first one's from an old friend of mine. always thought she had shitty candy-pop taste in music, but i'm officially eating crow tonight because this is gorgeous:
second one, i heard a couple days ago attached to a deleted scene from Atonement. i think the fan put it there though. apparently it was on grey's anatomy and vampire diaries too. hate it when shitty shows ruin good music :[ amazing song though:
should sleep now. at some point i'll put up the rest of my pics from SF and chicago and shanghai and ... all that.
not a good night :[
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
I wrote this while on a plane from Houston to Raleigh ON MY CELL PHONE:
--
While I was in Chicago, I had the good fortune to rent a car with XM radio. Now, I don't think I'd ever subscribe to xm radio myself since I rarely listen to the radio, but it was really sweet to have a radio that would play something other than top 40 while I was scooting around the city and its suburbs.
Anyway, while I was zipping about taking a gazillion pictures, I pretty much kept the radio tuned to xm's chill station. As I was driving out to Stickney, Fever Ray's "Keep the Streets Empty for Me" played. It's an amazing track - a very deliberate, subtly echoing beat underlying this sort of ... barren, minimalist soundscape, and all of it overlaid with vocals that are at once poignant and raw. Anyway, the road, the snow, the grey skies and this music fused into this remarkable, singular experience that instantly rocketed this song into my all-time favorites list.
So of course when I got home I downloaded it, and now I pretty much have it looping whenever I have a spare moment to listen. The more I listen, the more it reminds me of that old japanese folk tale about the fox woman. Wikipedia relates it like this -- a very sparse bare-bones retelling that nonetheless is way better than any I could put together:
I don't know what exactly about Keep the Streets Empty For Me reminds me of that story. Everything about it, I guess. Some distinct parts of the lyrics ("I'm laying down, eating snow/my fur is hot and my tongue is cold/on a bed of spiderwebs/I think of how to change myself"; "take me home before the storm"; "morning, keep the streets empty for me"; "uncover our heads and reveal our souls") definitely struck a chord, but more than that, I think it's just the sound of the song -- a little bit lonely, very poignant, a little bit alien, and just a touch erotic. The almost-feral rawness of the vocals, too, strewn over that wintry beat.
Anyway. I definitely associate it with fox-women now. :]
Listen here:
--
While I was in Chicago, I had the good fortune to rent a car with XM radio. Now, I don't think I'd ever subscribe to xm radio myself since I rarely listen to the radio, but it was really sweet to have a radio that would play something other than top 40 while I was scooting around the city and its suburbs.
Anyway, while I was zipping about taking a gazillion pictures, I pretty much kept the radio tuned to xm's chill station. As I was driving out to Stickney, Fever Ray's "Keep the Streets Empty for Me" played. It's an amazing track - a very deliberate, subtly echoing beat underlying this sort of ... barren, minimalist soundscape, and all of it overlaid with vocals that are at once poignant and raw. Anyway, the road, the snow, the grey skies and this music fused into this remarkable, singular experience that instantly rocketed this song into my all-time favorites list.
So of course when I got home I downloaded it, and now I pretty much have it looping whenever I have a spare moment to listen. The more I listen, the more it reminds me of that old japanese folk tale about the fox woman. Wikipedia relates it like this -- a very sparse bare-bones retelling that nonetheless is way better than any I could put together:
Ono, an inhabitant of Mino (says an ancient Japanese legend of A.D. 545), spent the seasons longing for his ideal of female beauty. He met her one evening on a vast moor and married her. Simultaneously with the birth of their son, Ono's dog was delivered of a pup which as it grew up became more and more hostile to the lady of the moors. She begged her husband to kill it, but he refused. At last one day the dog attacked her so furiously that she lost courage, resumed vulpine shape, leaped over a fence and fled.
"You may be a fox," Ono called after her, "but you are the mother of my son and I love you. Come back when you please; you will always be welcome."
So every evening she stole back and slept in his arms.
I don't know what exactly about Keep the Streets Empty For Me reminds me of that story. Everything about it, I guess. Some distinct parts of the lyrics ("I'm laying down, eating snow/my fur is hot and my tongue is cold/on a bed of spiderwebs/I think of how to change myself"; "take me home before the storm"; "morning, keep the streets empty for me"; "uncover our heads and reveal our souls") definitely struck a chord, but more than that, I think it's just the sound of the song -- a little bit lonely, very poignant, a little bit alien, and just a touch erotic. The almost-feral rawness of the vocals, too, strewn over that wintry beat.
Anyway. I definitely associate it with fox-women now. :]
Listen here:
Totally just an image dump this time. Stuff I drew like 1-2 years ago. First, four of my characters as playing cards. Silence, fenrir modi, as the ace of spades:
Oberon, unseelie satyr king, as the ace of hearts. I gotta say, this was the second one I did, and spades took WAY longer, but I think this is my favorite. I just like the stern, cruel expression on his face and the BLOODY SEVERED EYELESS HEAD. cuz. i dunno. people think "hearts" and they think whoamance, LURV. but this is like. HEARTS. BLOODY, CONVULSING, VIOLENT HEARTS.
Vast, fang galliard, as the ace of diamonds:
Coll, fianna ahroun, as the ace of clubs:
Moar Decker. This is where the whole sketch began. Later on I tacked on the rest of the body + Imogen, but tbh the proportions were always off. I think it looks best like this --
And last up -- I forgot I'd even drawn this. I think this is actually inspired by someone else's art, that I wanted to put my own spin on, but I lost interest mid-project and moved on to something else *LOL*
Hey! While I'm coalescing creative crap, might as well add this on:
...yeah, that eye totally wasn't green by accident *LOL*
Oberon, unseelie satyr king, as the ace of hearts. I gotta say, this was the second one I did, and spades took WAY longer, but I think this is my favorite. I just like the stern, cruel expression on his face and the BLOODY SEVERED EYELESS HEAD. cuz. i dunno. people think "hearts" and they think whoamance, LURV. but this is like. HEARTS. BLOODY, CONVULSING, VIOLENT HEARTS.
Vast, fang galliard, as the ace of diamonds:
Coll, fianna ahroun, as the ace of clubs:
Moar Decker. This is where the whole sketch began. Later on I tacked on the rest of the body + Imogen, but tbh the proportions were always off. I think it looks best like this --
And last up -- I forgot I'd even drawn this. I think this is actually inspired by someone else's art, that I wanted to put my own spin on, but I lost interest mid-project and moved on to something else *LOL*
Hey! While I'm coalescing creative crap, might as well add this on:
...yeah, that eye totally wasn't green by accident *LOL*
heh. wanted to write this down for a while, never had the patience. just gonna c&p it from a convo w/ katya on AIM:
D: and dude, my mind goes to sex for almost EVERYTHING enigma does.
K: *nod* yeah
D: the first CD?
K: or.. talls cliffs looking over the sea
D: one HUGE sex-centered cinematic experience for me. oddly enough, it was also really spiritual, almost.
K: just... something about nature, really
K: tantric. *grins*
K: (kamasutrakamasutrakamasutra) all about spirituality, baby. heheh.
K: maybe the only way i can achieve orgasm is through tantric sex. *muse*
K: ok.. listening to cross of changes now
D: *LOL* actually it was... i dunno, odd.
D: cool, though.
D: it was christianity-based.
D: but ... a LOT of sex.
K: methinks iwant to start having your dreams
D: it wasn't a dream!
K: cool.. and gooooooood because its just so bad.
D: it was like a daydream.
K: like.. fucking an angel!
K: ok not quite. *muse*
D: *LOL* it WAS sorta fucking-an-angel-idea'd
K: really?
K: *laugh*]
K: pinned ya!!!
D: well, i wasn't in it.
D: i was just watching, like a movie.
K: really? shame.
K: voyeur!
D: basically - well. first you have that introduction
D: and then this panorama unfolds
D: like this monastery hiiiigh on a mountain
D: the lighting's all golden/red and artistic
D: and it's like, dawn
D: WAY high on a mtn - nothing but clouds beneath
K: you know.. there is this kickass monastery i would love to go visit.. if i weren't so afraid of heights.
K: oh lightning!
D: and you have all the monks kinda filing into morning prayers or something
K: i love lightning. i wish i had your visual.s
D: no - foggish clouds, like the ones under the golden gate bridge
D: and all lit up golden and red
D: and all these dark-cloaked monks going to the chapel
K: chanting/
K: ?
D: yup. that's the chanting.
K: medieval christianity is a league of its own
D: and you know how there's like - one guy chanting
D: and all these people answering?
D: that's like lead monk leading the monks in it
K: man this is gonna make me want to read some badass medieval erotica. *laugh*
D: but then that woman speaking?
D: heh.
D: so...all the monks were at the chapel except for one - the protagonist - who's in his room
D: and he's, er, jerking off in front of a virgin mary statue.
D: (but it was all weirdly RELIGIOUS! like - religious rapture, only... physical?)
D: brb - i'll tell you the rest later.
K: jerking off is SUCH an inelegant, and not altogether sexy, way of saying it.
D: masturbating!?
D: stroking off?
K: ack! i hate that word!
D: touching himself!
D: *LMAO*
K: no! there must be a better way.. *muse*
K: i guess touching is the closest.. *muse*
D: self-pleasure?
D: *LMAO*
K: to the virgin mary though!?!?!?!?
D: YES.
D: it was fucked up
K: pleasuring thyself.
D: *dies*
D: but - okay
D: then, after that.
K: thats just.. damon... you had your noggin checked recently?
D: you know how there's 3 songs in one in that first track?
D: the first is sadeness
D: the second is principles of lust
K: needs some serious examination. i reckon you got some messages going through these dreams. *laugh*
D: then sadeness again?
K: *nod*
D: IT'S NOT A DREAM!! it was like a vision! like imagination. daydreaming, almost, only i wasn't in it.
K: vision is worse!
D: and - okay. so the second song, he sneaks out of the monastery
D: goes to a whorehouse
K: i mean.. what if you were prophetic and these all really MEANT things!!!
D: ensue massive debauchery
K: although dude, maybe you should write a book about this.i think i'd buy it, with your writing style. *smirk*
D: *dies* maybe i'll write it for nano this year.
D: i actually thought about nanoing it out
D: but i was too embarrassed
D: it is ALL
D: ABOUT
D: SEX, man
K: do it@
K: i'd so read it@
D: the WHOLE PLOT IS SEX
D: SEX SEX SEX AND MORE SEX
K: god. i can't do exclamations!!
K: so what?
K: you know.. writing about sex is HARD
D: *LOL* well - and kind of a fall from grace/redemption story beneath it.
D: NO SHIT
D: i feel stupid
K: to make it.. steamy and hot but not crass.
K: hee. thats why roleplays are good. *grins*
K: but in truth, as soon as you start getting explicit - he puts his cock here, and there and.. yeah. just the word cock its like.. ARGH!
K: and then.. if you use manhood? *laughs* sounds sooooooo silly.
K: hmm. sex is usually safe.. mebbe.
K: "the heat of his sex"
K: actually sounds silly too. *frowns*
K: ok.. don't get into specifics.
K: just talk about the positions. hahaha
K: i think you'd do a great job though.
D: no. cock is the only acceptable word.
but *LMAO* duuuude.
D: okay - want me to tell you the rest, or just save it for the never-to-be-written nano?
K: no tell me!
K: (and you should do it)
K: or just.. write it. give it to me and i'll give my opinion
K: can be a secret pet project of yours.
K: if it gets me hot and bothered, extra brownie points for success!! *grins*
D: *would be so entirely too embarrassed*
D: and okay
D: so.
K: why?? *blinks*
D: when the next sadeness comes in
K: *laugh* actually i probably would in the same situation.
D: the third part of the song?
D: it's like - orgy over
K: unless i came up with a really good plot.
K: *nod*
D: and he's like - still feeling unsatisfied? well - not physically, but like, empty, not whole.
K: emotionally. *muse*
K: unsatiated.
D: spiritually.
so, callas went away starts, and he goes wandering down the mountain.
K: *loves that word*
D: and hence all that nature sound - birds and water and stuff
K: *nod*
K: *laugh* i almost want to play this out in a scene. would be so cool!
D: he goes wandering, and like, passes the gates of the convent.
K: oh dear. poor nuns.
K: *grins*
D: and sees one of the nuns?
D: and it's like - still point of the turning world.
D: the WHOLE song, is just him like, STARING, slow-mo
K: wow.
K: maybe you should make this a short film. *giggles*
D: fortunately it's not that long a song.
it'd seriously work better as film, heh.
D: as story it'd be too overwrought.
K: the concept, however, could be... fun.
D: and like - well, not just staring, but like. he stares at her, she notices him, she stares at him, they kinda meet at the gate
D: oh yeah, and it's like - night by now
D: pouring rain, but not cold?
D: warmly drenching
K: like thousands of moist kisses. *giggles*
K: hahah
D: and then, of course, the kiss through the wrought-iron gate.
K: *nod*
K: CASANOVA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
K: we have FOUND our man!
K: isn't casanova reputed to have been given a.. headjob actually.. by a nun through an iron gate?
D: fade to black. mea culpa. it opens on like - them, in the woods behind the convent, BUCK NAKED, obviously having fucked all night. it's pitch black, the hours before dawn.
D: and like - they can hear the drums. and it's like OH SHIT, THE MONKS ARE COMING FOR US
K: (i love you rocks... *sighs happily*)
D: (apparently they very martial monks)
K: *laugh*
D: and then when the backbeat comes in?
D: they jump up and start, like, running away through the forest
D: and then it's this interspersed scene
D: in the present, they're hauling ass for leather
D: but in flashbacks, it's like - really hot sex.
K: does their skin get scratched and bloody from trees and shrubs, and leaves in their hair and dirt on their bodies?
K: wow... intense vision there, Damon.
D: well, they kinda dress first, but all messily. and then they get holes torn in clothes and get all bloodied, yeah.
K: flashbacks and everything.
D: it was INTENSE. it's not even half done yet *LOL*
D: so - like this interspersement of the present frantic ESCAPE
D: and the past frantic FUCKING
K: *laugh*
K: its all about escape, really.
D: (the girl panting throughout is like... the same for both)
D: and then, of course, they get caught at the end.
D: the girl gets dragged off, and i don't know what happens to her. the guy's is the protagonist.
D: in the Voice and the Snake
D: it's basically his trial?
K: *nod*
D: but it's really creepy and mystical, a lot of smoke-effects, hooded figures with no faces, condemning him.
D: and then knocking on forbidden doors
K: *nod* very ritualistic.
D: you know how there's that "knocking" sound? the pounding?
D: well - in my version, that was hammering. they nailed him to a cross!!!
K: ack.. i don't know the inbetween songs that well.
K: cross! ouch!
K: ok. religious symbols.. yay!
K: that has to be a fav. :P
D: and you know how there's like - a guy (i think it's the main enigma guy) going "mother" or something throughout? apparently that was him kinda - calling out to the virgin mary?
D: sorta like a reflection of the whole father why have you forsaken me thang?
K: hmm. i need to listen to the album again
D: and then back to the rivers of belief - it's all quiet at the beginning, right?
D: that's cuz he's like, been put up on the crucifix
D: and is kinda dangling there
K: (and how can you not like carly's song!!!!!?!?!?!)
K: hmm. does he escape, or is that it?
D: and it's like this ... delirious dream-sequence, almost, interspersed again: in his mind he's envisioning rain and limpid pools and, heh, fucking his girl
K: you know.. there's something really raw and primal about that vision which really appeals to the senses..
K: like god vs man almost
D: and in reality he's baking under the sun.
D: (which vision?)
K: well.. that.. dream thing
D: and there's all these monks gathered, watching, and he's just up there all bloodied and crack-lipped and ... AWFUL LOOKING, dying?
K: and yet the defiance remains.
D: and then it kinda fades into the low backbeat again, and the monks have drifted off. it's night.
D: and it goes back to the woman speaking again - and yeah! sorta defiance.
K: so man against god, man against restraints, man against control.
D: oh, this is where he remembers screwing the nun-chick.
K: reminds me of the Marquis de Sade
D: (well, Sadeness IS named after him...)
K: but.. not as... umm.. sadistic. *laugh*
D: and then it goes on for a while
K: is it?
D: slower sex this time. kinda dreamy, almost
K: never knew that. *laugh*
D: and then - you know how it SUDDENLY swells into that "take me back to the rivers of belief" part?
D: it's like - i dunno. hard to describe.
K: no!! *pouts* cos i don't know the album that well.
D: you gotta relisten.
D: save this convo, listen, and follow along *LOL*
K: need to listen again and read through your ... yeah. do that.
D: but - yeah, the swelling, it's like - sunrise? sorta?
D: but not. it's BLAZING white light
D: and then the silence
D: "And when the lamb opened the seventh seal, silence covered the sky."
D: --he dies.
D: and then the music again, and everything, and this time it's like - this bird's eye view soaring over this GORGEOUS forest
K: you have.. there are words??
K: and.. thats sorta sad.
K: awesome though. utterly awesome.
D: and gradually spiraling higher and higher? and you see the whole panorama spanned out
K: you should write it down.. to never forget it.
D: and kinda - just - GLORIOUS, man. it was awesome. and then that gradually eventually fades out.
D: it's kinda sad? but more like, WHOA. because it was totally redemption, you know?
K: *nod* yeah.
D: or more that he'd never been wrong in seeking physical love.
K: *laugh* dangerous.
D: it was cool. it was REALLY vivid. heh. i dunno where it came from.
K: you should write it.
K: man.. even the staring bit.. that could be so easily written.. powerfully too.
D: heh. it was seriously cool, "seeing" it. it was just riveting.
D: i gotta post! brb
K: YOU NEED TO WRITE IT.
D: *LMAO* I WILL!
D: and dude, my mind goes to sex for almost EVERYTHING enigma does.
K: *nod* yeah
D: the first CD?
K: or.. talls cliffs looking over the sea
D: one HUGE sex-centered cinematic experience for me. oddly enough, it was also really spiritual, almost.
K: just... something about nature, really
K: tantric. *grins*
K: (kamasutrakamasutrakamasutra) all about spirituality, baby. heheh.
K: maybe the only way i can achieve orgasm is through tantric sex. *muse*
K: ok.. listening to cross of changes now
D: *LOL* actually it was... i dunno, odd.
D: cool, though.
D: it was christianity-based.
D: but ... a LOT of sex.
K: methinks iwant to start having your dreams
D: it wasn't a dream!
K: cool.. and gooooooood because its just so bad.
D: it was like a daydream.
K: like.. fucking an angel!
K: ok not quite. *muse*
D: *LOL* it WAS sorta fucking-an-angel-idea'd
K: really?
K: *laugh*]
K: pinned ya!!!
D: well, i wasn't in it.
D: i was just watching, like a movie.
K: really? shame.
K: voyeur!
D: basically - well. first you have that introduction
D: and then this panorama unfolds
D: like this monastery hiiiigh on a mountain
D: the lighting's all golden/red and artistic
D: and it's like, dawn
D: WAY high on a mtn - nothing but clouds beneath
K: you know.. there is this kickass monastery i would love to go visit.. if i weren't so afraid of heights.
K: oh lightning!
D: and you have all the monks kinda filing into morning prayers or something
K: i love lightning. i wish i had your visual.s
D: no - foggish clouds, like the ones under the golden gate bridge
D: and all lit up golden and red
D: and all these dark-cloaked monks going to the chapel
K: chanting/
K: ?
D: yup. that's the chanting.
K: medieval christianity is a league of its own
D: and you know how there's like - one guy chanting
D: and all these people answering?
D: that's like lead monk leading the monks in it
K: man this is gonna make me want to read some badass medieval erotica. *laugh*
D: but then that woman speaking?
D: heh.
D: so...all the monks were at the chapel except for one - the protagonist - who's in his room
D: and he's, er, jerking off in front of a virgin mary statue.
D: (but it was all weirdly RELIGIOUS! like - religious rapture, only... physical?)
D: brb - i'll tell you the rest later.
K: jerking off is SUCH an inelegant, and not altogether sexy, way of saying it.
D: masturbating!?
D: stroking off?
K: ack! i hate that word!
D: touching himself!
D: *LMAO*
K: no! there must be a better way.. *muse*
K: i guess touching is the closest.. *muse*
D: self-pleasure?
D: *LMAO*
K: to the virgin mary though!?!?!?!?
D: YES.
D: it was fucked up
K: pleasuring thyself.
D: *dies*
D: but - okay
D: then, after that.
K: thats just.. damon... you had your noggin checked recently?
D: you know how there's 3 songs in one in that first track?
D: the first is sadeness
D: the second is principles of lust
K: needs some serious examination. i reckon you got some messages going through these dreams. *laugh*
D: then sadeness again?
K: *nod*
D: IT'S NOT A DREAM!! it was like a vision! like imagination. daydreaming, almost, only i wasn't in it.
K: vision is worse!
D: and - okay. so the second song, he sneaks out of the monastery
D: goes to a whorehouse
K: i mean.. what if you were prophetic and these all really MEANT things!!!
D: ensue massive debauchery
K: although dude, maybe you should write a book about this.i think i'd buy it, with your writing style. *smirk*
D: *dies* maybe i'll write it for nano this year.
D: i actually thought about nanoing it out
D: but i was too embarrassed
D: it is ALL
D: ABOUT
D: SEX, man
K: do it@
K: i'd so read it@
D: the WHOLE PLOT IS SEX
D: SEX SEX SEX AND MORE SEX
K: god. i can't do exclamations!!
K: so what?
K: you know.. writing about sex is HARD
D: *LOL* well - and kind of a fall from grace/redemption story beneath it.
D: NO SHIT
D: i feel stupid
K: to make it.. steamy and hot but not crass.
K: hee. thats why roleplays are good. *grins*
K: but in truth, as soon as you start getting explicit - he puts his cock here, and there and.. yeah. just the word cock its like.. ARGH!
K: and then.. if you use manhood? *laughs* sounds sooooooo silly.
K: hmm. sex is usually safe.. mebbe.
K: "the heat of his sex"
K: actually sounds silly too. *frowns*
K: ok.. don't get into specifics.
K: just talk about the positions. hahaha
K: i think you'd do a great job though.
D: no. cock is the only acceptable word.
but *LMAO* duuuude.
D: okay - want me to tell you the rest, or just save it for the never-to-be-written nano?
K: no tell me!
K: (and you should do it)
K: or just.. write it. give it to me and i'll give my opinion
K: can be a secret pet project of yours.
K: if it gets me hot and bothered, extra brownie points for success!! *grins*
D: *would be so entirely too embarrassed*
D: and okay
D: so.
K: why?? *blinks*
D: when the next sadeness comes in
K: *laugh* actually i probably would in the same situation.
D: the third part of the song?
D: it's like - orgy over
K: unless i came up with a really good plot.
K: *nod*
D: and he's like - still feeling unsatisfied? well - not physically, but like, empty, not whole.
K: emotionally. *muse*
K: unsatiated.
D: spiritually.
so, callas went away starts, and he goes wandering down the mountain.
K: *loves that word*
D: and hence all that nature sound - birds and water and stuff
K: *nod*
K: *laugh* i almost want to play this out in a scene. would be so cool!
D: he goes wandering, and like, passes the gates of the convent.
K: oh dear. poor nuns.
K: *grins*
D: and sees one of the nuns?
D: and it's like - still point of the turning world.
D: the WHOLE song, is just him like, STARING, slow-mo
K: wow.
K: maybe you should make this a short film. *giggles*
D: fortunately it's not that long a song.
it'd seriously work better as film, heh.
D: as story it'd be too overwrought.
K: the concept, however, could be... fun.
D: and like - well, not just staring, but like. he stares at her, she notices him, she stares at him, they kinda meet at the gate
D: oh yeah, and it's like - night by now
D: pouring rain, but not cold?
D: warmly drenching
K: like thousands of moist kisses. *giggles*
K: hahah
D: and then, of course, the kiss through the wrought-iron gate.
K: *nod*
K: CASANOVA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
K: we have FOUND our man!
K: isn't casanova reputed to have been given a.. headjob actually.. by a nun through an iron gate?
D: fade to black. mea culpa. it opens on like - them, in the woods behind the convent, BUCK NAKED, obviously having fucked all night. it's pitch black, the hours before dawn.
D: and like - they can hear the drums. and it's like OH SHIT, THE MONKS ARE COMING FOR US
K: (i love you rocks... *sighs happily*)
D: (apparently they very martial monks)
K: *laugh*
D: and then when the backbeat comes in?
D: they jump up and start, like, running away through the forest
D: and then it's this interspersed scene
D: in the present, they're hauling ass for leather
D: but in flashbacks, it's like - really hot sex.
K: does their skin get scratched and bloody from trees and shrubs, and leaves in their hair and dirt on their bodies?
K: wow... intense vision there, Damon.
D: well, they kinda dress first, but all messily. and then they get holes torn in clothes and get all bloodied, yeah.
K: flashbacks and everything.
D: it was INTENSE. it's not even half done yet *LOL*
D: so - like this interspersement of the present frantic ESCAPE
D: and the past frantic FUCKING
K: *laugh*
K: its all about escape, really.
D: (the girl panting throughout is like... the same for both)
D: and then, of course, they get caught at the end.
D: the girl gets dragged off, and i don't know what happens to her. the guy's is the protagonist.
D: in the Voice and the Snake
D: it's basically his trial?
K: *nod*
D: but it's really creepy and mystical, a lot of smoke-effects, hooded figures with no faces, condemning him.
D: and then knocking on forbidden doors
K: *nod* very ritualistic.
D: you know how there's that "knocking" sound? the pounding?
D: well - in my version, that was hammering. they nailed him to a cross!!!
K: ack.. i don't know the inbetween songs that well.
K: cross! ouch!
K: ok. religious symbols.. yay!
K: that has to be a fav. :P
D: and you know how there's like - a guy (i think it's the main enigma guy) going "mother" or something throughout? apparently that was him kinda - calling out to the virgin mary?
D: sorta like a reflection of the whole father why have you forsaken me thang?
K: hmm. i need to listen to the album again
D: and then back to the rivers of belief - it's all quiet at the beginning, right?
D: that's cuz he's like, been put up on the crucifix
D: and is kinda dangling there
K: (and how can you not like carly's song!!!!!?!?!?!)
K: hmm. does he escape, or is that it?
D: and it's like this ... delirious dream-sequence, almost, interspersed again: in his mind he's envisioning rain and limpid pools and, heh, fucking his girl
K: you know.. there's something really raw and primal about that vision which really appeals to the senses..
K: like god vs man almost
D: and in reality he's baking under the sun.
D: (which vision?)
K: well.. that.. dream thing
D: and there's all these monks gathered, watching, and he's just up there all bloodied and crack-lipped and ... AWFUL LOOKING, dying?
K: and yet the defiance remains.
D: and then it kinda fades into the low backbeat again, and the monks have drifted off. it's night.
D: and it goes back to the woman speaking again - and yeah! sorta defiance.
K: so man against god, man against restraints, man against control.
D: oh, this is where he remembers screwing the nun-chick.
K: reminds me of the Marquis de Sade
D: (well, Sadeness IS named after him...)
K: but.. not as... umm.. sadistic. *laugh*
D: and then it goes on for a while
K: is it?
D: slower sex this time. kinda dreamy, almost
K: never knew that. *laugh*
D: and then - you know how it SUDDENLY swells into that "take me back to the rivers of belief" part?
D: it's like - i dunno. hard to describe.
K: no!! *pouts* cos i don't know the album that well.
D: you gotta relisten.
D: save this convo, listen, and follow along *LOL*
K: need to listen again and read through your ... yeah. do that.
D: but - yeah, the swelling, it's like - sunrise? sorta?
D: but not. it's BLAZING white light
D: and then the silence
D: "And when the lamb opened the seventh seal, silence covered the sky."
D: --he dies.
D: and then the music again, and everything, and this time it's like - this bird's eye view soaring over this GORGEOUS forest
K: you have.. there are words??
K: and.. thats sorta sad.
K: awesome though. utterly awesome.
D: and gradually spiraling higher and higher? and you see the whole panorama spanned out
K: you should write it down.. to never forget it.
D: and kinda - just - GLORIOUS, man. it was awesome. and then that gradually eventually fades out.
D: it's kinda sad? but more like, WHOA. because it was totally redemption, you know?
K: *nod* yeah.
D: or more that he'd never been wrong in seeking physical love.
K: *laugh* dangerous.
D: it was cool. it was REALLY vivid. heh. i dunno where it came from.
K: you should write it.
K: man.. even the staring bit.. that could be so easily written.. powerfully too.
D: heh. it was seriously cool, "seeing" it. it was just riveting.
D: i gotta post! brb
K: YOU NEED TO WRITE IT.
D: *LMAO* I WILL!
so it occurs to me that my diary had its 2nd anniversary two days ago. 2 years writing on this thing. it's september again, and i think the skies here are always that shade of blue in september: amazing, depthless, hard enough to hurt. heh. heartbreaking beauty. something like that.
i meant to write more, but i'm braindead. i'll just leave this at that. been listening to a lotta music though. strange thoughts in mind. this came up earlier and i'm just gonna c&p instead of like. redoing it.
this is what i kinda thought about listening to theatre of tragedy's Machine (vnv nation remix):
(begin c&p)
okay. well. like, inside this huge...plant/factory thing.
and like - shiny steel. but not smooth. ridged and cut into these grooves and protrusions. all these tubes made out of steel like that, and wires in those bendable - gah, what are they called - those bendable steel things? with all the rings? like, lamps have that a lot. the kind that you can bend around. anyway - wires in those, twisting around these steel tubes/pipes, which are kinda square and etched and at right angles to each other, everywhere
sometimes there are these windows in the steel tubes: inside, glowing green/blue stuff. and flickering rings of that green/blue light kinda skim over the tubes here and there like nerve impulses.
and this whole set-up kinda centers around this central core of blue-green stuff in a big clear container, like a torus, the machine they use to contain superheated plasma in a magnetic field with.
just general impressions. but that whole thing? is like - somehow the physical place where people's consciousnesses are stored. people don't exist physically anymore - they exist inside those pipes, just consciousnesses stripped of body.
the ultimate freedom and the ultimate prison. if you can think it up, it IS - because you're nothing but thought. go anywhere, be anything. at the same time, you don't really go anywhere, and you're nothing at all.
gah, okay, that was a morbid thought.
(end c&p)
i meant to write more, but i'm braindead. i'll just leave this at that. been listening to a lotta music though. strange thoughts in mind. this came up earlier and i'm just gonna c&p instead of like. redoing it.
this is what i kinda thought about listening to theatre of tragedy's Machine (vnv nation remix):
(begin c&p)
okay. well. like, inside this huge...plant/factory thing.
and like - shiny steel. but not smooth. ridged and cut into these grooves and protrusions. all these tubes made out of steel like that, and wires in those bendable - gah, what are they called - those bendable steel things? with all the rings? like, lamps have that a lot. the kind that you can bend around. anyway - wires in those, twisting around these steel tubes/pipes, which are kinda square and etched and at right angles to each other, everywhere
sometimes there are these windows in the steel tubes: inside, glowing green/blue stuff. and flickering rings of that green/blue light kinda skim over the tubes here and there like nerve impulses.
and this whole set-up kinda centers around this central core of blue-green stuff in a big clear container, like a torus, the machine they use to contain superheated plasma in a magnetic field with.
just general impressions. but that whole thing? is like - somehow the physical place where people's consciousnesses are stored. people don't exist physically anymore - they exist inside those pipes, just consciousnesses stripped of body.
the ultimate freedom and the ultimate prison. if you can think it up, it IS - because you're nothing but thought. go anywhere, be anything. at the same time, you don't really go anywhere, and you're nothing at all.
gah, okay, that was a morbid thought.
(end c&p)
scene (background music, aria - "ave maria"): trans-siberian railway. camera close to train tracks, ground level. steel rail and wood crosslay beneath, long as a dragon sprawled across all of the cold the dark the harsh tundras. heavy blizzard. night. everything's black except for snow falling to bury the world. horizon is a faint gleam.
train blasts by, sending up twin fans of snow, trailing a white mist, shaking snow off the branches of a dead tree crooked over the past.
camera rises, phantomlike; POV follows train. chases, levels, pans sideways, strafing along as though on coasters, keeping pace. sense of speed given by obscure shadows whipping by, blurred, in darkness. camera zooms in on dim lights within. protagonist: young revolutionary, fur cap, thick winter jacket, several day's beard growth on an intense, sharpedged face, gently swaying in the rhythm of the train, haggard eyes staring unseeing out. cradled in his arms, half on his lap, protagonist's woman, deathly pale and mortally wounded.
camera starts to lose pace. train passes by, at first imperceptibly faster, then accelerating relative to camera until it blurs. camera rises above tracks and pans out to reveal snow-choked landscape through which tracks carve a distinct curving twin black path, racing on to and past the horizon. on it, red tailight of the train, growing small.
wtf is it about trains? somehow they're so evocative. i was discussing this with liz. we decided it was something about the rhythm of the wheels over the tracks, muted but everpresent; the inevitability of the tracks laid down firm; the enclosure of the cars and the closed windows, yet still allowing that final brief aching contact in the way planes never will; the out-of-your-control motion, where the train might (will) start moving any minute, and there's not a thing you can do about it.
there's only so far you can follow on the platform, only so fast you can run. there's only so much time you have before the train becomes a red dot, becomes nothing. but the tracks linger on and on, in memoriam.
scene (background music, bliss - "kissing"): one of those tastefully-shot tender-lovemaking scenes. golden indirect luminescent lighting, indistinct glimpses: thighs intertwined, abdomens pressed movingly together, lips on underside of jaw, divine-rapturous face, closed eyes, parted lips; white sheets artfully rumpled. scene seguing into next--
long shot down train platform, grey concrete walk with glass overhang, once clear, now dulled and almost opaque with age and exposure. late afternoon, heavily overcast, sky a cast of silver-grey. gentle rain falling like mist. train tracks stretching across barren late-autumn plain, all the crops harvested, all the fields fallow. bare trees line the path of the tracks. protagonist on platform in thick dark overcoat, gloves and scarf, head bare.
overhead speakers announce times and trains in indistinct foreign language. train, black train engine w/ dark cars, is beginning to pull away. cut to window: we recognize the woman from previous scene, prim now in careful makeup and 1940s traveling attire, upper class. looking out, sorrow creases her brow. dimly reflected, protagonist's desolate face.
train begins to move faster. rhythm of the tracks. camera stays with woman in the window. emotions build and are bitten back on her face. reflected, protagonist growing smaller, face pulling out to a head-and-body shot to a full-figure shot, indistinct in the window.
like a man in a dream, he takes a few steps after the train. woman in window presses gloved knuckles to mouth. protagonist slowly raises a hand in farewell. the woman presses her palm flat against the window; tears spill over as image of man in window blurs and grows too small to see.
camera pans out. flat grey horizon under flat grey sky. steam train rolling away.
i have no fucking clue why my train scenes are all so desolate. it seems to fit though. hmm.
gah!
train blasts by, sending up twin fans of snow, trailing a white mist, shaking snow off the branches of a dead tree crooked over the past.
camera rises, phantomlike; POV follows train. chases, levels, pans sideways, strafing along as though on coasters, keeping pace. sense of speed given by obscure shadows whipping by, blurred, in darkness. camera zooms in on dim lights within. protagonist: young revolutionary, fur cap, thick winter jacket, several day's beard growth on an intense, sharpedged face, gently swaying in the rhythm of the train, haggard eyes staring unseeing out. cradled in his arms, half on his lap, protagonist's woman, deathly pale and mortally wounded.
camera starts to lose pace. train passes by, at first imperceptibly faster, then accelerating relative to camera until it blurs. camera rises above tracks and pans out to reveal snow-choked landscape through which tracks carve a distinct curving twin black path, racing on to and past the horizon. on it, red tailight of the train, growing small.
wtf is it about trains? somehow they're so evocative. i was discussing this with liz. we decided it was something about the rhythm of the wheels over the tracks, muted but everpresent; the inevitability of the tracks laid down firm; the enclosure of the cars and the closed windows, yet still allowing that final brief aching contact in the way planes never will; the out-of-your-control motion, where the train might (will) start moving any minute, and there's not a thing you can do about it.
there's only so far you can follow on the platform, only so fast you can run. there's only so much time you have before the train becomes a red dot, becomes nothing. but the tracks linger on and on, in memoriam.
scene (background music, bliss - "kissing"): one of those tastefully-shot tender-lovemaking scenes. golden indirect luminescent lighting, indistinct glimpses: thighs intertwined, abdomens pressed movingly together, lips on underside of jaw, divine-rapturous face, closed eyes, parted lips; white sheets artfully rumpled. scene seguing into next--
long shot down train platform, grey concrete walk with glass overhang, once clear, now dulled and almost opaque with age and exposure. late afternoon, heavily overcast, sky a cast of silver-grey. gentle rain falling like mist. train tracks stretching across barren late-autumn plain, all the crops harvested, all the fields fallow. bare trees line the path of the tracks. protagonist on platform in thick dark overcoat, gloves and scarf, head bare.
overhead speakers announce times and trains in indistinct foreign language. train, black train engine w/ dark cars, is beginning to pull away. cut to window: we recognize the woman from previous scene, prim now in careful makeup and 1940s traveling attire, upper class. looking out, sorrow creases her brow. dimly reflected, protagonist's desolate face.
train begins to move faster. rhythm of the tracks. camera stays with woman in the window. emotions build and are bitten back on her face. reflected, protagonist growing smaller, face pulling out to a head-and-body shot to a full-figure shot, indistinct in the window.
like a man in a dream, he takes a few steps after the train. woman in window presses gloved knuckles to mouth. protagonist slowly raises a hand in farewell. the woman presses her palm flat against the window; tears spill over as image of man in window blurs and grows too small to see.
camera pans out. flat grey horizon under flat grey sky. steam train rolling away.
i have no fucking clue why my train scenes are all so desolate. it seems to fit though. hmm.
gah!
now.
i'm sure a lot of people have heard that song, Summertime. the immortal Ella Fitzgerald and all that. heck, a lot of people have probably heard the fairly true-to-the-original Summertime by Janis Joplin.
but if you haven't heard it yet? go download Sublime's Summertime. i think it's also called Doin' Time. it's completely different. so, completely different. the words are totally changed except for the original "Summertime ...and the living's easy." it's somewhat reggae-style; the underlying story of the song is different.
all the same? it keeps the faith. it's a summertime made in the nineties, for a nineties summertime. and in the city, not the rural south.
it's a great song. it sounds like summer. maybe it's because it's on the hot side these days that i like it so much. it's something about the cool laidback bassline and the...what, a xylophone? repeating these few notes that, actually, are sampled from the original Summertime. towards the end, if you listen carefully, it's there.
but it's different. it keeps the feel of summertime, but everything else is different.
it reminds me of july days in the city. eating lunch on the steps of town hall, something like that. pigeons clucking around. girls in shorts and tank tops and sunglasses. one of those hot days where the sun bears down, but not unbearably, where you spend the whole day sticky and enveloped in heat, but it's not so bad because it's sunday, and anyway there's not too much to do.
a bit of a humid edge to the heat. well, as humid as california gets, at least. just the kinda weather to lounge around and nod to music in your car, on your front step, look up and look over the cute girl walking her toy poodle past.
i'm sure a lot of people have heard that song, Summertime. the immortal Ella Fitzgerald and all that. heck, a lot of people have probably heard the fairly true-to-the-original Summertime by Janis Joplin.
but if you haven't heard it yet? go download Sublime's Summertime. i think it's also called Doin' Time. it's completely different. so, completely different. the words are totally changed except for the original "Summertime ...and the living's easy." it's somewhat reggae-style; the underlying story of the song is different.
all the same? it keeps the faith. it's a summertime made in the nineties, for a nineties summertime. and in the city, not the rural south.
it's a great song. it sounds like summer. maybe it's because it's on the hot side these days that i like it so much. it's something about the cool laidback bassline and the...what, a xylophone? repeating these few notes that, actually, are sampled from the original Summertime. towards the end, if you listen carefully, it's there.
but it's different. it keeps the feel of summertime, but everything else is different.
it reminds me of july days in the city. eating lunch on the steps of town hall, something like that. pigeons clucking around. girls in shorts and tank tops and sunglasses. one of those hot days where the sun bears down, but not unbearably, where you spend the whole day sticky and enveloped in heat, but it's not so bad because it's sunday, and anyway there's not too much to do.
a bit of a humid edge to the heat. well, as humid as california gets, at least. just the kinda weather to lounge around and nod to music in your car, on your front step, look up and look over the cute girl walking her toy poodle past.
so uh.
anyone who's reading this probably knows me well enough to know i CAN'T stand the damn celtic craze. or, for that matter, any sorta thing that takes some culture and makes it a fad to be indulged it. you know what i mean. where someone has like 1 drop of american indian blood and suddenly they're out worshipping the sun and moon and getting in touch with their "inner brave", blahblah.
okay, i'm digressing massively. point is: i can't STAND the celtic craze.
BUT.
for the first fucking time?
i understand it. my GOD do i understand it.
there's this song - ailein duinn? sung by meav? and...holy shit.
first time i listened, i was just...in shock. cuz it starts out all new agey celtic - you know, with the harp and the flute thang on top of this low pulseless bassline, and like...all mysterious otherworldly. you're (i was) expecting some stupid lyrics about like. druids and bards and shit. dismissing it already.
and then
it quiets.
and this girl's voice starts: and it's not english. it's GAELIC.
and you gotta understand i've never actually HEARD gaelic before. not sung in long sloping lines like this. it's just FLOORED me. i was like. wtf? what's this? gaeli--ohhh my god, this is pretty.
it's such a beautiful language. it's so flowing. i mean, in english, you have pretty discrete word-units in sound; one does flow into the next, but the vowels tend to be pretty short and there are a lot of sharp consonants.
not this, man.
gaelic is like...okay, maybe it's just this chick's voice? but it's clear and just flowing. not many sharp consonants. not many gutturals, either. a lot of "sh" "ch" "hh" sounds, too - these rounded vowels, all long, and just - all of it is so rounded and liquid.
oh my. god.
i'm in love. i'm not kidding. her voice is just incredible, singing this song. it's the way it lilts. it makes you think of oceans and birds. i don't know why, but just - like, green misty cliffsides near the ocean, sort of like in northern california, with seagulls swooping.
i'm ranting completely disjointedly. i can't put my thoughts together on this.
it's the way the lines of the song slope. the way they lilt - there's this one part that just sends shivers up my spine where her voice is just...buoyed, like a bird on the wind. you know what i mean. you've seen it, the way a gliding bird can kind of drop from one thermal to catch the next up?
that's how her voice is.
it just...soars up on an updraft, falls, and catches the next right up again.
same note held both times. but the difference in the surrounding notes - the first is major, the second minor - is so, so, so beautifully crafted that the tone is completely different the second time around.
aching.
oh , my , god.
i could WEEP. hahaha. okay, maybe not, but. it's aching.
meav is an incredible singer. you don't even notice all of it at first. it's just the absolute clarity of her tone. it's so sweet and...
you know, i've always heard people say so-and-so's voice is clear like a bell? this is the first time i understand. just. so beautifully delineated, without being rigid. and the way she curls her tongue around the sounds...
...it's fucking sexy, man. hahaha. oh man, i know, i know. everything goes back to sex for me. but you gotta wonder, if she can curl her tongue around a syllable like that--
okay no, i'm not gonna go there.
it's just the breathy-but-not-gaspy way she sings. she lets the words breathe, gives the gaelic breathiness its room, but still enunciates so. carefully. and doesn't cut them off. and. it's just. aaagh.
i can't say it enough! i'm just repeating myself like an idiot, but:
her voice. the song. it flows. it flows together.
FLOWS! like WATER. and SOARS. like a gliding BIRD.
i love this song. i mean, i absolutely love it. from the first line, it just sucks me in. and she has such...precise control over what notes she hits, and how. that's a rare thing in singers today. not many can modulate the tiny, tiny differences between notes. there's more than one way to hit a C#, or a Eb. it's not the hitting it. it's HOW, from which angle, whether you're just a liiiittle bit sharp or a liiiittle bit flat, and how long you dwell, how much breath you give it, how much body.
and the way she does it is just pitch-perfect.
i speak of singing like i knew how to sing. i don't. i'm just kinda deducting it from listening to her. that's how good she is.
i need to find CDs by her, man.
anyone who's reading this probably knows me well enough to know i CAN'T stand the damn celtic craze. or, for that matter, any sorta thing that takes some culture and makes it a fad to be indulged it. you know what i mean. where someone has like 1 drop of american indian blood and suddenly they're out worshipping the sun and moon and getting in touch with their "inner brave", blahblah.
okay, i'm digressing massively. point is: i can't STAND the celtic craze.
BUT.
for the first fucking time?
i understand it. my GOD do i understand it.
there's this song - ailein duinn? sung by meav? and...holy shit.
first time i listened, i was just...in shock. cuz it starts out all new agey celtic - you know, with the harp and the flute thang on top of this low pulseless bassline, and like...all mysterious otherworldly. you're (i was) expecting some stupid lyrics about like. druids and bards and shit. dismissing it already.
and then
it quiets.
and this girl's voice starts: and it's not english. it's GAELIC.
and you gotta understand i've never actually HEARD gaelic before. not sung in long sloping lines like this. it's just FLOORED me. i was like. wtf? what's this? gaeli--ohhh my god, this is pretty.
it's such a beautiful language. it's so flowing. i mean, in english, you have pretty discrete word-units in sound; one does flow into the next, but the vowels tend to be pretty short and there are a lot of sharp consonants.
not this, man.
gaelic is like...okay, maybe it's just this chick's voice? but it's clear and just flowing. not many sharp consonants. not many gutturals, either. a lot of "sh" "ch" "hh" sounds, too - these rounded vowels, all long, and just - all of it is so rounded and liquid.
oh my. god.
i'm in love. i'm not kidding. her voice is just incredible, singing this song. it's the way it lilts. it makes you think of oceans and birds. i don't know why, but just - like, green misty cliffsides near the ocean, sort of like in northern california, with seagulls swooping.
i'm ranting completely disjointedly. i can't put my thoughts together on this.
it's the way the lines of the song slope. the way they lilt - there's this one part that just sends shivers up my spine where her voice is just...buoyed, like a bird on the wind. you know what i mean. you've seen it, the way a gliding bird can kind of drop from one thermal to catch the next up?
that's how her voice is.
it just...soars up on an updraft, falls, and catches the next right up again.
same note held both times. but the difference in the surrounding notes - the first is major, the second minor - is so, so, so beautifully crafted that the tone is completely different the second time around.
aching.
oh , my , god.
i could WEEP. hahaha. okay, maybe not, but. it's aching.
meav is an incredible singer. you don't even notice all of it at first. it's just the absolute clarity of her tone. it's so sweet and...
you know, i've always heard people say so-and-so's voice is clear like a bell? this is the first time i understand. just. so beautifully delineated, without being rigid. and the way she curls her tongue around the sounds...
...it's fucking sexy, man. hahaha. oh man, i know, i know. everything goes back to sex for me. but you gotta wonder, if she can curl her tongue around a syllable like that--
okay no, i'm not gonna go there.
it's just the breathy-but-not-gaspy way she sings. she lets the words breathe, gives the gaelic breathiness its room, but still enunciates so. carefully. and doesn't cut them off. and. it's just. aaagh.
i can't say it enough! i'm just repeating myself like an idiot, but:
her voice. the song. it flows. it flows together.
FLOWS! like WATER. and SOARS. like a gliding BIRD.
i love this song. i mean, i absolutely love it. from the first line, it just sucks me in. and she has such...precise control over what notes she hits, and how. that's a rare thing in singers today. not many can modulate the tiny, tiny differences between notes. there's more than one way to hit a C#, or a Eb. it's not the hitting it. it's HOW, from which angle, whether you're just a liiiittle bit sharp or a liiiittle bit flat, and how long you dwell, how much breath you give it, how much body.
and the way she does it is just pitch-perfect.
i speak of singing like i knew how to sing. i don't. i'm just kinda deducting it from listening to her. that's how good she is.
i need to find CDs by her, man.
this will be short. i'm tired, and i need to sleep, and i'm getting up in about 5 hours.
this is about the song, firefly (faye wong). great song. in chinese, though, so be sure to get the translated lyrics. it's worth it. the song is good; the lyrics make it great.
this is about this line, to be precise:
by day you don't even see me/but by night there is only you and i
you kinda need to read it in context of the rest of the song, so i'll tack the entirety of the lyrics to the end.
is it just me, or that an incredibly evocative line? i know, i associate all the songs i love with 1) sex or 2) tragedy. but there's already been an entry on why that is, and the link between sex tragedy emotion and music.
no need to go over old topics.
but come on now. by day you don't even see me. by night there is only you and i.
fucking sad! i can't explain it, but i'm sure you know what i mean. and so...imageristic. haha, i made a new word. but like, listening to it, i can almost see it: daytime, busy-ness, big city, skyscrapers, two people; somehow related, see each other often...casual lovers, or so the guy thinks, never for a moment imagining it could be more (or maybe knowing it, but ignoring it) - the way their eyes don't ever really meet; the way her eyes seek his out, but his gloss right over her like she wasn't even there, moving on to smile at someone else.
then, night: light's gone, no moon, no stars. inside, bedroom, everything's pitch black, utterly black, and all there is, is silence and ragged/languorous....fuck i can't spell that word - you know what i mean - breathing; touching, skin on skin, and the brief green flares of light behind the eyelids sparked by the caress of a lover. nothing else in all the world. and in those moments he knows she loves him, and he knows he loves her, too, but what does it matter? the sun comes up; he forgets.
by day you don't even see me, she tells him, but he doesn't hear it. by night, there is only you and i.
ag! i can't put it into words.
another subject, just something i want to jot down before i forget again. there was a girl in my third-grade class who sat next to me a lot. in retrospect, a startlingly pretty little girl. blonde hair, slender and small...blue eyes. that's the key - her blue eyes, which were the bluest eyes i have ever seen before or after.
her name was vanessa. i shouldn't forget that.
i've spoken of the winter sky here in the bay before, i think - that's the only blue i can compare it to, though the two shades are nothing alike. hers were a deeper blue, and clearer; the sky is a hard-edged, flat/deep thing, without facets - or the whole thing is a facet too big to see the edges of. her eyes weren't like that. i know i've read it somewhere, limpid blue pools for eyes, and it's so stupid and cliche, but that's exactly how her eyes were. unbelievable, the color. even now i can close my eyes and seen them in perfect clarity (blue - not electric, not shocking - just...so vibrant, clear, but dark too, and with a large dark pupil, threads of dark interlaced among the deep, rich, full, bright hue; god, it's hard to describe), though i've forgotten the details of her face.
it's easy to blow this out of proportion. it's so easy to call her my first crush. it'd be so much more dramatic and bittersweet. but i have to be honest and say she wasn't. she didn't like me much, and i didn't particularly care about her, i don't think. it's easy for me to wax poetic on the hue of her eyes, too, but that's only because i can't put it into words, so i use a vast abundance to try to make up for it.
i'll say this much, and this will be the last on the subject of the color itself: SURREAL.
so anyway, one day, i was sitting next to her - i remember this clearly - on the floor, while our teacher, Ms. Redling, was teaching us something, or reading a story, or something. that doesn't matter much. i wasn't listening anyway.
i was looking at her eyes. god knows why. this was before puppy love, btw, so i had a healthy contempt of girls, and while i think i did understand that her eyes were beautiful, it didn't really matter. she was still a girl (ew, gross), etc...but still, i was looking at her, at her eyes.
and all of a sudden, i had this thought: so that's what blue eyes are really like. it wasn't profound, and it wasn't melodramatic. bells didn't ring in my head. it wasn't an epiphany. it was very natural, just a passing thought i happen to remember. i, very simply, honestly thought that i had never really seen blue eyes before after all. i honestly thought i had been fooled all along, and had suddenly discovered what blue eyes were REALLY like, and all that i had thought were blue before that was just another shade of gray, duller, not as real.
i thought the shade of her eyes defined blueness. there was never a doubt in my mind; her eyes were the real deal. blue. all else that had come before was only a very paltry imitation.
this is about the song, firefly (faye wong). great song. in chinese, though, so be sure to get the translated lyrics. it's worth it. the song is good; the lyrics make it great.
this is about this line, to be precise:
by day you don't even see me/but by night there is only you and i
you kinda need to read it in context of the rest of the song, so i'll tack the entirety of the lyrics to the end.
is it just me, or that an incredibly evocative line? i know, i associate all the songs i love with 1) sex or 2) tragedy. but there's already been an entry on why that is, and the link between sex tragedy emotion and music.
no need to go over old topics.
but come on now. by day you don't even see me. by night there is only you and i.
fucking sad! i can't explain it, but i'm sure you know what i mean. and so...imageristic. haha, i made a new word. but like, listening to it, i can almost see it: daytime, busy-ness, big city, skyscrapers, two people; somehow related, see each other often...casual lovers, or so the guy thinks, never for a moment imagining it could be more (or maybe knowing it, but ignoring it) - the way their eyes don't ever really meet; the way her eyes seek his out, but his gloss right over her like she wasn't even there, moving on to smile at someone else.
then, night: light's gone, no moon, no stars. inside, bedroom, everything's pitch black, utterly black, and all there is, is silence and ragged/languorous....fuck i can't spell that word - you know what i mean - breathing; touching, skin on skin, and the brief green flares of light behind the eyelids sparked by the caress of a lover. nothing else in all the world. and in those moments he knows she loves him, and he knows he loves her, too, but what does it matter? the sun comes up; he forgets.
by day you don't even see me, she tells him, but he doesn't hear it. by night, there is only you and i.
ag! i can't put it into words.
another subject, just something i want to jot down before i forget again. there was a girl in my third-grade class who sat next to me a lot. in retrospect, a startlingly pretty little girl. blonde hair, slender and small...blue eyes. that's the key - her blue eyes, which were the bluest eyes i have ever seen before or after.
her name was vanessa. i shouldn't forget that.
i've spoken of the winter sky here in the bay before, i think - that's the only blue i can compare it to, though the two shades are nothing alike. hers were a deeper blue, and clearer; the sky is a hard-edged, flat/deep thing, without facets - or the whole thing is a facet too big to see the edges of. her eyes weren't like that. i know i've read it somewhere, limpid blue pools for eyes, and it's so stupid and cliche, but that's exactly how her eyes were. unbelievable, the color. even now i can close my eyes and seen them in perfect clarity (blue - not electric, not shocking - just...so vibrant, clear, but dark too, and with a large dark pupil, threads of dark interlaced among the deep, rich, full, bright hue; god, it's hard to describe), though i've forgotten the details of her face.
it's easy to blow this out of proportion. it's so easy to call her my first crush. it'd be so much more dramatic and bittersweet. but i have to be honest and say she wasn't. she didn't like me much, and i didn't particularly care about her, i don't think. it's easy for me to wax poetic on the hue of her eyes, too, but that's only because i can't put it into words, so i use a vast abundance to try to make up for it.
i'll say this much, and this will be the last on the subject of the color itself: SURREAL.
so anyway, one day, i was sitting next to her - i remember this clearly - on the floor, while our teacher, Ms. Redling, was teaching us something, or reading a story, or something. that doesn't matter much. i wasn't listening anyway.
i was looking at her eyes. god knows why. this was before puppy love, btw, so i had a healthy contempt of girls, and while i think i did understand that her eyes were beautiful, it didn't really matter. she was still a girl (ew, gross), etc...but still, i was looking at her, at her eyes.
and all of a sudden, i had this thought: so that's what blue eyes are really like. it wasn't profound, and it wasn't melodramatic. bells didn't ring in my head. it wasn't an epiphany. it was very natural, just a passing thought i happen to remember. i, very simply, honestly thought that i had never really seen blue eyes before after all. i honestly thought i had been fooled all along, and had suddenly discovered what blue eyes were REALLY like, and all that i had thought were blue before that was just another shade of gray, duller, not as real.
i thought the shade of her eyes defined blueness. there was never a doubt in my mind; her eyes were the real deal. blue. all else that had come before was only a very paltry imitation.
In case you're wondering why the time of this entry is "Goddammit", it is because it is currently 3:36:21, and I need to be up in about three hours, preferably less.
I have a habit of doing this. Did you realize? If you haven't yet, realize it now. I. Have. A BAD habit. Of staying up very late.
You know that little gold dragon on my page? It's fucking not appearing. Stupid geocities. Idiots. To see it, you need to load another page on this site (like, say, the old-entries page) and then back-button. It'll appear then. It's quite dumb that way. I'm sure Geocities can be circumvented with a little clever programming, but I'm too lazy to try and anyway programming is not by far my forte.
Remember that weirdass dream about stuck jaws and crunching teeth? I had it again. Twice, actually, in the last month. Yeah, it's been more than a month since I've written and I had the fucking dream twice. What does it mean? It's freaking me out. It's a very disturbing dream, trust me.
Hmm, there was something I wanted to say but I can't remember what.
At the top of my screen, there is an ad banner showing some guy's ass in briefs next to the slogan "viagra for the digital age". Do I even want to know?
No. I do not.
My ex-girlfriend's coming to town soon. I don't know what to do about her. Ex's are tough, especially when you parted amicably with a promise to "see how things are" in 6 years, at the end of your residency. Well, my residency ain't over, and technically, neither is our relationship. It's on hold. But I'm with someone else now, as you probably know, and that just...
...sucks.
Whatever. We'll see what happens. I'm responsible, I'm an adult, I can handle this. Friends. Just friends. Stuff like that.
I meant to write something tonight. I really did. I can't for the life of me remember what.
I think it's the ass at the top of my screen. It's very unnerving. I'm gonna scroll it up off my screen. There. Much better.
I have a cat balanced atop my head. I'm not kidding. Spaz. The girl. She's on my head.
Oh, God, I'm gonna be so fucking tired tomorrow. Later today. Whatever.
This song I'm listening to, Vertical Horizon's Best I Ever Had, it's reminding me of what I wanted to talk about, or maybe it's the one that made me wanna write in the first place. It's something I want. I can't remember. Jesus, this is annoying. Not just something. It's not a thing. It's like...something more abstract, you know? Love, probably, it probably has something to do with some other bizarre tragic love scenario my overtired brain has cooked up.
A few nights ago they said you might be able to see the Northern Lights in California. I forgot why, but I went out that night and looked, and I didn't see them. Someday I'll go see the Northern Lights, though.
Oh! I remember. It's not that song. It's this song. Uncle Kracker, "Follow Me"--download it if you don't have it and listen to it MORE THAN ONCE. The first time, you'll be like, "eh". After that, you'll be hopelessly hooked.
It's about having an affair. In a kinda lighthearted, upbeat way. Or something? No, that's not right...
Well, listen:
All you know is when I'm with you, I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea.
Best line in the song. But it needs the rest to make sense. So download it. Or let me know, and I'll send you a copy.
But that's not the point, see. The point is, I think I wanna have an affair with a married woman, maybe five years older than I am. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. It's past 3am; Damon's on his weird Id-rant again. But I'm serious. I think that would be nice. You know, storybook-style.
Woman's a little older than the man, married but unhappily to some rich dude. Maybe there used to be magic there in her marriage, but not anymore. And then I come in. Maybe I'm the lawnmower or something like that, who knows how we meet, but it happens, you know? Making love in the summertime with the windows wide open and the white curtains billowing. White sheets. White walls, high white ceiling. Early evening outside, the sky's that shade of blue it turns before it turns black. Stars are coming out. Crickets. Pool's reflecting light up in dappled shades to the ceiling.
The affair'd last all summer, see. You get the torrid bits on the hot nights when the hubby's away on business or something. All over the house. By the fireplace. In the kitchen. On the desk in the study and on the couch in the den. On the goddamn porch, upside down from the chandelier and all sorts of craziness like that. And you get the secret giggling trysts in the hedgerows. And of course the white-sheets thang. But then end of summer, husband finds out, begs wife to go back to him, promises he'll be a good husband this time, stuff like that...
She falls in love with him again...they fall in love with each other, rekindled flame and stuff like that.
And I'm outta luck.
I wonder why my little scenarios always end with me and my broken heart. Maybe I haven't had my heart broken yet so I'm determined to see what it feels like. You know, morbid curiosity. More likely it's because it's 4am.
And since it's 4am, I'm going to bed. Next diary entry will be more interesting, hopefully. Heh.
Chill.
I have a habit of doing this. Did you realize? If you haven't yet, realize it now. I. Have. A BAD habit. Of staying up very late.
You know that little gold dragon on my page? It's fucking not appearing. Stupid geocities. Idiots. To see it, you need to load another page on this site (like, say, the old-entries page) and then back-button. It'll appear then. It's quite dumb that way. I'm sure Geocities can be circumvented with a little clever programming, but I'm too lazy to try and anyway programming is not by far my forte.
Remember that weirdass dream about stuck jaws and crunching teeth? I had it again. Twice, actually, in the last month. Yeah, it's been more than a month since I've written and I had the fucking dream twice. What does it mean? It's freaking me out. It's a very disturbing dream, trust me.
Hmm, there was something I wanted to say but I can't remember what.
At the top of my screen, there is an ad banner showing some guy's ass in briefs next to the slogan "viagra for the digital age". Do I even want to know?
No. I do not.
My ex-girlfriend's coming to town soon. I don't know what to do about her. Ex's are tough, especially when you parted amicably with a promise to "see how things are" in 6 years, at the end of your residency. Well, my residency ain't over, and technically, neither is our relationship. It's on hold. But I'm with someone else now, as you probably know, and that just...
...sucks.
Whatever. We'll see what happens. I'm responsible, I'm an adult, I can handle this. Friends. Just friends. Stuff like that.
I meant to write something tonight. I really did. I can't for the life of me remember what.
I think it's the ass at the top of my screen. It's very unnerving. I'm gonna scroll it up off my screen. There. Much better.
I have a cat balanced atop my head. I'm not kidding. Spaz. The girl. She's on my head.
Oh, God, I'm gonna be so fucking tired tomorrow. Later today. Whatever.
This song I'm listening to, Vertical Horizon's Best I Ever Had, it's reminding me of what I wanted to talk about, or maybe it's the one that made me wanna write in the first place. It's something I want. I can't remember. Jesus, this is annoying. Not just something. It's not a thing. It's like...something more abstract, you know? Love, probably, it probably has something to do with some other bizarre tragic love scenario my overtired brain has cooked up.
A few nights ago they said you might be able to see the Northern Lights in California. I forgot why, but I went out that night and looked, and I didn't see them. Someday I'll go see the Northern Lights, though.
Oh! I remember. It's not that song. It's this song. Uncle Kracker, "Follow Me"--download it if you don't have it and listen to it MORE THAN ONCE. The first time, you'll be like, "eh". After that, you'll be hopelessly hooked.
It's about having an affair. In a kinda lighthearted, upbeat way. Or something? No, that's not right...
Well, listen:
All you know is when I'm with you, I make you free
And swim through your veins like a fish in the sea.
Best line in the song. But it needs the rest to make sense. So download it. Or let me know, and I'll send you a copy.
But that's not the point, see. The point is, I think I wanna have an affair with a married woman, maybe five years older than I am. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. It's past 3am; Damon's on his weird Id-rant again. But I'm serious. I think that would be nice. You know, storybook-style.
Woman's a little older than the man, married but unhappily to some rich dude. Maybe there used to be magic there in her marriage, but not anymore. And then I come in. Maybe I'm the lawnmower or something like that, who knows how we meet, but it happens, you know? Making love in the summertime with the windows wide open and the white curtains billowing. White sheets. White walls, high white ceiling. Early evening outside, the sky's that shade of blue it turns before it turns black. Stars are coming out. Crickets. Pool's reflecting light up in dappled shades to the ceiling.
The affair'd last all summer, see. You get the torrid bits on the hot nights when the hubby's away on business or something. All over the house. By the fireplace. In the kitchen. On the desk in the study and on the couch in the den. On the goddamn porch, upside down from the chandelier and all sorts of craziness like that. And you get the secret giggling trysts in the hedgerows. And of course the white-sheets thang. But then end of summer, husband finds out, begs wife to go back to him, promises he'll be a good husband this time, stuff like that...
She falls in love with him again...they fall in love with each other, rekindled flame and stuff like that.
And I'm outta luck.
I wonder why my little scenarios always end with me and my broken heart. Maybe I haven't had my heart broken yet so I'm determined to see what it feels like. You know, morbid curiosity. More likely it's because it's 4am.
And since it's 4am, I'm going to bed. Next diary entry will be more interesting, hopefully. Heh.
Chill.
You know, I should stop writing diary entries so late at night. I look back, and it seems like all my nice, thoughtful posts are written during the day, or the evening. And then you have these late-night posts and they're just...id.
(That was, by the way, the obligatory superego intro.)
When I'm drunk, I forgo the superego intro. But then I'm not drunk, except possibility on fatigue. and shit. i'm gonna be buttass tired tomorrow. today. less than 4 hours from now.
Late at night, tiredness is nice, though. You know what I mean. That kinda fatigue that resides low in your long bones, and loosens your muscles. The kinda tired that makes you wanna stretch out and drift off to sleep.
If I could, I'd write this from bed. I'd write it lounging in bed. Sprawling. Hell, I'd write by voice if I could. Talk and watch the letters come out. Except those are usually stupid, those programs. "My name is Damon. I live in San Jose."
Blip... My fame is Dame end. Eye live in Sand Ho Say.
You get the point.
My ear hurts, fuckit. Might be because I've been wearing headphones for way too long. Maybe I should take 'em off, but I'm too lazy to reconnect my subwoofers. Though right now, I could use a good bassline. Something to rumble through my tired bones.
--yawn--
Yesterday I had a thing for brilliant chica mathematicians whispering pi. While they...
I should censor myself, shouldn't I?
Anyway. I'm glad to say that particular fantasy has gone by. Now it's stretching. Stretching's damn sexy. I wonder why I didn't notice this before. I bet if this gets out, 50% of the female population would be afraid to stretch. The other 50% would be stretching every other minute.
Winamp. Has the crappiest equalizer. Things sound a lot better if you just turn the equalizer off.
Speaking of drifting to sleep...and I know I mentioned that long ago, but when it's 3:30am you just have to learn to ride the randomly rolling waves of my thoughts.
Okay, I've just forgotten what I was going to say.
Something about drifting to sleep. About--oh, probably afterglow. About drifting to sleep aching and tired with sweat drying off your skin.
I really. Really. Need to think about untabooed things.
That was a futile attempt from the superego's corner. I'm glad to report the id has crushed the SE entirely. HA! Pathetic SE. Super, indeed.
It's amazing what music can do. Get a compelling beat going, and next thing you know you're moving to it. Dancing in your chair. My thoughts are so disjointed. I keep writing a sentence or two, thinking it's a topic I want to pursue, but then the topic flies out of my grasp or disintegrates, or...I don't know...I can't seem to hold a straight line of thought.
I am tired; I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Sounds like lyrics composed under the influence of a hallucinogen to me. Smirk. Nonetheless, they're my favorite lyrics from this song.
This is was what I was talking about...when I talked about rhythms that pull you into it. Did I say that? Maybe I didn't. I said it now. That's how it is. It pulls you in. You move to it without realizing it. This song has the most compelling beat I've ever heard.
Maybe not ever. Maybe not most compelling, at least.
But it's the most hypnotic.
I mean, shit, I've ranted about it twice already. I haven't even ranted about Garbage once. Or have I? Garbage is my favorite band. Most of you reading this probably know this, because I don't anticipate anyone I don't know reading this.
Now that would be weird.
This is gonna be another of those posts I'm gonna wanna delete, but won't...
Anyone wanna dance? I wanna dance. To this song. Or..no. I wanna lounge somewhere. Arms up along the couch. Legs crossed at the ankles. Crucified by laziness. And watch someone dance for me.
That idea just came into my head, btw.
It's a good one.
Dance that one dance. The veils dance. Seven veils? The one where she drops the veils, one by one, and ends up naked. Does she end up naked? She should. Sandstorms and incense and perfumed oils and bare skin shining in firelight and undulating flesh.
My imagination is overactive...
I should've been born a storybook Gypsy. Baggy pants and open-throated shirts. Unshaven jaws and gold earrings. Bandannas around my head and a glint in my eye. Have a dark-eyed Gypsy girlfriend with beads in her hair and dark, dramatic makeup. And she'll dance for me in the dead of night when all the other Gypsies have gone to sleep. When the fire's guttering low enough that the light it gives is subversive and red, and everything's shadowy and mysterious. She'll dance, and the shadows will pool and flow in the changing hollows of her body. And I'll beat the drum for her, because all the other musicians are asleep. Just the drum. Bare hands on drumskin. Slow hypnotic rhythm. Watch her while she dances. Slow hypnotic dance.
And she'll watch me back. With a razoredged dagger held between her teeth. With a razoredged gleam in her eye.
...dangerous.
(That was, by the way, the obligatory superego intro.)
When I'm drunk, I forgo the superego intro. But then I'm not drunk, except possibility on fatigue. and shit. i'm gonna be buttass tired tomorrow. today. less than 4 hours from now.
Late at night, tiredness is nice, though. You know what I mean. That kinda fatigue that resides low in your long bones, and loosens your muscles. The kinda tired that makes you wanna stretch out and drift off to sleep.
If I could, I'd write this from bed. I'd write it lounging in bed. Sprawling. Hell, I'd write by voice if I could. Talk and watch the letters come out. Except those are usually stupid, those programs. "My name is Damon. I live in San Jose."
Blip... My fame is Dame end. Eye live in Sand Ho Say.
You get the point.
My ear hurts, fuckit. Might be because I've been wearing headphones for way too long. Maybe I should take 'em off, but I'm too lazy to reconnect my subwoofers. Though right now, I could use a good bassline. Something to rumble through my tired bones.
--yawn--
Yesterday I had a thing for brilliant chica mathematicians whispering pi. While they...
I should censor myself, shouldn't I?
Anyway. I'm glad to say that particular fantasy has gone by. Now it's stretching. Stretching's damn sexy. I wonder why I didn't notice this before. I bet if this gets out, 50% of the female population would be afraid to stretch. The other 50% would be stretching every other minute.
Winamp. Has the crappiest equalizer. Things sound a lot better if you just turn the equalizer off.
Speaking of drifting to sleep...and I know I mentioned that long ago, but when it's 3:30am you just have to learn to ride the randomly rolling waves of my thoughts.
Okay, I've just forgotten what I was going to say.
Something about drifting to sleep. About--oh, probably afterglow. About drifting to sleep aching and tired with sweat drying off your skin.
I really. Really. Need to think about untabooed things.
That was a futile attempt from the superego's corner. I'm glad to report the id has crushed the SE entirely. HA! Pathetic SE. Super, indeed.
It's amazing what music can do. Get a compelling beat going, and next thing you know you're moving to it. Dancing in your chair. My thoughts are so disjointed. I keep writing a sentence or two, thinking it's a topic I want to pursue, but then the topic flies out of my grasp or disintegrates, or...I don't know...I can't seem to hold a straight line of thought.
I am tired; I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears
Sounds like lyrics composed under the influence of a hallucinogen to me. Smirk. Nonetheless, they're my favorite lyrics from this song.
This is was what I was talking about...when I talked about rhythms that pull you into it. Did I say that? Maybe I didn't. I said it now. That's how it is. It pulls you in. You move to it without realizing it. This song has the most compelling beat I've ever heard.
Maybe not ever. Maybe not most compelling, at least.
But it's the most hypnotic.
I mean, shit, I've ranted about it twice already. I haven't even ranted about Garbage once. Or have I? Garbage is my favorite band. Most of you reading this probably know this, because I don't anticipate anyone I don't know reading this.
Now that would be weird.
This is gonna be another of those posts I'm gonna wanna delete, but won't...
Anyone wanna dance? I wanna dance. To this song. Or..no. I wanna lounge somewhere. Arms up along the couch. Legs crossed at the ankles. Crucified by laziness. And watch someone dance for me.
That idea just came into my head, btw.
It's a good one.
Dance that one dance. The veils dance. Seven veils? The one where she drops the veils, one by one, and ends up naked. Does she end up naked? She should. Sandstorms and incense and perfumed oils and bare skin shining in firelight and undulating flesh.
My imagination is overactive...
I should've been born a storybook Gypsy. Baggy pants and open-throated shirts. Unshaven jaws and gold earrings. Bandannas around my head and a glint in my eye. Have a dark-eyed Gypsy girlfriend with beads in her hair and dark, dramatic makeup. And she'll dance for me in the dead of night when all the other Gypsies have gone to sleep. When the fire's guttering low enough that the light it gives is subversive and red, and everything's shadowy and mysterious. She'll dance, and the shadows will pool and flow in the changing hollows of her body. And I'll beat the drum for her, because all the other musicians are asleep. Just the drum. Bare hands on drumskin. Slow hypnotic rhythm. Watch her while she dances. Slow hypnotic dance.
And she'll watch me back. With a razoredged dagger held between her teeth. With a razoredged gleam in her eye.
...dangerous.
I titled this drunken philosophy, but only half the title is accurate.
The drunken half.
I can hardly type without making typos. The caps make things harder, too. So I think I'm not gonna use caps anymore as...of...
...now.
poof.
it's done.
i'm free of caps.
i'm free to rant.
lessee, then. where do i start? let's talk about what i'm listening to. shivaree. goodnight moon. it's a great song. it's sexy. she has a sexy voice. in a disturbingly precocious way. it's very goth. porcelain vampire doll. except the song and the band is countryish. so it's gothic country.
porcelain vampire cowgirl doll.
the allure of the song lies in her voice. she has an awfully provocative voice, at least in my state. it's breathy, but has substance behind it.
ooo, she just started that spoken-whispered bit. i could shiver.
but it's not just the way her voice sounds, which is lilting and sweet and pouty. it's a big part the way her voice rides the rhythm of the song so easily. it's not a very smooth rhythm, either, kinda syncopated. makes you wonder what else she can ride so nicely--
okay. let's talk about something else.
smirk.
next song. painted on my heart, by the cult. from the gone in 60 seconds soundtrack.
it's a good song. has a very tormented-howl feel to it. all dramatic and stuff. it's like a thunderstorm of a breakup song. the best breakup song in the world is you look so fine. but then again, considering the breakup in question involves Angelina Jolie, i suppose i'd be in a thunderstorm of grief, too.
that woman. is sexy.
i mean, really sexy. because she settles back in her own body and wears sensuality like a second skin. and. stuff like that.
yum.
more smirking.
more ranting.
oh wow. it's moved on to girl you'll be a woman soon already. in fact, that song's ending. hmm. i didn't even hear it. i'll replay it.
i really like this song, too. it has neat beat. samba or something. vaguely spanish. latin. i couldn't dance to this song, though...wouldn't know what to do with my feet. heh. but it's a great song to listen to. drive to.
you know who makes great roadtrip songs? Tom Petty. his songs are ALL about roadtrips with the sun beating into your eyes. dust and heathaze and the highway. the freeway. his songs are about california. about the central valley. and about LA. not Santa Monica, surf and sand--LA. the grittier, less wholesome side. all-american, but not redblooded.
we digress.
this is a sad song. damn. all my songs are kinda sad tonight. well. some, at least. i'm in an odd mood. heh. the slightest provocation makes me laugh, and yet when i write, it comes down being kinda dulled and humorless. i wonder why?
i've been obsessed with that Velvet Underground song all day. it's a great song. it's a very strange song. i mention this because it's come on again. it sounds vaguely middle-eastern.
ooo, deja vu. i think i've said this before.
actually, i'm pretty sure i have. heh.
but it does! it's that single note held under all the rest. and the percussion. i keep thinking of some shah's bedchamber with his harem lounging all over silk cushions, veiled and dressed in almost see-through gossamer and wreathed in incense smoke with smoky hooded kohl-stroked eyes and...hmm...
...i've really got a one-track mind.
well, the other alternative is what this song probably was made from and for...getting shitfaced...
i love that. "getting shitfaced". so much for euphemisms.
ramble on, damon, ramble on.
i wish i could say something intelligent. or reach for some elusive fiber of life that just happens to float through your field of vision so for a moment you have a glimpse of one thread in the tapestry of the universe and you wanna catch it but can't. i wish i could write down what it feels like to grasp for it and miss and know you've missed and know you'll never ever capture it (you probably have no clue what i'm talking about right now) but i'm having trouble steering my mind into metaphysical philosophy and the meaning of life. i just wanna lounge. i just wanna
(fuck)
...okay. we won't go there.
who's reading my diary again? this is an entry i should delete in the morning. this is not an entry that should get out. this is not a respectable, responsible M.D. entry. then again, i never do delete the entries i should delete. i forget. i think there was another one i swore i'd delete. probably more than one. since i haven't deleted any at all, i suppose they're still there.
venus in furs.
what a compelling name.
who thinks venus is a blonde? show of hands? i thought she was a blonde. it seems proper, somehow. maybe it's because the world has this vision of her as the goddess of love and beauty and all, but it's inherently a lighthearted, lightheaded, airheaded vision. like, you know, that aphrodite on xena.
i have it on good authority that xena's a man, by the way.
i digress again.
isn't that weird, though? aphrodite is blonde. even though she's the goddess of lust, and i don't really associate lust with blondeness. (yeah yeah. crucify me tomorrow.) but she CAN'T be a brunette. she's just...blonde.
oh, and no goddess can be a redhead. sorry.
(crucify me TOMORROW, i said.)
now, while aphrodite can't possibly be anything but blonde, venus can. venus somehow sounds...lower. not lower as in baser, but lower as in the tone is lower. you'd speak aphrodite in a higher tone. you'd breathe venus, low and husky. as in she holds herself closer to the earth. and in that, i mean, she's serpentine. wow, what a leap of logic. but that's what i mean. serpents, isis, slithering lowslung prowl.
venus in furs, now...
...rowrrrr.
i think i'm certifiable now. someone go find me a straitjacket, yeah?
still talking about venus in furs (seeing as how it's now on permanent repeat): i bet this song's good to dance to. slow, but not slow-dancing. you know? not, like, slow 'n tender swaying. slow, like lascivious-slow. like dim lights and eye contact and liplicking and arms round neck and hands on moving hips. this song's allll about moving hips, if you were dancing. even if you weren't dancing, it's about closing your eyes and moving loose-jointed to it.
i think i can rant forever about this song. you know why i'm ranting like this? because SOMEone went to bed, and i can't rant at her anymore.
i was lying. the song's all about having sex. while high. or just having sex. in the sauna. or somewhere smoky. or hot and humid. or...whatever.
i think almost all my favorite songs remind me of sex. there's a reason. it's because you feel good songs deep in your blood and bones. and you definitely feel good sex deep in your blood and bones. the ones that don't remind me of sex are always really, really sad. not soap opera weepy sad, but stirring, deep-in-your-blood-and-bones sad.
there's a connection.
i think...it's time for me to shut up.
end rant.
The drunken half.
I can hardly type without making typos. The caps make things harder, too. So I think I'm not gonna use caps anymore as...of...
...now.
poof.
it's done.
i'm free of caps.
i'm free to rant.
lessee, then. where do i start? let's talk about what i'm listening to. shivaree. goodnight moon. it's a great song. it's sexy. she has a sexy voice. in a disturbingly precocious way. it's very goth. porcelain vampire doll. except the song and the band is countryish. so it's gothic country.
porcelain vampire cowgirl doll.
the allure of the song lies in her voice. she has an awfully provocative voice, at least in my state. it's breathy, but has substance behind it.
ooo, she just started that spoken-whispered bit. i could shiver.
but it's not just the way her voice sounds, which is lilting and sweet and pouty. it's a big part the way her voice rides the rhythm of the song so easily. it's not a very smooth rhythm, either, kinda syncopated. makes you wonder what else she can ride so nicely--
okay. let's talk about something else.
smirk.
next song. painted on my heart, by the cult. from the gone in 60 seconds soundtrack.
it's a good song. has a very tormented-howl feel to it. all dramatic and stuff. it's like a thunderstorm of a breakup song. the best breakup song in the world is you look so fine. but then again, considering the breakup in question involves Angelina Jolie, i suppose i'd be in a thunderstorm of grief, too.
that woman. is sexy.
i mean, really sexy. because she settles back in her own body and wears sensuality like a second skin. and. stuff like that.
yum.
more smirking.
more ranting.
oh wow. it's moved on to girl you'll be a woman soon already. in fact, that song's ending. hmm. i didn't even hear it. i'll replay it.
i really like this song, too. it has neat beat. samba or something. vaguely spanish. latin. i couldn't dance to this song, though...wouldn't know what to do with my feet. heh. but it's a great song to listen to. drive to.
you know who makes great roadtrip songs? Tom Petty. his songs are ALL about roadtrips with the sun beating into your eyes. dust and heathaze and the highway. the freeway. his songs are about california. about the central valley. and about LA. not Santa Monica, surf and sand--LA. the grittier, less wholesome side. all-american, but not redblooded.
we digress.
this is a sad song. damn. all my songs are kinda sad tonight. well. some, at least. i'm in an odd mood. heh. the slightest provocation makes me laugh, and yet when i write, it comes down being kinda dulled and humorless. i wonder why?
i've been obsessed with that Velvet Underground song all day. it's a great song. it's a very strange song. i mention this because it's come on again. it sounds vaguely middle-eastern.
ooo, deja vu. i think i've said this before.
actually, i'm pretty sure i have. heh.
but it does! it's that single note held under all the rest. and the percussion. i keep thinking of some shah's bedchamber with his harem lounging all over silk cushions, veiled and dressed in almost see-through gossamer and wreathed in incense smoke with smoky hooded kohl-stroked eyes and...hmm...
...i've really got a one-track mind.
well, the other alternative is what this song probably was made from and for...getting shitfaced...
i love that. "getting shitfaced". so much for euphemisms.
ramble on, damon, ramble on.
i wish i could say something intelligent. or reach for some elusive fiber of life that just happens to float through your field of vision so for a moment you have a glimpse of one thread in the tapestry of the universe and you wanna catch it but can't. i wish i could write down what it feels like to grasp for it and miss and know you've missed and know you'll never ever capture it (you probably have no clue what i'm talking about right now) but i'm having trouble steering my mind into metaphysical philosophy and the meaning of life. i just wanna lounge. i just wanna
(fuck)
...okay. we won't go there.
who's reading my diary again? this is an entry i should delete in the morning. this is not an entry that should get out. this is not a respectable, responsible M.D. entry. then again, i never do delete the entries i should delete. i forget. i think there was another one i swore i'd delete. probably more than one. since i haven't deleted any at all, i suppose they're still there.
venus in furs.
what a compelling name.
who thinks venus is a blonde? show of hands? i thought she was a blonde. it seems proper, somehow. maybe it's because the world has this vision of her as the goddess of love and beauty and all, but it's inherently a lighthearted, lightheaded, airheaded vision. like, you know, that aphrodite on xena.
i have it on good authority that xena's a man, by the way.
i digress again.
isn't that weird, though? aphrodite is blonde. even though she's the goddess of lust, and i don't really associate lust with blondeness. (yeah yeah. crucify me tomorrow.) but she CAN'T be a brunette. she's just...blonde.
oh, and no goddess can be a redhead. sorry.
(crucify me TOMORROW, i said.)
now, while aphrodite can't possibly be anything but blonde, venus can. venus somehow sounds...lower. not lower as in baser, but lower as in the tone is lower. you'd speak aphrodite in a higher tone. you'd breathe venus, low and husky. as in she holds herself closer to the earth. and in that, i mean, she's serpentine. wow, what a leap of logic. but that's what i mean. serpents, isis, slithering lowslung prowl.
venus in furs, now...
...rowrrrr.
i think i'm certifiable now. someone go find me a straitjacket, yeah?
still talking about venus in furs (seeing as how it's now on permanent repeat): i bet this song's good to dance to. slow, but not slow-dancing. you know? not, like, slow 'n tender swaying. slow, like lascivious-slow. like dim lights and eye contact and liplicking and arms round neck and hands on moving hips. this song's allll about moving hips, if you were dancing. even if you weren't dancing, it's about closing your eyes and moving loose-jointed to it.
i think i can rant forever about this song. you know why i'm ranting like this? because SOMEone went to bed, and i can't rant at her anymore.
i was lying. the song's all about having sex. while high. or just having sex. in the sauna. or somewhere smoky. or hot and humid. or...whatever.
i think almost all my favorite songs remind me of sex. there's a reason. it's because you feel good songs deep in your blood and bones. and you definitely feel good sex deep in your blood and bones. the ones that don't remind me of sex are always really, really sad. not soap opera weepy sad, but stirring, deep-in-your-blood-and-bones sad.
there's a connection.
i think...it's time for me to shut up.
end rant.
I just DLed one of those lost-favorite-songs...you know, those songs you liked before you realized there were mp3s? Anyway, here are the lyrics to Free Falling, which I think are really poetic in a sorta simple way:
She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too
It's a long day living in Reseda
There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy cos I don't even miss her
I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart
And I'm free, free fallin'
Yeah I'm free, free fallin'
All the vampires walkin' through the valley
Move west down Ventura Boulevard
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts
(CHORUS)
I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
Gonna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for a while
CHORUS (repeat to end)
--You know what this song reminds me of? Route 66. Or at least the connotations of Route 66, all the myth that surrounds it. The movement from the Heartland to the southwest to Santa Monica by the sea.
Santa Monica has such an evocative name. More so than LA. LA's too modern, too often-heard, too recognized. But Santa Monica...you think lazy summer days, palm trees and surfing and sunsets, margaritas, 1960s convertibles and, yes, sex. By the sea.
Santa Monica's like the soul of Southern California. As much as I want that to be San Diego...eh, well, it's not. Santa Monica. Summer City, USA.
Hmm. Okay. That's all I have to say for now.
She's a good girl, loves her mama
Loves Jesus and America too
She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis
Loves horses and her boyfriend too
It's a long day living in Reseda
There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy cos I don't even miss her
I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart
And I'm free, free fallin'
Yeah I'm free, free fallin'
All the vampires walkin' through the valley
Move west down Ventura Boulevard
And all the bad boys are standing in the shadows
All the good girls are home with broken hearts
(CHORUS)
I wanna glide down over Mulholland
I wanna write her name in the sky
Gonna free fall out into nothin'
Gonna leave this world for a while
CHORUS (repeat to end)
--You know what this song reminds me of? Route 66. Or at least the connotations of Route 66, all the myth that surrounds it. The movement from the Heartland to the southwest to Santa Monica by the sea.
Santa Monica has such an evocative name. More so than LA. LA's too modern, too often-heard, too recognized. But Santa Monica...you think lazy summer days, palm trees and surfing and sunsets, margaritas, 1960s convertibles and, yes, sex. By the sea.
Santa Monica's like the soul of Southern California. As much as I want that to be San Diego...eh, well, it's not. Santa Monica. Summer City, USA.
Hmm. Okay. That's all I have to say for now.
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