessons that i need to learn. i acknowledge that my mind sometimes implants memories, sometimes misremembers... and embrace impermanence.

tanaka ryohei, gingko tree

lately i have been listening to portishead almost without end. i'm surprised that this group has hardly (if ever) been given a mention here, but i think it's because i have had them simmering on the back burner of my musical awareness for years and wasn't quite giving them their due.

my favorite thing about portishead is their incredible propensity to create completely unique soundscapes. "but isn't that what every good band does?" yeah, but no. not quite like this. the quality of production of their songs renders each as an entire self-contained world with its own rules, patterns, eccentricities. my favorite music does exactly this, where the first few seconds set the stage with a set of parameters, and then the listener is walked through the world of the song in an exploratory unraveling. the feeling of "this world is somewhere i never want to leave" is what causes me to put a song on repeat, and portishead has so many songs like this, songs which create mini utopias for my mind to bathe in infinity.

too dramatic? hear for yourself~

"strangers," dummy (1994)

perfectly-placed samples which weave together distantly-connected worlds
 the places each of those worlds evoke, all at once
images flashing, painted by sound
 hazy vocals which hearken back to times long past
disjointed lyrics that provide emotional texture rather than a chronological narrative
 time that exists outside of our time

"roads," dummy (1994)

skeleton of harmony presented before being fleshed out
 bluesy loneliness translated into sound
a road stretched out for miles in the dark
 as yet unwalked

"the rip," third (2008)

this song randomly came up in my listening experience and i basically couldn't stop listening to it. from the first section, so innocent yet sad, to the sweeping majesty of the synths, i love the journey from the ground into the sky.

arthur wesley dow, the derelict

 
i claw at what has been lost too often, rather than embrace what is already in my hands. thinking too much has been my downfall. my feet know where they are to go.

the mind creates the abyss,

the heart crosses it