Thursday, December 21
Wednesday, December 6
ok. this is going to be a soppy post. soppy i have to warn/call it because i have been co-opted by this all pervasive reverence of restraint.
Hmm. Now that could be a separate post too. So should I talk about being co-opted by the all pervasive reverence of restraint which seems to be a characteristic of people who want to blaze their own trails. How strange.innit? Shouldnt it be the other way? Explicit honest fearless expression to true feeling must be laughed at.(no wonder the world elevates Hemmingway and gets rid of confessional poetry) However it may be accepted if self destructively manifested (Lots good humor +mystery of skeleton in cupboard). Otherwise if manifested when drunk. perhaps accepted as kitsch of behavior.
So we put these people under the fashionably dark pink and golden sequins once in a while. Part of the reason why I think the more number of skeletons you put and the more graphic the surgeon generals warning reads on cigarette packets, sales will increase. Makes the image of ciggies more self destructive and therefore the people smoking it are revered in a clandestine way.
My thesis is that these people who wrote love poetry of abandonment, loss and its variations thereof, or of feeling lost in this wide world or inspirational idealistic poetry such as sorrow of prostitute etc. usually in obvious rhyme get their sudden jolt of embarrassment in this Restraint conspiracy and suddenly decide to become closeted. (iam not implying anything)
Now one will revel in muted tones and subtle interplay of ash and steel grey, rainbows only forming in oil spills. Party in blue. Etc. (no issues with that. I love blue too. And most people love blue. But that’s another post. Not related to this.) Now this person will admire self for becoming the true bohemian, the trail blazer that has so much character! Very Classy. Self controlled, logical, subtle, magnanimous of course while not attending to the basic anxieties. Within this matrix, crying is a self indulgence, most of all crying in front of someone else. So these people become the next gen. of co-opters. The fresh bunch will write more “terrible” poetry. Terrible only because they rhyme too easy and show themselves too easy. Its honest and the way something was felt. No interplay of grey and ash. It’s all blood and bile. No need for objective correlatives, broken lines, or a subtle clinching irony at the end. Simple things, of loving, losing, feeling. No need to describe the chipping paint and a dream of crabs while you leave the rhythm to heave and suggest.
Damn, this disclaimer’s too long. Coming to my soppy post.
I love looping songs. No, not coldplay.
Currently I am looping ‘te recuerdo amanda’. Because I don’t know another way of loving so I looplooplooplooplooploplooplooplooploop.
This song will have the fate of April come she will.
Much of my learning about self has come from looping songs.Everytime I loop a song, i lose myself in it and suddenly things appear as I had never seen them appear. Or. The same thing keeps appearing. Or the mood kept constant, the variables change.(that’s technically wrong. Cause variables don’t vary and constants aren’t constant.
I wanted to write soppy things related to my song looping and about some people but I couldn’t talk myself into writing it out. I suppose I am going to be self congratulatory about the teenyweeny bit of self restraint I have. Sigh.
Anyway, I used to listen to “I want to spend my lifetime loving you” OST mask of Zorro on tape. I also listened to Winds of change the Russian version on loop.
Or more recently April come she will. Also, OST Schindler’s List. Breakfast at tiffany’s in junior college.
Seal/A Kiss from a Rose. Don McLean- Is that the sun. you belong to me (shrek ost)
Amono dine tare bola jae. Candela. Kandisa. rosemary and thyme ! and o sanam.on tape.