Tag: Music

On Coming home.

What is the strength of expression?

There are some who are positive and flow like a tranquil current through life.
Then there are those who go through life navigating white water rapids, with no oar and one arm.
I often find I fit into the latter category. Wading through a mire of diffidence, littered with detritus of despondency.
Yet, I am never able to express myself way in such a way that those in the former category can understand.
Then I find music, a collective infusion of artistry. Lifting me from the cusp of the mire and imbuing a buoyancy of spirit that I have often wished to share.
Finally, I shall just share one of those moments of artistry that I most appreciate.
Listening to great music does feel like coming home.

Classical Motion

I’ve been intrigued by writing. Perhaps, it is better to say I’ve been intrigued by great writers who inspire me to want to create something memorable.

To that end, I am currently reading  Finding Your  Writer’s Voice. A Guide to Creative Fiction. by Thaisa Frank & Dorothy Wall.

They suggest free writing: writing whatever comes to mind. Writing for a past or current experience.

To clear my head, I was – and still am at this very moment – Listening to

this is the result of my efforts – I thought I would share.

taking steps to waltz to Rachmaninoff, tentative motion flowed into explosive elegance.

Like a path in a garden littered with detritus of musical instruments. Flowers in bloom of multiple colours: Burnt Orange, Dusky Purple so intense it’s almost black – or black so deep it is almost purple, Electric Blues  and Yellows but no green in sight.

It’s a garden where one gets lost.

In getting lost, the crescendo builds. Each step a punctuation of piano keys, each breath a note that signals symmetry, of creation of motion. As the fingers running across they keys  slows. So does the garden Runner.  Chest heaving, palms sweating, heart beating.

The dance has ended.There is no partner.

It is a dance by oneself. Alone. There is no sun. The garden is sheltered from all, sheltered from reality.  It is  a garden of the mind.

The Little Heaven

Take me to church: An Ode to  consensual coital coalescence.

Conceptually, it evokes a Donnian approach, if only in the juxtaposition of the carnal  and the religious.

The comparison betwixt the muliebrious form and the Church  is redolent of  a Donnian conceit.

The conceit: The Church and the bedroom are synonymous.

Priapic expression is the chosen form of worship.   Consequently, this  makes the pudenda Heaven , or the gateway to Heaven.

The  “Church”  – a synecdoche for Religion –  enhances the dichotomy between  the carnal and  the spiritual.

Every Sunday’s getting more bleak

A fresh poison each week  …

My church offers no absolutes

She tells me ‘worship in the bedroom’

The only heaven I’ll be sent to

Take me to Church …

Offer me that deathless death.

The presentation is interestingly irreverent, it speaks of worship without the ubiquitous  religious austerity.   This speaks much to the artist’s disenchantment with religious doctrines.

 The church:  the bedroom. Heaven: the body or the pleasures he derives therein.  Spiritual release: The brief  satiation of desire.  La Petite Mort.

 The sensual revelry  is in itself, worship. The cardinal metaphysical conceit: the body’s apotheosis.

 This song is brilliantly done and is quite the pleasure to experience.

Sensually Yours (R).

As a lover of music – though I am not a musician – I do find that as an avid listener there are some “finer” points to this Genre on which I can offer insight.

There is no doubt within my mind that music is art. There is , however, some difficulty in categorising the artistry of some musical contexts.

As we get more creative, and include technology into creating our art; music has become a Genre that is simultaneously visual, auditory and sensuous. Curiously, there exists a fine line between sensuous… and sensual art.

For sake of mutual exploration and understanding let us look at :

Timothy Bloom feat ‘V’ – Til The End Of Time.

Visually, this is very simple, it operates on the premise that ‘less is more’. It takes a decidedly sensual topic – the body – and tastefully presents in for perusal.

The use of shades and tones also gives it a sense of maturity. Attractive, but not gaudy, sensuous, but not erotic. Though I cannot speak for the lyrics.

Conversely, and for comparison we have:

The Flaming lips feat Erykah Badu – The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face.

To say the least, the music is clearly like a brand of exotic Wine; that one needs an acquired taste to appreciate and, or enjoy. Something I have grown to like after a few listening sessions.

 
Visually this video stands in stark contrast – pun? – to the first video; the subject of which is also the body.
There are  copious amounts of colour present, presented in what I consider to be gaudy visual range; sensual more so that it is sensuous.

Certainly , arguments can be made for its meanderings down the path of eroticism.
The subject of the video is oft covered in liquids of various hues. Visually, these hues represent a sort of metonymical representation for biological functions and corresponds with the four Humours.

The foremost of which is Blood.

 
Interestingly, at the end of the video the subject is covered in a Phlegm like substance – another of the four humours. It is white and like Phlegm very viscous.
Owning to its erotic nature, I could not help but like it to another biological substance that is also white – or off white – and viscous.

The presentation of which – she is covered in it – coupled with the fact that she – the subject – is sensually ingesting said substance. It draws shocking parallels to the “conclusion” of every… “Graphic” video that one has ever seen.

I might even go as far as to say the Ocean is a beautiful place, however, there comes a time when there are too much Sea men wading its shores.

PS. That is as far as I draw that pun into the light of day, without the risk of being to risqué.

Ciao!

Ideas of an emaciated mind

There is never a definitive idea that I can pin down that gives me the impetus to write. But I can never write

something without proper motivation.

What IS definite is that my creativity is  inexorably linked with my need for cathartic release.

Being somewhat introverted – shocking, I know – there comes a time when I need to release pent-up ‘ideas’.

I find it is somewhat difficult to relate to people directly. Therefore, I write.

Not everything I write is prosaic. However, I hesitate to  use the term poetic. I feel that until I can reach a level of

quality and competency. That would be presumptuous; and may create expectations that I may be unable to

fulfill or meet adequately.

Here is a piece I have written. I am not sure how man iterations of this I have attempted.

However, it is at a point now that if I changed it. The tone I wanted to capture would be lost.

As I write this, I have no title. I rarely –  if ever –   assign titles.

However, I see the necessity. So I shall call this

On saying goodbye. 

If I could see you one more time,
I would have already resolved within my mind.
To tell you..I love.. the way you left without saying goodbye.
I do not laugh, I do not jest
You, I, and this relationship? I’m not ready.
No. Not quite yet
What is it that I want? I really wish I knew.
But apparently, here in this moment. It isn’t you.
I do not wish to be rapacious, or to hurt your feelings.
I have just realised, this: our love. Has reached its ceiling.
I do not like the way we can’t get along.
I know not what happened. Perhaps, we’ve been here far too long.
I do not like the way I feel, when I have not seen you for a week.
No. I’m not excited. I just feel bleak.
I do not love the way you pretend to care
When your love for me is like a Dirigible: filled with so much hot air.
I tell you these things not because I think it will matter,
But to cut through the fog, that is this senseless chatter
I know you will see this as no more than mere spiel.
Alas, I’ve gotten to express the way I feel.
Ere we go, and part ways forever.
I have one thing to say. That I thought quite clever.
If I could see you one more time,
I would have already resolved within my mind
To tell you, I hate that I never had the chance to say goodbye

Before I depart. This song… is a favourite of mine. I feel it somewhat encapsulates the tone – if not meaning – of what I was aiming for.  It is called: Water and a Flame. By Daniel Merriweather and Adele.

Questions were made to be asked.

Men and women are considered to be diametrically opposed. My mind is always working and so I’m always curious as to the specifics behind this view-point.

I will admit there are some differences. However, there are others things on which I would like to have some light shed.

I am motivated by the possibility that as different as we are. We may share some similarities.

Some of these maybe biological in nature. While others are just socially enforced differences.

To Wood.. or not to wood? Or rather…the voice in the wood?

Although, technically, the double entendre above would be complete if the preposition was “On”. But then, that would be telling.

It is widely known that men have morning wood. If you don’t know what a morning wood is, either you aren’t male, you do not know any men, you have never spoken to one. Or you have yet to discover the internet.

Whatever the case may be, I certainly will not be shedding any light on the matter.

The question is, however, do women share this trait. Or, perhaps, something similar.

Owning to the fact that it is called morning wood. Based, on the metaphorical references that gives it an identity without being risque.

Following this train of thought, if it were possible that women could experience this.

Wouldn’t that mean the female equivalent would be called morning voice?

Again, if you do not know why the metaphor is voice.

You are either

A: Too young to be reading this
B: Way more sheltered than I could possibly give you credit for.
Or
C: You’ve never seen one before…

And finally D: you did not understand the double entendre I mentioned earlier.
If any of the above are true. Then clearly some very vital information was left out of that “Birds and the Bees” conversation you had with your parents.

Moving on.

When two people in a relationship -male, female. Consummate their relationship by performing oral favours.

They always refer to this act using metaphors that refer to the brain. Which of course makes sense, since it is often said Men have two heads.When they do something stupid the little one is responsible for doing a majority the thinking – or lack thereof.

So technically, if you give your woman oral favours. Should it not be called mouth to mouth resuscitation?

If you know what I mean meme

It is oft said women like cuddling and men do not. Allegedly.

I have always wondered why cuddling had to be laying together face to face in such a fashion that you are forced  to breathe each others carbon dioxide as opposed actually getting oxygen.

Perhaps it sounds cute and romantic. However, practically it seems rather uncomfortable in its execution.

If cuddling was chilling with your guy or girl while they played a game ,listened some music or while reading a book. But being in close and comfortable proximity of each other. I could see that working.

I am oft curious about these peculiarities. I thought, perhaps, you all could shed some light on these ‘inconsistencies’.

The next time you have some time… you can ask your significant other. And if you don’t have one. Well, you can always ask a friend.

As I am honestly curious as to the answers women would provide.
If you are wondering why I do not ask these things myself. Well what would be the fun in asking these questions solely for my benefit?

 

Caio!!