22 November 2006
One of these past couple of days, I've revamped my door. Ripping off scraps of magazines and newspaper cutouts of people, bands from waaaay back. I'm not saying who or which - it would forever demote the elevated standing I now hold in your eyes, and you would never look at me the same again. It's not so much that I've moved on, grown up, but maybe it's just a refinement of taste and preferences. Probably in the sense that you know yourself a whole lot better now than a few years back.
My room has been getting to become more and more of an oasis - the sights and sounds so comforting, special to you only in the way you know how. Being able to lie back and sleep, be dead to the world for that couple of hours. Awakening to a room flooded in brilliant sunlight, an intense blue sky, which always makes me feel like going for a swim. Or to the damp smell of rain, of earth, and the sky's coloured in my favourite shade. It's small stuff but it counts. I may look up at the sky and go, "Under this great expanse of sky, what could be going on right now, anywhere else?" But mostly, I just think, "Shit, it's another day of school...(or studying.)"
But anyway, the point is, my exams are in a few days' time, and I've barely studied. It's strange but I realise that any major changes/makeovers my room has received occur in the lead-up to my exams. When I'm supposed to sit down, pen in hand, and the notes are lying open, waiting to be ingested, digested in all their inviting, alluring glory, the potential for this side table to be shifted just there, for that vase to face the other direction instead suddenly seems immense. The mirror is looking kind of naked. Where are those wallpaper cutouts I know are lying around somewhere? This seersucker cloth, it would go brilliantly as a tablecloth!
So much as I love my room, and in loving it, love all of the changes, big and small which have made it what it is today, you could see it as a physical manifestation - evidence of my various failed attempts at studying.
And while we're at that, you can probably also include this entry as another manifestation of said failed attempts.
And if I go on to tell you about my current infactuation with Silversun Pickups and henceforth, plaster a video of their brilliant song "Kissing Families" which I can't get out of my mind in the space below, you would know exactly where I've been spending most of my waking hours these days. So I'm not doing that. But I hope the link would suffice.
20 November 2006
And when folk music breaks - when the lakesurface of song is interrupted by whirrs and skips and lonely echoes, - there's something there that's just between real and ghost.
(The lingering parts of life (i.e. the slippery parts) all seem to live in that inbetween place. Memory & longing & eros & home.)
Two songs as demonstrations, both exquisite:
[listen] Samamidon - "Falsehearted Chicken"
Samamidon is the collaboration of Sam Amidon, banjo-wrangler and sing-songer, and Doveman aka Thomas Bartlett, wurlitzer-drum-guitarer. Their record - due in February on Plug Research - is pretty fucking special. It's called But This Chicken Proved False Hearted. And of course this song is called "Falsehearted Chicken". Let's dismiss the obvious question of poultry: let's focus on the falseheartedness. Or perhaps the question of heartedness. A hundred and fifty years ago, Appalachian musicians discovered a particular quality of the banjo when accompanied by certain voices. Namely, it can capture nearly the entirety of the human experience. Within the past fifty years, composers have discovered a particular quality of ambient sounds and knockknockknocking. Namely, it can capture everything else. Here Amidon and Bartlett put the two together: it becomes a song of presence and absence, want and wish. Of promise, ok?, and you can hear how much the promise means.
(You can't buy it yet but you can listen to several more mp3s here.)
For all the times that I've had tears fall in the middle of the night listening to songs like these,
and the stirring in the heart I sometimes feel.
I often feel so inadequate in explaining why it could be so.
The passage above could not have put it in a more brilliant way.
17 November 2006
I was recently introduced to the label Stretsis
in RUSSH magazine's article "Sisters doing it for themselves". Some googling threw these up...
I am absolutely loving these looks, particularly the one on the left.
That moss green coat, peter-pan collared blouse, lame shorts and leather satchel are divine!
Besides, how could you not love the equestrian theme running through the collection -
which, by the way, is titled "Flying Underground" and created by 3 sisters, the designer being Parsons-trained Pim Sukhahuta.
These are really pretty too. Kinda Anna Sui-, Betsey Johnson-esque...
"You can picture the Sretsis girl as the kind of femme who enjoys long walksrather than going to the gym and drinks tea instead of coffee. She's absentminded and quirky. Her hair might be a little unkept, her nails notperfectly manicured, but she's always accessorised to perfection."
All these lame and their whimsical equestrian prints! Ah, love!
And leaving you with a quote from the article:
Awww, now doesn't that sound just like someone you know?
13 November 2006
11 November 2006
07 November 2006
Woke up this morning with the residue of a headache still throbbing away;
a tangled mess of hair smelling faintly of axe brand oil and sweat;
It was how I imagine Loneliness and Vulnerability to smell like.
Yet I felt warm and snug.
I didn't wash my hair today.
I'm a walking paradox in itself.
03 November 2006
When do you know that a trip down to IKEA for a cd rack is in order?
When retrieving a cd (in this instance, Elliot Smith's XO) felt like a game of UNO Stacko.