We see the early signs of daylight fading only just before it’s gone.
I’m just going out, this blog post may take some time.
Wow. Ok, I am now several Canadian Club’s down. That took longer than expected, but was fun in its own little ways. Everything is, I suppose, as long as we don’t take it all too seriously. Some people spend amazing amounts of time on amazing things you know. I’m trying to find a polite way of winking at Jai’s High Court appeals case.
Some of you will have heard this rant from me before. It's popular this week. I have GOT to stop listening to Cat Power! This is the second freedom influenced post in a row… not good. I swear, if any of you catch me heartfully singing “Good Woman” or “Werewolf” just ONE more time, you have permission to slap me vigorously. I mean… but… my god people! She has the voice that female singers should have. It’s that… beautiful, slightly husky, pained drawling lulling heavenly AMAZING voice! Like, Janis Joplin almost had it. She sang a bit high and whiny for me. And anyway, she doesn’t use it quite as well as Chan Marshall. Don’t get me wrong, Joplin is one of my favourite female vocalists, she gets it almost right on “Come Over” and “Me and Bobby McGee”, but you know that slight upper edge to her voice, it takes some of the emotion away and makes it sound like whinging rather than sobbing. Now Patti Smith, she’s fantastic too, in her own way, same husky power in the voice but infused with this massive, earthy rage. Patti Smith has so much passion, the opening to Horses still makes me shiver, you know, “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine! MY SINS ONLY BELONG TO ME!” Fuck yeah! It’s amazing, I genuinely get awestruck just singing it to myself. But that’s the anger I mean. She made that song “Gloria” from a bopping 50s rock love song, into the most hateful, scary, twisted fucking beautiful thing. When Patti Smith sings “coming through the floor”… damn Gloria feels like some monster from the black lagoon. Smith has the same crazy timbre, but with a much more hateful purpose. Marshall tries to mine that with stuff like “I never meant to be the needle that broke your back”, yeah, it’s strong and rhythmic, but it’s not where she excels. No, if everyone could sing like Chan she wouldn’t be special, but almost no one can… damnit, THAT IS HOW WOMEN SHOULD SING. If you’re all skeptical and crap, you just haven’t heard her singing lines like “They never owned it, and you never owed it to them” or “that is why I can’t see you no more”… “we, we could all be free!” I mean, her voice sounds every line like she’s about to break, shatter into delicate glass shards. I’m utterly captivated. I know I rant about Sarah Blasko a lot, I think she’s beautiful, best fashion sense, stunning voice, but she’s NOTHING, nothing on the music of Cat Power. If someone who looked like Sarah Blasko could sing the hurt and yearning of Chan Marshall, they would actually be beyond human. That’s what better than human means, a new kind of expression, a kind of genius.
I have to go to sleep, but I’m no where near done with this post. I’m just gonna save it in Word, and then come back after work and wine tomorrow. Be warned, drastic change of perspective/speaker position pending.
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Holy wow batman!
Ok, this might not be too different since it’s still 10.30 at night, and I’m still several Clubs down. It’s just a different night, that’s all.
It’s just a different night. That’s all. Everything else is the same, it’s just the time that’s different. What a stupid odd concept. It would all make so much more sense without time. It’s all happening at once. Is that as obvious to everyone else as it is to me?
I’m not a miracle. We’re all miracles. There’s a difference.
Run the width and breadth of the canyon, then scream the number of steps to the brightest of stars. If it makes you feel better, do it again until it doesn’t. Realize what’s really important as a result of this. Not what’s special, or what you think is, but you MAKE special, and that’s whatever gets you there. If it’s not working anymore, stop running the canyon for fuck’s sake.
I drink too much.
Why don’t y’all just dare to tell me that. Go on. (*Swig straight vodka*. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? No joke, I keep a bottle by my laptop.)
I just deleted about 200 words of this paragraph speaking through some fictional woman named Bridgette. The crux of the narrative was that things can pass you by, and there’s nothing you can do. Bridgette discovered this through some kind of dualistic encounter with a man who in one narrative strain killed her, and in the other became the love of her life. It didn’t quite work, and sounds better there in synopsis than it did in my arse of words.
And it feels so good, now don’t you know, when the only home you have is the street that leads to where you used to live.
“Gradually, the insects usurped the larger mammals. In what is today loosely called the ‘Age of Collection’ a series of colonies were established to preserve the haired in consideration for research and future environmental analysis, but the subsections were harsh and based on evolutionary and functional premises alone. Conclusive evidence regarding the unique claim of the
homo sapient group that such actions constituted a super-physical notion named ‘wrong’, has never been found.” -
Extract from Wikipedia entry on ‘Morality’, circa 3184.Crash, bang, boom, slash, what exactly IS the matter with the clothes I’m wearing? My tie is skinny sex thin. You can make parole early, if only you’d follow my simple step by step guide, $49.45 + postage.
You can’t have me. I’m locked too far away. I’ve forgotten myself. It’s far gone, far removed, I can’t have me. I swear you could, if I could find it, but it’s just simulacra. It’s just an act, a pleasant façade. Ask again later.
I am going to go on a fact finding mission, to find some facts. Apparently, they look like blue jays, but are smaller. Facts about me and also the world. Then I will make a small committee, to nominate members appropriate for a subcommittee, who will advise the board of these facts, and I might know what’s going on for once. Fuuuurrrrrck.
Placate this, terrorists!
Dr. Hook’s “Remedies” has got to have one of the best album covers ever. Hello 6 moustaches! Hello eye-patch! Hello puns! Hello overalls, flannelette and Africa patterns! Goodbye album sales? No! Hello multi-platinum! Says a lot about our parents, doesn’t it. I came from a uterus that belongs to a woman who thought it was a good idea to buy an album with this cover. Just saying, it might help explain me a little better.
We are the sums of ourselves. I seem to have added up wrong. Forgot to carry somewhere, or carried twice, or something. Nobody knows, how I loved the man.
When we were together, I thought I was a wolf. One of a special species, distinct in our solitude and bond. Now that she’s dead, I feel more like a buffalo; still alone, but an empty kind of alone, like I’d lost the things that defined me, and those things were other. The only of an extinct species, riding vainly across the mid-western plains because that’s where Hollywood last sighted me.
I’m going to breathe out now. Buckle down. Be the people you were born to be. Strive to find the air that fits best in your lungs. Hold me, for just a moment longer, then breathe in again. It’s cyclical. Your life is nothing but the universe breathing. Don’t pollute it’s vital breath.
I never, never want to go home, because I haven’t got one any more.
This has been a conversation with God himself. My god, and your god.
