I just came across a 2006 Livejournal entry of mine in which I shared some song lyrics I'd written and had long since forgotten. I had no refrain or chorus but I'd still like to do something with it. In this day and age it seems apropos:
Vesuvius:
I am the mushroom cloud that leveled Nagasaki I stood on the shores the day Atlantis sunk I'm the windshield of Diana's Maseratti I'm the first of the locusts and last of the crops What is it that causes such unrest? over-sexed and beating on your chest bred to destroy everything that's left an all consuming black hole when at your best
I am the collapse of the tower of Babel I was aboard space shuttle Challenger that day the first thread that began Rome's unravel woke up bright and early one morning in Pompeii there's no reason to ponder the day you die no constant fear of impending doom there's no changing the future, don't bother to try the day of the fifth moon is coming soon.
Sufjan Stevens released a song by the same name on 2010's The Age of Adz. It's pretty cool. Here it is.
For a good portion of my life I'd been fascinated by all things related to the end of the world. The end of humanity or the ultimate end of the universe itself. I still am, to be honest. This being the eve of a date that's been resounding in my head since a pre-teen is pretty damn monumental. Of course, now being more informed than I was as a conspiracy theorizing youth, I haven't the least amount of anxiety about what tomorrow holds. Maybe even a decade ago I believed that some great calamity would befall mankind. That we might be wiped out or the Earth itself could see it's final day at the whim of some celestial happenstance. But I know it's not going to. I'm going to sleep soundly tonight and I'll only dread the coming snow storm that's predicted to hit Ohio in the afternoon.
Don't get me wrong; I would be absolutely delighted if we were all wiped out tomorrow. Nothing would make me happier. And it's not completely some selfish woe-is-me outlook. I don't believe there would be anything better for this planet than a lack of humans. And it's not totally a bad deal for us either. I mean, come on. No matter how good you have it, do you really have it that great? Consider the alternative. Living out the rest of your life, regardless how much longer that may be, and dying alone as we all do. Leaving behind loved ones and liabilities. But if we all went out at once in a grand hurrah, everything tied up with a pretty bow, what could be more fortunate? We should be so lucky.
Alas. None of this is going to take place. The 'Mayan' doomsday prophesy, as it's been adopted in recent decades, actually pertains to Aztec creation lore in which the creation and destruction of world has taken place several times, and as time is cyclical in their mythos, will happen again on the day of the fifth sun. The Mayan long count calendar simply marked this date as the end of their cycle. In our equivalent, a new years celebration. But, who knows. Maybe the sun will swallow us whole. Maybe All the bees will die off at once. Maybe patient zero will develop a cough. There are a lot of things that can happen in 24 hours. But if you insist on counting the minutes until the apocalypse, the Maya home turf is in Central Time. Make sure to keep this song on repeat for the full 24 hours for maximum effect.
Even the smartest among australopithecus was just a monkey. So who am I to think that there is anything I can accomplish which will exalt me to any greater height among my genus? One cannot transcend his make. Much like the great australopithecus, broad-shouldered and erect, my only purpose is to spawn. To contribute my essence to the gene pool the same as any virus that wishes to replicate until it overwhelms it's host. And what does it benefit a species to breed beyond it's means? Why do we recklessly and unapologetically fuck ourselves into oblivion? The virus doesn't wish to kill it's host. If that's what happens then it's only the price that's paid for the chance to create it's perfect self. All the virus wants, all that it's ceaseless replication is hoping to achieve is the next great leap. The iteration that perhaps outwits our antibodies. The strain stronger than any antibiotic we can throw at it. So was Aussie's ultimate goal to create me? I'm hard pressed to believe that I am the end product of any assembly line. No. We breed for that small glimmer of hope of one day creating our paramount. The one shining example of humanity that justifies all of our existence. Our failures. Millions of years in the making, the child that is our absolution. Certainly the gap between the most useless and deficient of australopithecus and it's champion specimen is far smaller than that of modern man's, so yes, we are moving in the right direction. The system is working. The question is will we spawn our golden child before we've killed off our host?
...and when you finally have everything within your reach, and the slow realization sinks in that you will never be satisfied; that is when you'll appreciate futility. One of the bright sides is that I didn't have time to be somber before. I was more exhausted than I realized without hindsight, but I was occupied. I was also happy. Not to say that I'm not now happy but these are two separate types of happiness. One being tangible and the other being possible. The thing about possible happiness, the state of having the entire catalogue of possibility before you, is that if you realize any on particular avenue of happiness then you're bottle-necked. Pigeon holed. It's like watching the entire series of LOST only to get pissed off when all the theories and questions get swept aside by culmination.
One of the most beautiful sentences I've ever read:
Physicists will make an announcement Wednesday morning that may solve a decades-old puzzle about the nature of matter, declaring they have all but proven that the “God particle” exists. - National Post
I'm gonna try to ease back into this blogging thing by writing about one of the few things I have an opinion about. Music.
Probably THE most exciting musical event for me this year is next month's release of Bobby Womack's first album since 1994. Co-produced by Damon Albarn of Blur and Gorillaz, it's certain to be something all together extraordinary. The single and small snippets that I've heard have not disappointed me in the least. Here's a short doc that can be found on Bobby's official site about being brought back into the industry and the creation of the new record:
So much enthusiasm and such gushing words about Damon and Richard Russell. It makes me happy to watch. I've absolutely loved Bobby's contributions to the latest Gorillaz releases and this pairing continues that excitement. I'll probably get this album for my dad on Father's Day. It's that transcendent. I hope it's used as a vehicle to bring new fans to both artists bridging generations. Richard Russell did similar work on Gil-Scott Heron's final album, I'm New Here, which I also hold in high regard.
I hope this trend continues. Albarn has another project that I'm hoping to hear something from soon called Rocket Juice and the Moon which he features along with Flea and Legendary Afrobeat drummer Tony Allen, founding member of Fela Kuti's Africa 70. Tony Allen has been busy over the past decade working with some of my favorite French artists like Sebastian Tellier, Air, and Charlotte Gainsbourg. I could continue with this 6 degrees of separation all night. Suffice it to say, something good is happening in music. A revival of artists to be appreciated by a new generation. It just goes to show that relevance doesn't go away. It just ebbs and flows from the collective consciousness. Something new comes along and if it, too, is good it will last and eventually will all be assimilated. Nothing good dies. It all takes new forms.
Here's the first single off The Bravest Man In the Universe. The album will be out on June 12th in the US.
"We live on the future: "tomorrow," "later on," "when you have made your way," "you will understand when you are old enough." Such irrelevancies are wonderful, for, after all, it's a matter of dying. Yet a day comes when a man notices or says that he is thirty. Thus he asserts his youth. But simultaneously he situates himself in relation to time. He takes his place in it. He admits that he stands at a certain point on a curve that he acknowledges having to travel to its end. He belongs to time, and by the horror that seizes him, he recognizes his worst enemy. Tomorrow, he was longing for tomorrow, whereas everything in him ought to reject it. That revolt of the flesh is the absurd." Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus - "Absurd Walls"
The thing about inspiration, for me, is that, above being fleeting and completely aloof, it's also overwhelming. I've had the pleasure of the revitalization of my writing bug as of late. What has been latent for years has surged back and I'm happy to say that I've been taking advantage of it. I've been making progress on a piece that I've been kicking around for most of my adult life. In fact, among the many public networking sites that have come and gone, you may have seen bits and pieces from me of a work called 'The End Of All Comfort.' For the most part it's been nonsensical ramblings and unrelated texts. I now have a pretty clear vision for it and hope to have, at least, a novella out of it.
The downside, to this sudden spark, is that I've also imagined another piece that I'm pretty excited about and have nearly fully mapped out. I've begun getting as much of it down as I can. The problem I'm having is one of focus. There's no lack of content. On the one hand I have a semi-autobiographical piece that's been in my head for a decade, and on the other I have a fresh new piece with characters that I'm really excited about. Both of these books deal with the absurd and both have references to Camus' 'The Myth Of Sisyphus' (more so the latter) which I'm now in the process of rereading.
I'm very excited about what's taking place and I hope to have something tangible come from it. Being diligent and staying on task is something I know will have to be forced at times. I know that of myself, once inspiration is gone, I have no will to touch anything that I was once so very excited about.
What is it that drives a man, self confident and commanding, who at once finds himself compelled to retreat? To retire to his bed and spend the foreseeable future swaddled within those blankets amid take-out boxes and remote controls? Only at the next moment to be driven out by the ever-gnawing fact that his days are indeed numbered and that he is hurdling towards his demise; or even more daunting, the end of his eligibility to take part in the carnal aspects of the human comedy: a fate much worse than death. And one that ultimately leads a man to welcome Death's outreaching hand. And now with this woman. This girl. I do love her. Everyone loves her. But what business do I have with her? She is not for me. She is for a much simpler man. Not one that could appreciate her more because, no, I don't think the man I'm referring to is capable of such a thing. But she needs a man more carefree than I. One not so weighed down by invisible circumstance, constantly throwing around words like Farce and Futility when referring to existence. I will bring this woman down. That smile. That cheery disposition that attracts me, that attracts all to her, would be worn down by me. By the books I'd have her read. The films I'd take her to see. Even the morning discussion over breakfast as I'm reading my paper and disheartened by it all. So shall she be. I would jade her. This gem's luster would fade under my care and I could not forgive myself for that.
- The End Of All Comfort
Sometimes when I'm really excited about something I begin to stress out about dying before I get to enjoy it. It's very morbid, I know. When I was a kid it was always Christmas or my birthday. I thought about something unforeseen happening to me and never getting to know what gifts I got. I was a selfish little bastard. A death-consumed selfish little bastard.
My current worry is that I'll never get to see the movie Shame:
I just love the scoring of that trailer.
Dropping in on the official site you can see that the limited release showings have already ended nearly a month ago and that they've not come to any town in Ohio.
Affluence. Commitment issues. Gentlemanly endeavors amongst polite society. Dirty secrets and internal conflict. Shame. This has all the makings of a film I'll be watching dozens of times much like Elegy which my viewings of, by now, would have to be in the high 20s. This movie looks like American Psycho with sex addiction in place of psychotic bloodlust. Right down my alley. I fear that I'm setting myself up for disappointment but if it's half as good as I suspect (and as the reviews say it is) it will at least be a good watch. The wait alone is doing nothing to alleviate the hype.
I can't watch people kiss. Ever. In person or on screen. That's a small tidbit about me. Whenever, on film, the characters are going in for that lip-lock I have to look away. But often that is not enough because more than seeing the kiss taking place I'm completely compelled to shudder at that canned lip smacking sound effect that usually accompanies the act. I know it's not logical and I'm sure it goes back to some maladjustment in my formative years but it is what it is. I am disgusted by couples who insist on publicly forcing their affections on innocent bystanders. 'Making out' outside of any secluded area is absolutely uncalled for and, in my opinion, in poor taste. If it weren't a means to an end I wouldn't want to do it myself on most occasions. I'm not a very endearing man.
I say all of this because of the following. I shared this song last year on Valentines day and now, after a formal album release of Hall Music, Loney Dear has a video for this lovely song. This is one of at least two videos. The other that I've seen is completely ineffectual for the tone of the song and I'd dismissed it completely. This one is very fitting and although it's one that I won't likely watch again (due to the aforementioned offense), it's fitting for the season.
I never want to feel this way about anyone:
01 February 2012
I'd never thought I could find a set of collarbones so exquisite.
I've been neglecting this blog. It's mostly not intentional. Although I did intentionally not post a year end recap. I worked hard on it. All year, actually. I think that's what got the best of me and really spiraled me into some dark stuff. I thought about ending this blog all together.
I've been thinking a lot about finality. Everything ends. Everything must. Most things don't end when they should. They drag on long past their prime and their usefulness. The human life span, for example.
I've been hitting the gym a lot again. Now that I've got a new gym partner in my main man Heather, I've been a lot more active than I thought I'd be with the Ultimate season being dead and gone. It turns out that I've gained around 18 pounds since I last paid attention to my bathroom scale. I've weighed within 3 pounds of 145 since high school. Now I'm up to 160ish. Looking at me I believe there's no discernible difference other than being more toned. I'm convinced this is muscle weight. I've been more weight-training focused and will not worry too much about it. I love how I look it my slim fit button ups. Having a high self image is important, I say.
Whenever I wear suspenders I fantasize about getting into fights because of this scene:
I've been watching a lot of Up All Night. I love that show. Especially the episodes when Nick Cannon doesn't make an appearance. It makes me feel okay about being in my 30s.
I've been kicking around and implementing a lot ideas for my radio show. For one, I've set up an email address for anyone to email me advice column-esque questions that I'll be answering on air. AskTheGentlemanATgmail.com. Also I have a new segment called Day Drinkers: The Prude & The Lush with my main man Amber. We'll be sampling and reviewing libations from the perspective of a non-drinking prude (myself) and a more seasoned drinker, to put it politely. This Saturday we'll be sampling Ta Henket. It should be known that I hate beer.
You can listen in on Saturdays at 1:30pm on GoldenStringRadio.org
Our parents said the gods were putting an end to it all. That they'd become fed up with us. But after the ash stopped falling the skies began to clear and our outlook changed. Not back to the way it was. Certainly not that.
While they all surveyed the aftermath and began the long and arduous chore of picking up the pieces we made our way to the coast. Our feet and ankles bruised from walking over pumice, we climbed up the hillside. When we finally reached the summit, chests heavy and hands filthy with soot, we looked to where Pompeii stood.
