Tag Archives: Music

The Stars Look Very Different Today 

“What I have done on my holidays.” by Sparks, aged 30 ¾.

While my upcoming blog post is still in the works, this Nouvelle Vague piece will fill the deadly space between.

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I’m Going To A Town That Has Already Been Burnt Down

Is today the day I get everything sorted, or is it Thursday?

I have tried to edit another chapter to put up on here, and wasn’t going to post until then. However, I was sworn in as Chairman of the Bored today. Massive news. Full of joy, fun and sarcasm. It was a unanimous decision; 100% of votes cast in favour. All considered me as the person best placed to tackle; raise awareness; promote; respond to the boredom crisis that has now reached peak levels.

Three things in particular helped my case for election.

  1. The boredom outbreak seems to only ever to be in a twelve-inch radius of wherever I happen to be, so I am more experienced with it.
  2. I was the single person casting a vote. The only person present during the course of the day.
  3. I was the sole candidate. (See point two)

There had to be a recount after Jeff Lynn of ELO was initially declared the winner. Ironically, this was the injection of excitement that this Marie Celeste of a day truly needed.

Today is one of those days for Iggy Pop-ping along; perhaps required after spending evenings Alabama Song-ing along instead. It is all about finding a balance.

I always like to include some sort of song/video I’ve found that has made me smile, or at least pause for thought. After some lovely words given after my last entry, I have instead put another example of my guitar work. I am in love with it again today, so three minutes respite below:

Go check out Jay Foreman at www.jayforeman.co.uk or on his Youtube to hear his genius at work properly…

 

 

 

There’s a Part of Me That Still Believes My Soul Will Soar Above The Trees

I’ve been laid up in bed under the weather for the last few months. For the most part, if I haven’t been able to reach something from my bed, I have just, simply, had to do without it.

One thing I have had access to is my guitar, so I’ve playing about with that for a good while (much to the chagrin of my neighbours). I wanted to play ever since I was a child. I was gifted my guitar as a teenager, and I’ve been playing ever since. No lessons, and it shows, but I’ve been practising whenever I can, and enjoy it. The days I no longer love the guitar are very sad ones indeed.

I saw this quote by the more talkative half of Penn & Teller; it describes my relationship with my guitar to a tee:

With that in mind, something I did while being fairly immobile, and without completely steady hands (*excuses etc). Its both up tempo, but rather sad. The mix amuses me:

 

 

Having been ill for so long, and facing the prospect of being so for the foreseeable, my first thought was to consider that I needed to develop a relationship with it, as I, simply, had been ignoring it. My second thought was that – obviously, perhaps – I already had one:

I lived with someone many years ago who I absolutely despised. Not simply dis-like, I truly despised this man. It wasn’t one sided. He hated me just as much, perhaps more – I never cared to find out. From the many encounters of a wide array of people I’ve met during my life, some of whom – incredibly annoying; only two have been so beyond the pale; both former close friends, ironically perhaps – or very comic book villain. This was one of them. If, on pain of death I had to say something kind about him…I would still consider it long and hard before declining.

We lived together in one house. We weren’t always there at the same time, but each time we were we would do anything not to be in the same room as one another, often staying in our own space, safely away from the other. When the other was absent we would have free reign and our kingdom was larger; it would shrink to such an unsustainable size otherwise.

There were three occasions, only three, during a twelve-month period where our paths crossed. It was almost as though both of us acknowledged a mistake had been made, but defiant that the error was at the hand of the other. I use the word ‘ acknowledged ’, an exchange of a death-stare upon stopping whatever activity we had been doing is a loose definition of the word ‘acknowledged’.

He wasn’t always there, but it was my house. He was in my house. That’s where I go to be safe; calm; somewhere you can make your own. Even when he wasn’t there, he could be again soon. As much as it would pain and annoy me to admit – he would, quite accurately, say the same.

To add to the woe of this, people would confuse us because apparently we looked similar. Even people who knew us both, occasionally, got our names confused…or upon hearing about us both, would assume we were the other. I think I developed a twitch as a result of the number of eye-rolls I had to do in such a short space of time.

I write\vent all that for the simple reason because that is the exact relationship I have with my illness. Like for like. He had a small box room because I had chosen the master bedroom and was unwavering and not in a compromising mood. We lived in this fashion for twelve months. I imagine had it have gone on longer there would have been some sort of coup and I would have been turfed out and consigned to the Harry Potter cupboard. I have been under-the-weather for some time longer than twelve months, and am trying to make my new home under the stairs as comfortable as possible…