Rebuilding

This is why i don't drink anymore, hard to control what I'm feeling. If I'm feeling sexal, I become a sexual monster, If I'm feeling like an asshole, I become a king kamehameha asshole. and I feel... like this I turn into this angelik demon. And I don't like feling this way. I wish for the old self with his armour filled with ice. Never left to wonder what if...
But i've walked away before...
I can walk away again...
Why is this dfferent
what the hell am I talking about
im startin to fucking sound like Ryan Adams
the fuck...

Why Do I Dream of You?

I dunno...

Before I go to bed you are the last thing that leaves my bed,  and in the morning you are the first thing that i breathe in.  I don't even think we''re right for each other.  Perhaps this is my masochistic obsession.  My christian cross to bear,  The only person that I've liked in years does like me back in my fashion.  Which is a blessing I suppose.  Because I'd only fuck it up like I always do.  My heart has entered the dismal shadowlands of winter.  Maybe this is just the end of the storm.  I really do hope these feelings fade.  Your a good friend and thats what I need right now, thats what you need right now.  so what if every tiime I see yourface, sweet amphetemines begin to course through my vains and I swim in your dizzying scent.  Your mannerisms, your flesh, your mind.  your skill, your pencil, your paint brush.  I wish to be the canvas that you paint in every day.  The brush that you finger, the stroke that you move.  

But no,

we cannot

I will not ruin another relationship.

not this time...

I will run...

run away from this feeling in my body, that shakes the frame of my bones.  

calm this fire in my belly, with yet another morning theft.

But I wan't you

and you know it...

Time...

I’ve always been interested in the conceptualization of time.  When I was younger my favorite book was The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.  It romanticized the notion of traveling forward and backward in time for the sake of love.  On a scientific level I’ve also read works like The Philosophy of Time by Robin Le Poidevin, which questions whether “anything existent can possess the characteristic of being in time.“  It further states that life is a series of past and future events.  The present is regarded as a metaphysical state that theoretically may not exist.   Just one of many theories that attempt to make Time tangible.  

Time in itself is an enigmatic paradox that is clinically ungraspable physically.  Though being immeasurable, we try and measure it to the best of our abilities.   A peculiar thing I’ve noticed (and then read about) is that depending on the altitude of your living space or the velocity of a vehicle, our measurement of time changes.  The higher the altitude or the faster the velocity, the quicker time passes by.  This postulation is part of Einstein’s theory of special relativity.  In regards to our own perception of time, I find it eerie how it quickens and slows down within our own consciousness.  Certain times in life the days fall off the calendar like rain and other times the hours drip slowly like molasses.  This is most apparent when you lose a love.  Time seems to slow down.  Within it, you suffer in an eternal frost.   With each day you grow numb, until (to quote Emily Dickinson,) that “formal feeling” comes, a quasi-euphoric feeling that surges through your every sinew.  After that moment time flies.  The love you mourned becomes only a flawless memory, cached in the akashic mainframes of your mind.  Never to be changed or forgotten.    Time is also a silent killer.  From the moment of conception, you slowly begin to die, making life itself precious.  In a world guided by time, life becomes like the last Sunday of summer.  Dawn blossoms with inspiration and promises but before you know it, the days over.  Its already night.

I’ve always been interested in the conceptualization of time.  When I was younger my favorite book was The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.  It romanticized the notion of traveling forward and backward in time for the sake of love.  On a scientific level I’ve also read works like The Philosophy of Time by Robin Le Poidevin, which questions whether “anything existent can possess the characteristic of being in time.“  It further states that life is a series of past and future events.  The present is regarded as a metaphysical state that theoretically may not exist.   Just one of many theories that attempt to make Time tangible.  

Time in itself is an enigmatic paradox that is clinically ungraspable physically.  Though being immeasurable, we try and measure it to the best of our abilities.   A peculiar thing I’ve noticed (and then read about) is that depending on the altitude of your living space or the velocity of a vehicle, our measurement of time changes.  The higher the altitude or the faster the velocity, the quicker time passes by.  This postulation is part of Einstein’s theory of special relativity.  In regards to our own perception of time, I find it eerie how it quickens and slows down within our own consciousness.  Certain times in life the days fall off the calendar like rain and other times the hours drip slowly like molasses.  This is most apparent when you lose a love.  Time seems to slow down.  Within it, you suffer in an eternal frost.   With each day you grow numb, until (to quote Emily Dickinson,) that “formal feeling” comes, a quasi-euphoric feeling that surges through your every sinew.  After that moment time flies.  The love you mourned becomes only a flawless memory, cached in the akashic mainframes of your mind.  Never to be changed or forgotten.    Time is also a silent killer.  From the moment of conception, you slowly begin to die, making life itself precious.  In a world guided by time, life becomes like the last Sunday of summer.  Dawn blossoms with inspiration and promises but before you know it, the days over.  Its already night.

Space...

Space is empty yet it's full.  Lots of people ignore the fact that they take up space and need it to move around in.  They’re too involved in their own lives to be bothered. Personally when I notice that I’m taking up space, I become submerged in a special heightened sense of awareness.   In this state I can analyze my body and the space it inhabits and attain supreme control over it.  For example, right after a morning run, while in the shower, I can feel all my muscles burn and expand within my body.  Each limb swollen and throbbing and taking up it’s own space in the universe. 

The comprehension of space is also sometimes perceptual.  During hot days, I like to sit under a large tree and immerse myself in its shade.  As my mind wanders, I’ll stare through the leaves and spot a pair of two different trees conjoined through the leaves.  From the “real” tree, another emerges, one made of blue sky from the cracks and spaces of the leaves.  They’re both “real,” one is just solid and the other is made up of spaces.

Even in social situations space is a factor:  At a cafe I automatically measure the distance between me and a neighboring girl in the adjacent table from me, calculating each movement and Interpreting her body language.  When a waitress comes to pick up the empty saucer and cup from my tea, her forearm invades my personal space and her body strokes my body’s wind, coming a half an inch from touching my skin.  I can feel her body's heat radiating upon me, heating up that small amount of space between us.  For that moment we’re one.

I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You...

I dunno it was a weird day today.  Pretty normal I woke up invigorated, ready and willing to fight the world.  Ready to hang onto the lines of the world and search for another Journey.  and I guess I bit off more than I could chew emotionally,  first I was bombarded with images of my phantom like father, whom haunts me with each gaze I take at the mirror.  And then I have this fantastic evening with someone who I know I could never have.  Someone, in a strange way, I would never want to possess.  Someone only to lie next to and stare at while she sleeps or while she stares outside the wintry seas of white outside her window.  I could watch her coffee bean eyes mirror the shine of the January snow for an eternity.  I get lost in their darkness and I slip down her nose and swim in the orange ocean that is her mouth, her lips.  I'd love to watch her just curl up in a ball in a corner inside her room, slowly sipping tea with her hair messy, wasting the day away.  an image that transcends the conventional themes of sex and love,  She is more than the sexual anatomy that is tuned harmoniously to mine.  She is the sweetest ambrosia perched atop a diamond cutting mountain where only the purest Gods & Spirits could reach.  This image I reveal here will never be revealed to her ever.  it is for me to fold away and stuff into a pocket near my chest to occasionally warm my heart after bitter dreams.  I don't know why I feel this way but it won't go away.   Each and every day I get to know her I like her more and more and my emotions take me  over.  It's becoming harder to control them,  But with every fiber of my being I do.  Not for any special or philosophical reason, except for fear that it will end and pass as all things often do.  It isn't just her though,  its women in general.  I cannot move from this latency paralysis,  I'm afraid of entering relationships simply because I know that one day it will all end. Like the spiral of hurricane that just fizzles away.  Whether it is my fault or theirs it all ends.  Everything eventually dies once it hits that blooming peak.  And with her especially I don't want it to go.  I only take salvation in the possibility that this feeling plaguing me will soon pass, and that I would one day see her as a sister, companion rather than a possible lover & mate.   But for some reason I Just don't think that'll ever happen...

I drink good coffee every morning

Comes from a place that's far away
And when I'm done I feel like talking
Without you here there is less to say
I don't want you thinking I'm unhappy
What is closer to the truth
That if I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
I'm no longer moved to drink strong whisky
'Cause I shook the hand of time and I knew
That if I lived till I could no longer climb my stairs
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
Your face it dances and it haunts me
Your laughter's still ringing in my ears
I still find pieces of your presence here
Even after all these years
But I don't want you thinking I don't get asked to dinner
'Cause I'm here to say that I sometimes do
Even though I may soon feel the touch of love
I just don't think I'll ever get over you
If I lived till I was 102
I just don't think I'll ever get over you...

From Sylvia Plath To Ryan Adams

The relationship between poetry and music is that both represent two aesthetic mediums relative to each other.  Throughout time words and music have been combined.  Poets like Sir Thomas Wyatt collaborated with many prominent composers of the time like Thomas Tallis and united musical composition with lyrical verse.  The two arts come together rather harmoniously because both are conjured by the same means, through creativity and inspiration.  Music can convey a variety of human emotions simply by combining a variety of tones and rhythms, connecting us with our most basic and primordial feelings.  Poetry does the same exact thing except with the use of words.  Contemporary songs containing lyrics are just poetry set to fit a specific musical form and melody.

The actual song writing process, when compared to poetry, can be more anal-retentive.  While poets in general don’t have to adhere to super strict rules and have more freedom, songwriters must condense broad ideas into a series of concise lines with syllables sculpted to fit a specific vocal melody.  Additionally timing, attack and performance tend to be taken into account.   However with lyrical songs, more prominently in pop music, the writing is deemed secondary and less important because half the time the listeners aren’t even focusing on the words of the music.

Music, unlike poetry, which in essence has been captured by the pseudo intellectual hep cats of high society, has been taken over by capitalist corporations.  Because music has been so severely commoditized within society, the quality of songs siphoning through the mainstream has dwindled.  The recording industry is responsible for the ever-present bastardization of lyrical content in contemporary music.  Leading label executives have come to the conclusion that “Good” song writing, which can be expensive, is no longer needed to generate fast and easy hits.  Pop lyrics were then downgraded to poorly crafted musical catch phrases.  All music churned out became formulaic and mundane.  

Despite the monotony in today’s music, songwriters are still regarded as the contemporary poets of our time.  Like in any art there will be discrepancies.  Certainly one could argue that the swill being played on the radio today is art and poetry because anything dealing in aesthetics can be validated somehow.   Although I believe that a good poet and/or songwriter has the ability to create a consensus among the masses of critics because their work is that exceptional and profound.  They manage to stitch their name within the unforgiving sands of time.

Poetry doesn’t need music and vice versa, however when both mediums are brought together they create something magical.  I remember when I first heard the song “Wrapped Around Your Finger” by The Police, I was left spell bound because the music actually complimented the mood of the writing, which is rare.    The lyrics are a literal take on a Faustian situation, describing a man’s apprenticeship with one of the demons in hell.  Filled with echoing guitars mimicking Indian sitars and synthesizers that helped lay a psychedelic groove against the uber slick lyrics. 

Song writing in this modern age has become the harder and more impressive art. Brian Eno, best known as the father of modern ambient music who has produced and written a number of songs for many famous artist like U2, Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel and David Bowie Revealed in an interview with BBC radio that…

Songwriting is now actually the most difficult challenge in music... Lyrics are really the last very hard problem in music. Software and hardware have changed the rest of music dramatically in the last thirty or forty years. It's very easy to make pretty good music... Pretty good isn't very interesting, but pretty good is possible. But writing songs is pretty much in the same place as it was in the days of Chaucer. Apart from hip hop, hip hop is the only breakthrough in a way, rap, because it breaks away from the strict adherence to melody and beat structure and so on... I'd love to try doing this really hard thing [songwriting] and see if I can

Though the digital age has made music easier to be produced.  Songwriting and poetry is still challenging as it was centuries before and that makes writing a little more precious then music.  While musical production has new advances every day, there are never advances in the realm of writing.  Writers rely on a definitive purity that is boundless. 

Music 101

Now for those of you who are new to me I'm what you might call a musical snob.  So every now and then I might go off on sanctimonious tirades on several types of Rock Music ala Lester Bangs.  But by all means dispute my reccomendations.  Here are several bunch of tracks that I've had on repeat on my wayward musical contraption. Now I know every rocker and there momma likes to name drop Bob Dylan when it comes to song writing etc.  And there are some who oppose his right in musical history  (the few with horrible taste still waiting for another decent Eddie Money record.)  I respectfully disagree, the man was the king and godfather of blue eyed country funk something you'd might think was an oxymoron.  But yes Country begets blues and blues begets Funk, so every now and then you get some Country funk, and Bobby was the king!  (and if he wasn't name me someone who was better) Current tracks that have been on repeat is Visions of Johanna.  That and Days of 49 have got to be some of Dylan's funkiest songs.  My Funkateers, if your craving some stank goodness and your tired of spinning Bootsy and George Clinton,  Give Dylan a Spin because you will not be disappointed.  Blonde on Blonde is a Must!  I also Recommend Hall & Oats, Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharratt, but you might not be ready for that level.  But seriously check out Days of 49 and Visions of Johanna by Bob Dylan.  

Next 

one of my favorite movies is High Fidelity, and if you haven't seen it, and you claim you know music,

 YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!  Seriously you don't.  The high Fidelity Soundtrack is a gold mine in itself.  Its also the movie where I first found out about The Beta Band,  a brilliant band who encompass a weird mix of new style trip hop and old 60's psychedelica.  The song in particular is Dry The Rain which was featured in High fidelity.  You play the song you swear it was from the 60's and not the 90's 

Check out the scene

Awesome song, def check out their 3 Lp's

And last but not Least is D'angelos renditions of Cruisin, Originally sung by Smokey and the miracles ( a great rendition on its own

I'm still waiting for the new D'angelo album, But I hear he's gone Reefer Crazy and gained 200 LBs

so who knows when thats coming

Till then Enjoy this

In regards of my personal Stuff I might actually be making progress soon,

Peace

The world seems to melt away after you've just ran 10 miles in New York's freezing cold weather. Right now I can feel every ounce of my soul coursing through the syrupy sinews of my flesh. Agitated yet enlightened, mixing with cosmic mix of endorphins and adrenalin that cools the stinging pain that vibrates through my thighs. Right now as Midnight draws near, and the january stars are forever reverent in the air, my mind cascades with the fallen memories of lost loves too forlorn; Despite the miracle of time, I've barely made up for the sins that are ingrained in my subconscious. For right now my heart is transperent like a clear window peaking into the decaying remnants of a lost Atlanist, retaining the shadow of my former self, still stifled and poisoned with half a decades worth of alcohol and mescaline. Entering this midnight hour, where childish squabbles become the incadecent musings of lovers in heat, I realize no beauty nor lustful dame can ever tempt me again. I... and I alone am the only one able to calm the passionate embers that have fermented since my conception. For I've awaken from a year long slumber in the hollow crypts of 5th avenue, and i am still breathing. Never tired, Never scared, stranded alone, listening to the heartbeat of a sleeping city, on the roof tops of my home. Dreaming a million different dreams.
And though all these occurences and observations fill me up before midnight, I know once the clock strikes twelve, I'll still be thinking of you
and I don't know why...
I guess to quote Whitman, "As if a Shadow Carress'd me"
Maybe I'm an asshole....
Why the fuck did I just spew that out here...