Delain

As I had mentioned, I have a new job post now. And each day, I have to cross the length of the island, from East to West, to get from my home to my workplace. When evening falls, I have to make the journey in the other direction, to reach home. Needless to say, it has been a trial, and were it not for the fact that I have some music that I enjoy, accompanying me on my long, long drives, I would have gone off the deep end some time ago.

Just to share one of my latest addictions, here are two albums that I have been listening to of late:





Good for a long drive home.

Requiem For the Impatient

Finally got my copy of Epica's album - Requiem for the Indifferent. At the same time, managed to grab Xandria's latest. Good stuff, both of them : )

Latest acquisitions

On a lighter note....

Just bought Olivia Ong's Sweet Memories and Corrinne May's Crooked Lines albums.

A different cover, but same album. Maybe a later press. Light music - mostly old favourites from my school days.

New songs. Devout. Mostly joyous and celebratory, though some of the lyrics makes one think. I believe that was her intention in the first place.













Hope I can get hold of Epica's new album next : )

Digging through the Old Stuff

Looking through the junk that I had accumulated over the years, I was pleasantly surprised to find my old PSP console. Ancient 1.5 version. And still with Final Fantasy Tactics loaded!

That, to me, was one of the best games that I've ever played. And now that I have dug it out of plastic box limbo, I'm going to take it on one more time. Ha!

I've also found a number of old CDs, mostly from my Celtic period. Of course, there's the Tori Amos and the Kate Bush collections too. I missed these dreadfully when I was setting up my iTunes library. Well, better late than never - they'll be joining my Symphonic/Gothic Metal soon enough. I'll have to make some time one of these evenings, I think.

Then, I found some of my old ramblings, when I was trying to convince myself that I could be a writer. Looking over some of the scribblings I made, it was hard to keep myself from wincing in embarassment. Yet, I suppose they were my ideas, and I would not be doing them justice if I abandoned them now. So... I shall rework some of them. Perhaps putting them onto some closed blog may ensure that they survive. We'll see.

Strange how old things are beginning to take over my life again. Even though I have new books and new music to fill my days. Maybe I should list down some of my more recent acquisitions as well, just so that I may remember when this blog becomes old too.

Someone Like You

This song from Adele:

"Someone Like You"

I heard
That you're settled down
That you
Found a girl
And you're
Married now

I heard
That your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things
I didn't give to you

Old friend
Why are you so shy?
Ain't like you to hold back
Or hide from the light

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over

Never mind
I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
"Don't forget me," I begged
"I'll remember," you said
"Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead."
Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead,
Yeah.

You know how the time flies
Only yesterday
It was the time of our lives
We were born and raised
In a summer haze
Bound by the surprise
Of our glory days

I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it.
I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded
That for me it isn't over.

Never mind
I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
"Don't forget me," I begged
"I'll remember," you said
"Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead."

Nothing compares
No worries or cares
Regrets and mistakes
They are memories made.
Who would have known
How bittersweet this would taste?

Never mind
I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
"Don't forget me," I begged
"I'll remember," you said
"Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead"

Never mind
I'll find someone like you
I wish nothing but the best for you too
"Don't forget me," I begged
"I'll remember," you said
"Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead"

Sometimes it lasts in love
But sometimes it hurts instead

Felt as if she ripped my heart out and left it bleeding on the ground.

Wow!

Swift and Pink

The missus had something to say about my driving playlist recently. I had purchased Taylor Swift's Fearless and Speak Now CDs, as well as Pink's greatest hits. And I've been cycling through these three for days on end. Apparently, my wife wonders at my sudden change, from what used to be a predominantly gothic & symphonic rock playlist.

Quite honestly, I don't really know how this came to be. Pink's lyrics are biting and harsh, despite her catchy melodies. Taylor Swift's music seem saccharine sweet, but there are some songs that hide a dark side, a bitter pill that lurks among the innocent-looking lyrics. White Horse, in particular, is a tale of betrayal. Not quite the sort of song that one expects from the one who sang Love Story.

I think I'll throw Avril Lavigne into the mix next. Black Star ...

The Weak End

It's monday.

That's usually the words that prelude an excuse about how blue one is feeling. Normally, I'm not overly affected about the days of the work-week. I mean, some Fridays are just sh*te, while an occasional Monday can be golden.

Today, however, was unusual. The sky was overcast as I was driving to work, and the usual radio station that I tune into was rambling on and on about one of its presenter's wedding over the week end. Much too cheery and lovey-dovey for me, especially given the weather at the time, so I switched over to my ipod. As luck would have it, the first song that played was this one:

The silicon chip inside her head gets switched to overload
And nobody's gonna go to school today
She's going to make them stay at home
And daddy doesn't understand it
He always said she was good as gold
And he can see no reasons, 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to be shown?

Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down

The telex machine is kept so clean and it types to a waiting world
And mother feels so shocked
Father's world is rocked
And their thoughts turn to their own little girl
Sweet 16 ain't that peachy keen
No, it ain't so neat to admit defeat
They can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reasons do you need

Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down, down, down, shoot it all down

And all the playing has stopped in the playground now
She wants to play with the toys of war
And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
That the lesson today is how to die
And then the bullhorn crackles
And the captain cackles with the problems and the hows and whys
And he can see no reasons 'cause there are no reasons
What reason do you need to die, die?

Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like, I don't like, (Tell me why?) I don't like Mondays
Tell me why? I don't like Mondays
I want to shoot the whole day down

Now the Boomtown Rats were really good, but the version that I had was the Tori Amos cover. You know, with her slightly creepy, nonchalantly depressive voice? Now that really brought me down.

My life outside the song didn't help either: work has been hectic of late. Those who know of my affiliations will understand; the broadsheets and the more volatile media has been proclaiming the recent changes of late. While that had consumed a good part of my time, more developments loom on the horizon, and I find myself at the oars, paddling furiously towards it. Oftimes, out of synch with the rest of those chained to the deck. Oh well....


Back on the home front, the missus is down with a cough and a sore throat. Which means that she has isolated herself from the daughter, leaving me to play the single father again. Not that I mind, mind. I have grown accustomed to such instances. However, I have myself, barely recovered from an upset stomach - with the attendant bells and whistles, as it were. Running on a less than full battery over the weekend with a hyper child is not the most restful of experiences, truly. Running on a guggling tummy is even worse. Needless to say, the title of this blog describes what else I had to contend with...


Fortunately, the daughter seemed to realize that neither of her parents were in a state to match her enthusiasm, and entertained herself for the most part. My mother's participation in the fun and games on Saturday also eased matters somewhat. Whew!

As for the music, the next song was also a Tori Amos cover of a Depache Mode favourite (I must have been in a select by artist sequence) - Enjoy the Silence.

Going Home

The strains of Suzanne Vega's Luka is playing in the background now, as I find myself suddenly gripped by an incomprehensible melancholy. It is just one of those periods of my life that can only be described as a black mood.

Is it the music that brings out the dark cloud, or does the shadow make me gravitate to these songs? I cannot answer, nor do I care to make the attempt.

Sigh.

Sand and Water

I sit here now, on this last day of the year, contemplating my plans for the next. Not out of hubris, nor of desire, nor of necessity. The plans that I allude to mean little in my own life, and in the lives of those bound to me by ties of blood, oaths or friendship. No, it is out of a sense of responsibility that I make these plans.

The weight of my burdens bear down upon me this day. I know that there are many who depend on me to lead them, though I doubt if all of them truly care where or what I am leading them into. There are also those who wish for me to follow their leadership. I shall do so, of course, for such is the nature of the hierarchy of the world; had I been adverse to trailing behind these men, I would have left this path that I chose a long time ago. Yet, these leaders of mine may not fully appreciate the manner in which I choose to serve. Service can be a subtle thing, as my friend the Alchemist pointed out once, or it can be blatant and unyielding. Somewhere in between, in my opinion, is most preferable.

What is it that I owe to those ranked above me? And what do I owe those ranked below? What answers I have found, I have found wanting. I stumble along, leaving scattered pools of detritus amidst the eddies of chaos in my wake. My draught is deep, and the course I take is not free of hazards; should I be becalmed, it should take but the slightest of current to throw me upon the rocks. Will I founder, and spill my cargo of other people's hopes and desires into the surf? Or have the Fates another fate for me? I shudder to think of it.

But such is the way the mind works, in anticipation of the new Cycle. This is the reason why horoscopes and the petty predictions of psychics prove so popular during such times.

It is in times like this that I remind myself, usually through songs (and not those tied to the season, though there are some which would serve) of just how small my concerns are. The one that rises to mind, for some reason as yet unknown to my conscious brain, is Beth Nielsen Chapman's Sand & Water:

All alone I didn't like the feeling
All alone I sat and cried
All alone I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside

All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by

I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave

All alone I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world and wears your smile

I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave

All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water and a million years gone by

I first heard this song when I was traveling with my wife in Canada. It was from Calgary to Drumheller, when I was driving across the long, undulating landscape and my wife was so fired at the thought of seeing real dinosaur bones. I was somewhat amused; what were fossils but sand and water, and a million years gone by?

And where would we be, in a million years from now?

Against that, what are my workplans for the next year?

More Distraction

Only half done, thus far. Yet, in the midst of it all, I find myself wondering at the sort of music that has caught my attention over these last few years:

The Middle Kingdom series, wherein some traditional pieces of music were 'translated', for want of a better word, into something more suited to western tastes. The result was quirky and somewhat soothing. It was like watching The Avatar and its variant martial arts references, or a version of The Monkey King dubbed in irreverant street American (English would have been too rigid, I think).

Any road, the music of the series, together with Howard Shore's LOTR music, sit in the same compartment of my matrix, rubbing elbows with Hans Zimmer's Gladiator, Harry Gregson-Williams' Kingdom of Heaven, Tan Dun's Hero, and the songs of Dead Can Dance. An unusual combination, however one looks at it.

It will probably get worse.

A Quiet Distraction

For the last six days, I have been feverishly compiling every single scrap of music that I possess, scribing all into a portable matrix. Why I have begun to do this, and for what purpose, remains a veritable mystery. Am I driven to this madness for want of suitable diversion at work? Have I singled-out this particular part of my life to clear of clutter? Or is this merely reaction, against a sudden realization of age and a need to make sense of the chaos that had dominated the decades past?

I have found, though the activity of these last six days, that for all that my musical taste has altered over the years, there are a few constants: I enjoyed soundtracks immensely as a student and continue to enjoy them now. Nanci Griffith was the one country singer-songwriter that I admire, and her songs are still relevant to me now. Tori Amos, Alanis Morissette, Suzanne Vega. These ladies attracted me to their music with their passionate, and painful, lyrics almost two decades ago. I have listened as their styles changed and I still find their lyrics evocative and provocative. Enya and Loreena McKennitt both sooth and inspire me. Painting or drawing to their work seems to bring out greater passion and hunger in my work. But my favourite remains unchanged, to this day, some thirty years after I first heard what I deem the scariest piece of music in my youth: Wuthering Heights. Kate Bush has never failed to surprise me. Or scare me senseless. Or lull me into a hopelessly romantic mood.

I cannot explain the last. Perhaps this is the reason why most of my friends consider me somewhat insane.

The Labyrinth

Sting's Songs from the Labyrinth plays as I scribe this, bringing me back to another age. A more romantic age, some claim, an age of wondrous letters and songs of love. I will not gainsay them. Perhaps one's heart dwells upon love and desire when one must wait months for a reply. Perhaps inspiration's hammer strikes often and true when one has the luxury of mooning away one's afternoons. Perhaps the heartache of loss hurts more deeply when the nights are long and lack diversion. Perhaps I am merely feeling overwhelmed; butter spread so thin that one needs to feel the greasy surface to know which side of the bread it is on.

Time is no longer measured in months and seasons, as it was in days past. Suzanne Vega sang of Yesterday's Troubles, just as Sting's music evokes an image of days that flowed at a slower, more stately pace. These days, time is measured in minutes and seconds, with emails and sms' marching in and occupying the march of my hours. These days, my days pass in a torrent, a veritable cascade, bringing with them the flotsam and jetsam of recollections and regrets. These days, I begin to feel the weight of my years.

I know the reason for this mood: over the course of the last few weeks, I have been blessed with a great many chance meetings. Friends and acquaintances from my past, from school, from previous jobs, and even from other worlds, have appeared in the river of my days; ripples that I thought spent surface now, to reveal that they had merely been hiding beneath all the turbulence.

It was a joy to see each and every one of them again. Some I have not met in seasons, others in years, and the rare few, for nigh two decades. An orgy of 'do you remember's and 'what have you done with your life's generally ensued, followed by the exchange of numbers and email addresses, and promises to 'stay in touch'. Yet, in the hustle and bustle of our lives, will we? Too much to do, and too little time. This is a disease that afflicts us all in this day and age. Our work consumes far too much of our time and our energies, and what we did not squander in our headlong rush towards that next project deadline, we dole out to our families. Little wonder then, that we hardly have time to meet and eat and drink copious amounts of caffeinated beverages. Once I would have said beer, whisky or wine, but I am getting older and the penalties for getting caught with alcohol in one's bloodstream is fast approaching cruel and unusual proportions. The authorities in question will doubtless disagree.

So I am resolved, for this year at least, to seize the day, to live in the now. I shall make time. I shall invest it wisely in my family and my friends. I shall fashion good memories and great works together. Or great memories and good works, accordingly. There will come a time for me to retire, a time where my days are no longer filled with such pressing demands. When that time comes, my family and friends shall be there to inspire me and surprise me. And should they be otherwise occupied .... Well, I shall have reminiscences aplenty to keep me warm.