Unmissable

Another Bullshit Night in Suck City (or "Being Flynn" as it's referred to on the poster... The former has more appeal to me.) It looks unmissable.

Christmas waltz

Christmas has come early... Someone get the mistletoe.

She & Him - The Christmas Waltz

Yes Man

I love my friends. My plans tonight included eating some tofu, watching Top Gear and going for a run. Instead, after a phone call and a minor amount of arm twisting, I'm on my way to Southampton Guildhall for an evening of musical frivolity. Tomorrow's going to be inter-westing.

A stranger smile

Nothing lifts your spirits like when a total stranger catches your eye, looks away as if it they've been caught, looks back and then smiles.

Oceans

If only life was a stew made of the ethereal overtones of the song and the dreamlike, soporific video.

Oceans - Pearl Jam

Hold on to the thread the currents will shift
Glide me towards you know somethings left
And we're all allowed to dream of the next

Oh, oh the next time we touch

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh

You don't have to stray the oceans away
Waves roll in my thoughts hold tight the ring
The sea will rise please stand by the shore

Oh, oh, oh, I will be, I will be there once more

Today has been a day of contemplation about the past. There is an overwhelming feeling of longing and desire filling my every breath. It won't leave me alone for a moment. This is not a primal sentiment, but a calm or soothing semblance which I haven't felt for a long time. If I could forgive and forget a spiteful faux pas, I know what I could and should do. That is beyond me now though. The story has been written in the sand and the waves have washed it away.

Bravery and courage comes from engaging in action, despite our fears.

Well, that was sweet of them...

http://freepoemsonline.blogspot.com/2011/11/prayer-by-harry-mckeown.html

Staying awake until the sun rises is my new favourite thing to do. Big smiles.

Everywhere I go..

..I get dragged around a Cath Kidston shop. This women, person, company, brand, whatever - is taking over the world or is stalking me. Enough's enough.

Fields of June

Emily Barker & The Red Halo - Fields of June (free download)

Delightful strings and tales of loss.

Frontal damage

This morning, finally, after three weeks, I have my car back. The poor little mite took a nosedive from a Cornish car park, over a six foot wall and nigh on into the sea. Fortunately, nobody was hurt. The handbrake has been fixed and the front looks shiny new. Regardless, I shall be selling it soon enough and getting something less chavtastic. It will be sad to see it (or 'Arthur' as it's/he's been named) go, as it's/he's been with me for five long and interesting years. The attachments that grow towards inanimate objects bewilders me. Despite my bewilderment; I struggle with throwing away magazines, let alone getting rid of a car. Struggling with letting go of inanimate objects is one thing, letting go of a real live, living, breathing person is a different kettle of fish.

Share

Last night reminded me that life should be more about sharing moments than individual achievement. If you're lucky enough to get both, take these experiences with both hands and smile.

Try-athlon

1km Swim, 20km Cycle and a 5km Run. This hurts.

On a positive note, the marvels of shuffle on iTunes bestowed my ears with a version of "This Charming Man" from the Hatful of Hollows album, which I've never heard before. It's far softer.. More upbeat. It almost had me grinning, despite sombre lyrics and the excruciating pain in my calves.

Oh. I forgot to say. I still want my hat back. I shouldn't have lost it in the first place.

If It Be Your Will

Driving through a misty midnight, this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "If It Be Your Will" - The Webb Sisters feat Leonard Cohen.

The Zeigarnik effect

Since leaving Facebook and Twitter; so much more of my time has been taken up by reading, writing, running and sorting things out in my flat that I've meant to do for such a long time. I read earlier that "even after one stops actively pursuing a goal, many mental processes remain focused on the fail (e.g the Zeigarnik effect), potentially occupying limited attentional and memory resources". Useful to know. The dishes will be done, I'll call my friend I've been meaning to call for ages and that "To Do" note on my list at work for three weeks has been "To Done".

A few songs have crept into my playlist this past week. Shuffle on iTunes has an uncanny ability to reach into my mind, pluck out some songs and bring a lump to my throat at an idle moment on the train.

The story of The Last Five Years is told through the voices of two characters - Cathy and Jamie. Jamie tells the story from the beginning of their relationship, to it's demise (as heard in this song), whilst Cathy tells it back to front. This song (Goodbye Until Tomorrow / I Could Never Rescue You) in context, is probably the saddest song in my collection. The hope in Cathy's voice and the sadness, grief and sound of loss in Jamie's is such a sorrowful dichotomy.

This one is self explanatory.

Gil Scott Heron came into my consciousnesses after he collaborated with Jamie from The XX, producing a colourful explosion of spoken word wisdom overlaid with youthful exuberance (a.k.a. some heavy bass). Apart from The Revolution Will Not Be Televised and few other 70's tracks, I'd not listened to any of his non-Jamie XX collaboration sounds. After having an urge to write about running yesterday, I remembered that Gil Scott Heron wrote a song called Running, which I adored in remixed version. The original is dark, stripped back and industrial. GSH seems to be standing on the corner of a snow covered street corner, as a fire burns from an empty oil can in front of him, reading straight from his book of words. The skills of Jamie XX have to be marveled at for finding the sound heard on the remix.

Prayer

Life passes underneath the
grit beneath my feet,
easier than it should.

Rain drips down my brow
as the fog lifts away from
sprinting thoughts.

As if the beads of sweat are
life's burdens, my mind
clears as the taste of
blood returns and a
deep mist bellows from my lungs.

The place I go to,
without hiding,
where nobody can find me.
Thoughtless yet mindful.
Deep solitude amongst
passing cars, spray painted postboxes
and abandoned trolleys.

Where the leaves crunch,
twigs crack and the tarmac
is a black lake set against
rows of false trees.

Never running away, as
no such place exists.
There's nowhere to run to
and nothing to run from
except myself.

Flaw

"You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know." A Picture Of Dorian Gray.

It's gaze met the eyes of passers by
from the wall for many years.
Dust gathered at the edges
creating a bottle neck of brown where
there should be red.
With his one eye,
he cherished that painting.
It radiated red and life.
He could not see the cracks,
scars, light faded patches.
For him only delicate brush strokes, perspective and clarity.
Sunlight streaked in behind the curtain
as she blinked, for the first time.
With cracks and scars persisting,
their gaze met as dust filtered through the shaft of light.
For him, that radiation remained.
Tears roll down his face as he dropped to his knees, smiling.
She shook her head, looking directly at his eye.
Turning away, resolved, back into paint.

Words

If we were words, I hope that we would rhyme.

A sweet sound

Something for a Sunday morning.. http://www.emilykingmusic.com/ Get involved.

Shark Ridden Waters (Gruff Rhys)

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=usGdERPWoPU)

On my way

"Thank you my darlin'." says the burly woman serving Lattes and bacon butties in the train station cafe. There's been a leaf stuck to the top of my velcroed shoes since I stepped out into the rain. Like horses waiting for starter's orders; competitive suits standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, edging towards the best position for THEIR seat in the carriage. Postman Pat's theme song bursts into life as I giggle and look at my phone, wondering if anyone else can hear. The train jerks into view, driven by a despondent bearded man in an ill fitting jacket. "Please mind the gap between the train and the platform" is said with such autonomy that you know she doesn't care. A tall tree in the distance turns out to be a church spire, then back to a tree, settling with a church spire. Suburbs turn to trees, fields, muddy piggies and back into suburbs. Stifling dry heat is replaced by a cool breeze as a window thunks open. Graffiti begins to litter the bridges and the race for the door gets underway.

Piggies

Muddied pink tails
Swilling button noses
Cactus pricked white hairs
Yellowed apples
Browning cabbages
Stinging nettles
Wooden planks
Mud mud mud

Don't pop the cork, she says
As he twists the neck,
Mouth wide open.

Fizzzzzzzzz.

Ricocheting into the kitchen,
Rolling away in an arc.
She accepts the flute,
Softly brushing his hand.