out here on the verandah i sit on a thin futon-shaped piece of foam, covered in a white sheet on which dirt has been scattered by wind and stray feet
i just woke up from a nap in which i listened to spiderland through speakers
the song "good morning captain" woke me and sent my mind spiraling back to a day buried deep in my past
something about the guitars and the atmosphere created on that album makes me feel like it has integrated itself into the fabric of my being somehow
i don't really like listening to it often
.
an album that accompanied me through the final horrific days of my most recent job was this:
polvo's exploded drawing
every song is weird, asymmetrical, at times humorous, then endearing; one moment the chorus of jangly guitars is intense like punches to the stomach and then the next they regress into an introspective calm. upon listening for the first time you might get seasick, or, it will be the most enjoyable, wild ride of your life.
for me i can say with every ounce of honesty and truth in my body that this album has saved me from many a sad day.
they are actually from a city only about a half hour away from the one where i grew up, a place i thought was (and still think is) the squarest and most mind-numbingly uncultured place on earth, a creative and topographical dead zone.
i fucking LOVE YOU, POLVO
 |
| the sun slants in like a golden sword as the odds grow shorter |
i am in the great country of AUSTRALIA right now. it is hot and the sun is dangerously strong. two olive-backed sunbirds construct their dangling nest off of a clothesline each morning and i watch as they pay my close presence no mind. at night three or four geckos crawl slowly across the ceiling of the verandah in the candlelight, then stop at mysterious intervals and are completely still. kangaroos of varying sizes stare me down from afar and, when i have been deemed not a threat, continue about their scavenging and general mischief. bright green flies and the tiniest bees i have ever seen along with butterflies of every color constantly fill the air with their delicately-humming, swirling presences.
my time is spent reading misanthropic stories and poems and
strangely enough
not thinking
when a thought i admire does come across the horizon of my mind i try to write it out as coherently as i can so a future self, if she so needs a helping hand, can find the little encouragements i like to put out for her
like cookies little kids put out for santa
or something like that
...
when one ceases to think one calms the storm of thoughts, passions, emotions that usually battles itself out during every waking moment
you'll find that the cessation of thought is not equivalent to the cessation of life
lay down and immerse yourself in sound! become enraptured in the ideas and themes and art that bring you closer to a constant dream state, that place where life suddenly feels less like a re-run of the same cardboard people saying the same cardboard things and more like an endlessly vast field
RUN with a fury to the highest peak of your consciousness and never look back
