you fuckers have all disappointed me,
every last one of you.
 |
| wandering like a child in the forests of maturity |
it is spring time, or the beginnings of it, and i am inspired by the dark and wet green-ness of earth. i huddle under my umbrella and the world to me is suddenly only as high as my waist, my feet the inhabitants of a half-world that exists close to the ground. i want to be the tiny lifeforms surviving underneath dripping four-leaf clovers and hiding in hollows of trees, i want to feel particles of dust and dirt trample underneath my tiny legs as i fulfill my evolutionary purpose. my life cycle will end with the night and begin again with the sun, each day bright and new and smelling of purity.
what else inspires me? the warming up of the air around me, the warming up of icy souls and stony faces, the "idea of north" inside of me looming ever closer until its northness is no longer so foreign? i desire to no longer be an alien within my self, i long for complete dominion over all of the seasons that rage inside me simultaneously.
i feel so alone.
 |
| quo vadis? |
laying beside a strange body in a dirty white room, shivering in the lamplight. a seed of fear is planted inside me
i suppress it in return for kisses
empty
-
the past two months have been probably the roughest on me emotionally that i can remember ever happening in my entire life. every day felt like a new struggle to overcome, and i let my heart (break) more than once. instead of protecting myself i took risks that ended up hurting me because i thought, why not? i thought maybe if i was doing something, anything, other than accumulating lonely minutes in a lonely room, it would all be worth it eventually, it would all add up to a fuller life experience than if i hadn't made those bad decisions. wrong.
to boys:
you will never make me cry again. i am worth so much more than a momentary opportunity for you to mess around, especially if you don't even try to get to know me. i feel like i am still at the emotional level of a high school-aged person in terms of meeting new people, having crushes, falling in lust and experiencing infatuation and jealousy. my attempts at reconnecting with people have been met with dead ends, false hope, and of course a pressure behind the eyes that produces pinpricks of salty liquid which invariably stream down the cheeks.
all is full of love - i've realized that love doesn't have to be contained within a conventional romantic relationship where there are strict boundaries for both individuals, because i don't want that. i don't want something "serious" and "committed" because just thinking about that makes some invisible grip on my neck feel tighter. the love that i encompass, the pure love for no one and nothing in particular, is full of sacrifice and heartbreak, but definitely strong enough to withstand and carry on despite what is flung at it by the indifference, violence and clumsy brutishness of those who have dared to hurt me.
i don't want to love in the way that you have defined it. i'd rather live a loveless life than subscribe to your coldhearted and almost disgusting display of love. for me, it is the breath in my lungs, the pulse in my veins, the glow and the spirit and the whole entire reason. that's it. it's the reason. you are a pathetic and miserable disgrace to love, a murderer, a destroyer of feeling. you are a sickness in me that i am finally drawing out with only the intention of destroying your stain in me forever. you are a disease that has plagued me for too long
better luck next time, my body is forever floating away from you and your knives
 |
| la plus que lente |
i wish to hide away in debussy's chords, in the subtle beauty of canope, the tenth prélude in his second book. the space in between these sad, pleading harmonies envelopes me with warm and cold potentiality, woolen blankets and sheets of snow, spring's rebirth and the uncertain winds of a forthcoming winter. i see a peach sunrise and long, shadowy limbs gesturing for me to come forward, fearlessly, and embrace a golden-tinted cave of unknown depths. i must surrender myself to it.
i see a pastel blue and purple and yellow watercolored ocean surface rippling ever so impercetibly, a hazy but familiar figure sinking beneath the depths. it flashes me a final tender and knowing smile before disappearing. i fade to black as an abyss, tendrils beyond sensation and vision hold me, hold me and carry me in a womb, gentle and motherly.
i am not alone when i am nothing
"debussy seems to seek the key to the infinitely old mystery of death, of ruin, of the passing of all things, however magnificent, however vital, however tender. there is no revolt in the questioning, for the answer is lost in the infinity, in the strains of the receding processional."
les chansons
i've been listening to this song and this album almost non-stop for the past few weeks. i think every single song on it is incredible and i wouldn't change a thing. i listen to it in the car on the way to work, when i walk to school, when i try to take a nap or go to bed. i have never really listened to radiohead before, but i was laying beside someone one night and they started to play this album. we fell asleep to it, and ever since i have been addicted. i think thom yorke and the rest of the band are some of the most innovative, imaginative, and brilliant musicians that have ever lived.
i recently started wanting to learn how to play jazz piano, and checked out a book at the library. it was a fake book and had this tune in it, "alice in wonderland," which i liked a lot. the suggested recording for it led me to the bill evans trio and their live album sunday... and i instantly knew i had stumbled upon something really genuine, really high quality, really timeless.
i also very much love their album waltz for debby, which was recorded and released right around the same time as the live album. here is the entire album, but i love the very first track "my foolish heart" the most.
this album is just the most sensuous and beautiful and lovely thing i have ever heard, so delicate and emotional and pretty. it reminds me a lot of satie and debussy, especially the childlike and playfulness of the title track "waltz for debby." the cover is also very evocative of some perfect pink innocence somewhere, a heaven of untouched loveliness and grace, and this inspires me. murakami references the album in one of his novels i think.
i imagine laying on a dirty bed in a dorm room, posters of jazz greats plastered all over the wall, a cigarette between my lips, and the sweet sounds of bill evans' classical-inspired melodies and improvisations floating in and out of my ear holes, lulling me into a state of undeserved, enervating luxury.
-
so yes, jazz has been on my mind a lot lately. i don't know if i should link everything here, there is altogether too much out there to ever delve into everything satisfactorily, but one can try. i think i am more attracted to piano-based trios and such, like dave brubeck, bill evans and thelonious monk. i like some bebop, cool jazz, hardbop, and other things like that, but it's not as accessible for me. i like the atmospheric, sometimes avant-garde and sometimes neoclassical sides of jazz. i like strange harmonies but can't always hear them very well when it's just a brass or reed instrument playing a fast solo... unless it's charlie parker.
anyway, here are some of my favorite jazz pieces/albums of all time, not based on anything other than personal preference.
-
clifford jordan quartet: "john coltrane" (glass bead games, 1973)
thelonious monk: monk's dream, 1963
billie holiday: "body and soul" (body and soul, 1957)
charles mingus: "praying with eric"/"meditations on integration" (town hall concert, 1964)
-
i went to a coffee shop with my beloved sister a few days ago and found a poem there. i wrote it down on a napkin for some reason, i just really liked it.
Thinking has caused more pain
than all the tears on earth,
collected up at every step
and drunk down to drying point.
Is there anything at all bigger?
Any kind of activity
merely wastes my time,
and its bitter-sweet fruit
is crushed here underfoot.
As if homeless
I have nowhere to sleep.
I miss love
in a warm, safe place
that I can always return to.
All sense has left the road.
Spurned, I wait for mercy.
It's possible to be or not to be.
What is better?
-
me playing radiohead n talkin :o
-
 |
| myself when i am real |
