...I will wait for you.And still be fully content and overjoyed, even if nothing ever changes.
Note: In response to two different blogposts. In particular, a deleted one.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
If it takes forever...
...I will wait for you.And still be fully content and overjoyed, even if nothing ever changes.
Note: In response to two different blogposts. In particular, a deleted one.
Monday, April 27, 2009
We Love.
I am not sure there is a more fitting song for me right now than Pogo's "Alice." And it comes as little surprise that it birthed from what are probably still my two favorite books.
"Alice" is fractured, yet repeated, in all the ways I feel. The patterns are there, and the essence feels so obvious, but I still cannot truly figure it out.
A soothing and ominous drone loop is the base. The haze of life. A deep, but gentle drumbeat provides stability and a reliable figure to retain balance. Goofy, albeit all too common in the most beautiful way, sounds poke at substance. My heart and head feel the jabs, placing no blame on the abundance of stimuli, knowing that there is no culprit unless one wishes to complain about the terribly gorgeous variety of life. This is what it is. This is what it should be. I would not have it any other way.
The spoken samples are, I believe, taken from the line "I give myself very good advice, but very seldom do I follow it. That explains the trouble." They are spliced up to essentially morph into "Very seldom. Follow it. We love...trouble," with a bit of overlap. Alice begins to say "very seldom," heartbreaking in its isolation. But before she can even feel bad, she interrupts herself with an assuredly forceful "follow it." Further making the stand, she spurts "we love," followed by a jumble of speech, culminating in "trouble."
This could be my mantra.
It is not about the fact that I give myself good advice, but seldom follow it. Or that I urge myself to follow and trust myself. I do not even take pride in my love for trouble. Yes, all those are all actually very true for me. But the focus is more.
Feel disappointed with yourself.
Try to force yourself to get motivated or do something.
Relax, and realize who you are and embrace your identity through love.
Lugubrious. Lionhearted. Love.
Recognize and feel the first two as they come. Yes. But never be afraid of the latter, especially if you cannot always keep it in mind or soul.
After Alice concludes her first cycle, as well as after many later ones, the flowers rejoice. They are not an outside audience. They represent her objective identity, delighted at her decision to be happy with who she is.
Making the project even greater is the video, uploaded and likely created by Pogo himself, which not only fits the song but accentuates it by explaining a bit more about the pieces and the work as a whole.
Since "90%" of the song is composed of sounds from the movie, one can see the context of most all of them, while still being intrigued in the video's overall meaning. It cuts often and without much transition, yet the images all seem to bounce in rhythm and reflect their musical counterpart.
Moreover, the beginning, middle and end are perfect accompaniments to the central cycle found within the song. She starts out looking afraid and unsure of herself. Stronger images of action and power start popping up. Alice stops struggling against the commotion and lays back with a content smile.
That is what I want.
I do not want to give in or give up. What I do want is to not get too worked up over all that is swirling around or inside of me.
Although I can often be overwhelmed by it, there are few sensations or states of being that I value or revel in more than confusion. This song and video not only serve as perfect examples of my attitude toward uncertainty, of which I consider to be the only (near) certainty, but it also acts as a reminder of how great it can be to be truly mixed up.
"Alice" is fractured, yet repeated, in all the ways I feel. The patterns are there, and the essence feels so obvious, but I still cannot truly figure it out.
A soothing and ominous drone loop is the base. The haze of life. A deep, but gentle drumbeat provides stability and a reliable figure to retain balance. Goofy, albeit all too common in the most beautiful way, sounds poke at substance. My heart and head feel the jabs, placing no blame on the abundance of stimuli, knowing that there is no culprit unless one wishes to complain about the terribly gorgeous variety of life. This is what it is. This is what it should be. I would not have it any other way.
The spoken samples are, I believe, taken from the line "I give myself very good advice, but very seldom do I follow it. That explains the trouble." They are spliced up to essentially morph into "Very seldom. Follow it. We love...trouble," with a bit of overlap. Alice begins to say "very seldom," heartbreaking in its isolation. But before she can even feel bad, she interrupts herself with an assuredly forceful "follow it." Further making the stand, she spurts "we love," followed by a jumble of speech, culminating in "trouble."
This could be my mantra.
It is not about the fact that I give myself good advice, but seldom follow it. Or that I urge myself to follow and trust myself. I do not even take pride in my love for trouble. Yes, all those are all actually very true for me. But the focus is more.
Feel disappointed with yourself.
Try to force yourself to get motivated or do something.
Relax, and realize who you are and embrace your identity through love.
Lugubrious. Lionhearted. Love.
Recognize and feel the first two as they come. Yes. But never be afraid of the latter, especially if you cannot always keep it in mind or soul.
After Alice concludes her first cycle, as well as after many later ones, the flowers rejoice. They are not an outside audience. They represent her objective identity, delighted at her decision to be happy with who she is.
Making the project even greater is the video, uploaded and likely created by Pogo himself, which not only fits the song but accentuates it by explaining a bit more about the pieces and the work as a whole.
Since "90%" of the song is composed of sounds from the movie, one can see the context of most all of them, while still being intrigued in the video's overall meaning. It cuts often and without much transition, yet the images all seem to bounce in rhythm and reflect their musical counterpart.
Moreover, the beginning, middle and end are perfect accompaniments to the central cycle found within the song. She starts out looking afraid and unsure of herself. Stronger images of action and power start popping up. Alice stops struggling against the commotion and lays back with a content smile.
That is what I want.
I do not want to give in or give up. What I do want is to not get too worked up over all that is swirling around or inside of me.
Although I can often be overwhelmed by it, there are few sensations or states of being that I value or revel in more than confusion. This song and video not only serve as perfect examples of my attitude toward uncertainty, of which I consider to be the only (near) certainty, but it also acts as a reminder of how great it can be to be truly mixed up.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Happy.
For the first time since Babser, I cried.
It wasn’t a deluge of tears drenching the face and hands. Just two brief instances, both within a few hours of each other, where a handful of drops squeaked out, each clawing their way down the cheek. A mighty struggle they exerted, desperate to return home. Calling out to their master, they begged for mercy. No response.
No eyes, shelter gone. No mouth or nose, breathing involuntary. No ears, only The Ocean. No skin, barriers broken. Vessel.
I didn’t even notice what was going on either time until each was essentially over, and that may have been the most healing part of all.
Since around September, I have been aiming, among many other goals, to turn off my brain more. Not only does it appear to cause much of my unhappiness, but it often just gets in the way. There is little pleasure to be had when analysis overrides action. Thus, any time I am able to strip away thought and just live: yes, please.
Sure, I needed the catharsis of crying. But an unmitigated feeling, devoid of intellectual influence, might have been something I needed even more.
It is only through the putting aside of questions, an act by which I used to define myself by, that I was free. I was free to be me.
The brain can turn a joyous feeling like “I’m so lucky! I can’t believe it!” into a depressing thought like “I don’t deserve any of this. I’m an asshole.”
There is a catch, though. Power cannot be created; it can only be granted. If I do not want my thoughts to control me, then I do not let them.
Questions are part of what give life zest, some would say meaning. But when one eschews all else in the pursuit of answers, a loss is gained.
I do not know what allowed me to cry on a seemingly random Easter Sunday and not on the many other occasions recently where I felt terrible because I could not, and I will never know. This is not to say my quest to find out is futile. I will just prevent it from consuming me.
Especially now, at a time when I might be the happiest I have ever been, I want to continue feeling. Casting out all thought is not an option; 17-year-old Alec would kill me. But questioning whether it is right or makes sense to feel what I feel is not an option either.
So, until I figure out what I am doing, although I know I never will and hope I never do, I shall reserve the unfiltered feelings for life and the restrictive thoughts for “Jeopardy!”
Because I’m tired of not being me.
It wasn’t a deluge of tears drenching the face and hands. Just two brief instances, both within a few hours of each other, where a handful of drops squeaked out, each clawing their way down the cheek. A mighty struggle they exerted, desperate to return home. Calling out to their master, they begged for mercy. No response.
No eyes, shelter gone. No mouth or nose, breathing involuntary. No ears, only The Ocean. No skin, barriers broken. Vessel.
I didn’t even notice what was going on either time until each was essentially over, and that may have been the most healing part of all.
Since around September, I have been aiming, among many other goals, to turn off my brain more. Not only does it appear to cause much of my unhappiness, but it often just gets in the way. There is little pleasure to be had when analysis overrides action. Thus, any time I am able to strip away thought and just live: yes, please.
Sure, I needed the catharsis of crying. But an unmitigated feeling, devoid of intellectual influence, might have been something I needed even more.
It is only through the putting aside of questions, an act by which I used to define myself by, that I was free. I was free to be me.
The brain can turn a joyous feeling like “I’m so lucky! I can’t believe it!” into a depressing thought like “I don’t deserve any of this. I’m an asshole.”
There is a catch, though. Power cannot be created; it can only be granted. If I do not want my thoughts to control me, then I do not let them.
Questions are part of what give life zest, some would say meaning. But when one eschews all else in the pursuit of answers, a loss is gained.
I do not know what allowed me to cry on a seemingly random Easter Sunday and not on the many other occasions recently where I felt terrible because I could not, and I will never know. This is not to say my quest to find out is futile. I will just prevent it from consuming me.
Especially now, at a time when I might be the happiest I have ever been, I want to continue feeling. Casting out all thought is not an option; 17-year-old Alec would kill me. But questioning whether it is right or makes sense to feel what I feel is not an option either.
So, until I figure out what I am doing, although I know I never will and hope I never do, I shall reserve the unfiltered feelings for life and the restrictive thoughts for “Jeopardy!”
Because I’m tired of not being me.
Monday, April 6, 2009
It's kind of like...
Eating jelly beans one-by-one. In the dark.
(Note: I will still be putting up longer posts, and I plan to make good on my earlier promises of movies analyses. I'm just trying to experiment here and see what I like.)
(Note: I will still be putting up longer posts, and I plan to make good on my earlier promises of movies analyses. I'm just trying to experiment here and see what I like.)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Idea for a character of ultimate denial.
"He doesn’t convince himself the grapes are sour. He believes they never existed in the first place."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
