As a brief update on my life, let me point out the obvious and say that I haven't been posting to this blog. Would I claim that writing came mainly as catharsis for a troubled mind, and that I can prove my own well-being with this fact? No, I don't claim to. Do I intended to instead recount the whirl-winded weekends of the past two months; the burning effigy of heartache and moving on, whether forced or embodied so passively and wholly as to be overwhelming? I can think of better stories and wider smiles. What does my heart want?
Who am I to say?
As I sat in row H at Meadowbrook Theater with great perspective on the performance below, (and how appropriate that perspective be an underlying thread to so many of life's obstacles!) I was swollen: with tears and emotion. An appreciation much like I had felt years prior, when I first saw their yearly production of A Christmas Carol. But this time was also totally different. I wielded a slight apprehension because I had been looking forward to this day for so long. Perhaps because my life has filled with a hazy happiness that I am afraid will vanish back into the ether. Yet I am not so stubborn or impatient as to reach headily into the mist and demand a tangible explanation.
I am not asking to alight like snow on a Christmas morning: so aesthetically profound and absolute as to be absurd. I am not seeking solace or an unmatched immersion within someone else. My goal is growth. My method is balance. Because my ex-girlfriend will still say 'hi' to me, and I will remember her quietly, for a time, in melodramatic chicken-scratched scribblings like: "she deserved none of my kindness/and my distaste is a noxious vapor/if she cannot see it she will feel it when she sleeps". Welp. Some of my exes must have had as much to say about me and I keep my fingers crossed they led to more than a sob story. If all relationships only led to wasted words of regretted mistakes and unrequited emotions, there would be no life to carry on with optimistic musings.
There's a lesson in there somewhere, amongst the ether.
album review: Spleen and Ideal
I think about the impending nights of celebration for Halloween. I think of seasonal traditions and flavorings - intended to wrangle our attention on the unavoidable shift of seasons. On a rainy Tuesday, alone for the time, at work but unburdened, I sit beside a space heater in an overly airconditioned office. The Wikipedia page of a movie I'd recently watched linked me to the band Dead Can Dance, who I'd never heard before. Their name seemed appropriate for the time of year, and with the aid of YouTube I've filled this tiny room with the anguished cries of Spleen and Ideal. Their sound is esoteric. The kind I can't imagine so many YouTubers enjoying as the numerous likes and comments would lead me to believe. I like to remind myself: different strokes for different folks.
I'm doing this the difficult way - searching for each track after the previous one finishes. I don't feel an impulse to rush out an own a copy for myself, or even download a pirated version. The brief internet search is more than enough effort, and this is far from a new favorite album of mine. That's not to say I can't appreciate it for art. Here and there a passage will catch my ear but, even as I listen, the album is now more about a memory. A slight inspiration for some creative writing, it'll even coax me into admitting that I've missed my frequent musings on this website. Oh, the distractions we're capable of diverting to! Will I ever settle calmly into a routine of reprised elements: favorite pastimes and activities that would nestle me further into the seat of my own personality? I don't believe so. Scavenging for sanity in a world that seems bent on driving me out of my mind; that struggle may be the "Enigma of the Absolute" (as the title of track six tells me.) Though I could feel certain of something, might that be the evolving puzzle of life? Far be it from me to denounce the conventions of reprised celebrations. Instead, I look at traditions through the lens of ages. Religion and economy have shaped Halloween into what it is, and I will adapt my own personal holiday.
low road/high road
(In the interest of keeping this blog relevant, as I disclaimed when I made the original announcement, I no longer have a girlfriend. No one deadening the echoed warnings of my wisdom. No one begging for whatever I was selflessly predisposed to giving. This is not an entry of spite. This is not an entry that I'll be linking on her Facebook page. This entry will not come with oblique "look at my blog" text message. Should she read this, her line of sight may be the underside of my nose, but I am on an even keel. I am writing this entry for me.
That's not to say I haven't felt my fair share of pain and suffering. I'm sure we both have. Something as caustic as the three months we were artificially attached the other's abdomen could not end quietly. That doesn't separate either of us from the chaff of our peers. But I feel more at peace with my own abilities for attempting to overcome heartache. It's feeling less like foreshadowing and more and more like a dully realized lesson. The choice will always be in my perspective. Everyone has their own and the free will to change it whenever they please. I choose to look at hardships as obstacles I can overcome. I don't always know the way, and finding one becomes a challenge rather than an unbearable task. Writing a blog entry is my catharsis. Let me tell you, it's not my only one.)
A mantra I've adopted recently is "look at the low road; take the high road". There's a lot of insight to be gained from considering all of the evil, spiteful, selfish, uncaring things that are possible when someone forces change on you. Often we want to cause pain to those who caused pain on us, but anger is nothing worth holding onto. "Fighting fire with fire", as they say. When you consider the lowest routes you could take, you recognize them for what they are: misguided attempts to improve your situation. With any bad idea comes a good one, and when you feel what would be the wrong decision, the right one becomes clearer. Any energy, positive or negative, will flow through you. Let it change you, and through your actions make it a better energy. Who doesn't want to make their world better? Who doesn't want to make themselves better? That potential is in us all the time. Utilizing it is not always easy, but it is not impossible.
That's not to say I haven't felt my fair share of pain and suffering. I'm sure we both have. Something as caustic as the three months we were artificially attached the other's abdomen could not end quietly. That doesn't separate either of us from the chaff of our peers. But I feel more at peace with my own abilities for attempting to overcome heartache. It's feeling less like foreshadowing and more and more like a dully realized lesson. The choice will always be in my perspective. Everyone has their own and the free will to change it whenever they please. I choose to look at hardships as obstacles I can overcome. I don't always know the way, and finding one becomes a challenge rather than an unbearable task. Writing a blog entry is my catharsis. Let me tell you, it's not my only one.)
A mantra I've adopted recently is "look at the low road; take the high road". There's a lot of insight to be gained from considering all of the evil, spiteful, selfish, uncaring things that are possible when someone forces change on you. Often we want to cause pain to those who caused pain on us, but anger is nothing worth holding onto. "Fighting fire with fire", as they say. When you consider the lowest routes you could take, you recognize them for what they are: misguided attempts to improve your situation. With any bad idea comes a good one, and when you feel what would be the wrong decision, the right one becomes clearer. Any energy, positive or negative, will flow through you. Let it change you, and through your actions make it a better energy. Who doesn't want to make their world better? Who doesn't want to make themselves better? That potential is in us all the time. Utilizing it is not always easy, but it is not impossible.
this sure isn't Summer
I knew a joy in Summer I cannot explain outside of context. I know that it remains safely in the pocket of my memory, as every day it fades further and further out of time and space. I could tell the stories; I could explain the smiles; but you would never be able to feel them like I did. Every artist creates something new, they cannot resurrect a dead thought into new life, only pay appreciation.
Where does reminiscing become melancholy? I believe the line is drawn right about where learning ends and longing begins. When the change of seasons strikes, it tells you nothing. You must speak to yourself how you are affected. You must speak to others through your actions, and you must not be afraid of how you change. You are not the only one changing.
It was the the start of my junior year of high school when I discovered Rites of Spring, a seminal band in my musical growth. The coarse guitars and fleet, pounding rhythms were not the vehicle I expected for their lauded introspection, but it turned out to be a veil which my ignorance needed only time to peek through. Now, when I listen to Guy's pained screams I can feel how much honesty is on display. I admire the haunting and caustic atmosphere they create. Listening now is a whirlwind of memories (standing on my parent's porch waiting for the bus, gearing up for a return to class while a cooled air settles over the world) and also newly grasped understanding of the message their lyrics convey. It feels like Autumn music, and Autumn has always been my favorite season. I experience something similar with Osker's Idle Will Kill. Though my memories settle on my tattoo of the album's title, my interpretation and appreciation is updated. The result of a newer and better self.
While I have begun to separate the year into two seasons, I respect more so the transitory periods of Spring and Fall. They are times of change. Now is the time for whiskey, hot coffee, and cinnamon. For the long sleeves of jackets and sweaters. For reassessment. My instinct is to think of hibernation, a pulling in of thoughts and emotions. Sheltering myself from the pains of the world. How easily we make ourselves vulnerable in the Summer. But in that vulnerability is where to find growth. That is one thing that does not need to hide under browned leaves and rain. Black pointed branches reaching for the greying sky, as the limbs of frightened children afraid to be left alone. The whistled warning of wind in an alleyway. Decorations of dead things. If you find yourself listening to nature as it settles itself into sleeping for the Winter, do not resign to let your memories die with its flora. Do not use the time of year as an excuse. As humans, we must shelter from the elements, but not from each other.
Where does reminiscing become melancholy? I believe the line is drawn right about where learning ends and longing begins. When the change of seasons strikes, it tells you nothing. You must speak to yourself how you are affected. You must speak to others through your actions, and you must not be afraid of how you change. You are not the only one changing.
It was the the start of my junior year of high school when I discovered Rites of Spring, a seminal band in my musical growth. The coarse guitars and fleet, pounding rhythms were not the vehicle I expected for their lauded introspection, but it turned out to be a veil which my ignorance needed only time to peek through. Now, when I listen to Guy's pained screams I can feel how much honesty is on display. I admire the haunting and caustic atmosphere they create. Listening now is a whirlwind of memories (standing on my parent's porch waiting for the bus, gearing up for a return to class while a cooled air settles over the world) and also newly grasped understanding of the message their lyrics convey. It feels like Autumn music, and Autumn has always been my favorite season. I experience something similar with Osker's Idle Will Kill. Though my memories settle on my tattoo of the album's title, my interpretation and appreciation is updated. The result of a newer and better self.
While I have begun to separate the year into two seasons, I respect more so the transitory periods of Spring and Fall. They are times of change. Now is the time for whiskey, hot coffee, and cinnamon. For the long sleeves of jackets and sweaters. For reassessment. My instinct is to think of hibernation, a pulling in of thoughts and emotions. Sheltering myself from the pains of the world. How easily we make ourselves vulnerable in the Summer. But in that vulnerability is where to find growth. That is one thing that does not need to hide under browned leaves and rain. Black pointed branches reaching for the greying sky, as the limbs of frightened children afraid to be left alone. The whistled warning of wind in an alleyway. Decorations of dead things. If you find yourself listening to nature as it settles itself into sleeping for the Winter, do not resign to let your memories die with its flora. Do not use the time of year as an excuse. As humans, we must shelter from the elements, but not from each other.
album review: Bonfires on the Heath
Summer ended quickly this year. One holiday weekend and the air was cold, and called me to sweaters and my corduroy sport coat. This air has always felt like home, how it bites lightly on my cheeks when I go out walking. How I love to go out walking.
I have only listened to this album once (and now again as I type this.) When I discovered The Clientele earlier this year, a quick browse of their discography on Wikipedia enlightened me to this album, and the quote from an Allmusic review ("the most perfect, autumnal, English pop record imaginable.") had me queuing it into listening position for when the season struck. The swirling assortment of instruments felt at home among the leave littered streets of my hometown. When the moon peeked through clouds as I set out to the album's opener, "I Wonder Who We Are", I was at peace.
all night long
One night last summer, driving home from a show in Detroit, I was completely awake and full of energy. It was the kind of moment where you can't stop smiling and every worry or concern is miles away from the steering wheel and the stretch of road ahead. I had recently burned a copy of The Good Earth by The Feelies and was enjoying how it mingled with the sounds of Woodward rushing by outside my open windows. Track six came on, and before it was over I wanted to hear it again. The second time through was even better; as was the third. All the way home I kept the song on repeat. Pulling into my driveway, I decided to continue my listening marathon, grabbed my iPod, and went for a late night walk. I could feel the air rushing past me as I walked. There was a feeling to stay frozen in: the clam power of purpose. The radiance of a summer evening that just won't end.
Nights like those are when favorite songs and discovered.
Nights like those are when favorite songs and discovered.
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