Things change in retrospective, brightness goes fade. I can only definitely remember the speaker pouring out decibels of “Gin, gin, gin, gin till I die” and my ears hurting from the Indian “manele”. But the truth is they don’t hurt anymore. Nor does the sun seem unbearable. I remember I lost count of the Caribs and Banks, but I am not numb anymore, in fact I am closer to a hangover today. I remember the feelings were intense. I remember.
Nikka Costa, Like A Feather
I’m coming out of my wishing well
Where only echoes lonely hear my prayers
I’m coming around to bend cause my resistance’s been far too persistent
I’ve come to far to force it so I’ll watch it slide and land
I could come on strong and willful but
I’d rather watch it fall to the palm of my hand
And when I set it free like a feather it will be
And when I rise to see it done like whatever it will be it will be it will be
I’m taking a breather baby
From sitting on pins waiting for my sky to fall
I’m taking up giving in
So here’s the wheel, I’m putting my feet up
Take another look at me baby
Today I’m taking on catastrophe
I’d rather take it easy
Then try to force what’s on its way to me
And when I set it free like a feather it will be
And when I rise to see it done like whatever it will be it will be it will be
We’re only afraid if we pull back the blinds too far
The lights behind that we free will blind other stars
But the truth doesn’t blind it helps to see far
so get ready to be
Who you are
The other playlist obsession is Gnarls Barkley, Who Cares?
Basically I’m complicated
I have a hard time taking the easy way
I wouldn’t call it schizophrenia
But I’ll be at least 2 people today
If that’s okay
And I can go on and on and on… but who cares?
It’s deep how you can be so shallow
And I’m afraid cause I have no fear
And I didn’t believe in magic
Until I watched you disappear
I wish you where here
And I can go on and on and on… but who cares?
You see, everybody is somebody
But nobody wants to be themselves
and If I ever wanted to understand me
I’ll have to talk to someone else
Cause every little bit helps
And I can go on and on and on… but who cares?
Feels like… the surreal life
But it’s still nice
Wish I could live twice
but I still might
if these bones heal right
I see a little light
though it’s still night
Feels like… surreal like
But its still nice
Wish I could live twice
but I still might
if these bones heal right
I see a little light
though it’s still night
And I can go on and on and on… but who cares?
And I can go on and on and on… but who cares?
Source: www.azlyrics.com
I have finally slept right. I have not done that in days. I woke up rested.
Last night, tired, I wrote, in front of a glass of gin and tonic, the following: “Let’s ignore the dirt of the day, the physical pain, the thought of quitting four times in twenty four hours. Let’s make a stiff gin and little tonic. My beard is getting softer. Is that good or bad? Let’s listen to the real music, relax, talk to Mother. Who can deny life is pure poetry on a daily basis? You don’t want anything anymore. You have no ambition. Do you believe that? Man is a strange animal.” Mom never suspected I did want something indeed, which I have also got. And man is a strange animal, even sober I stick to this version.
Other place, other time, other scribble: “Princess Diana Memorial. It’s closed and it looks like a golf course. I took a picture nevertheless. It’s probably nicer without the people. I am taking a hike in Hyde Park and some pictures.”
There are pictures I have not taken and I do regret that. Among them the cow and accompanying bird. When the cow moves through the grass it stirs the grasshoppers and the bird is quick on it’s tail to have a snack. “Symbiosis”, said knowingly my guide. I smiled back, “Really?”. This is one thing I paid attention to back in secondary education and I still remember. Another one would have featured a bunch of teenagers taking shelter from the shower at noon in an open shack on the side of the road. Mangrove on the background, the car bumping at full speed on the dark red-brown road. And finally an eye-sore bright yellow pick-up, Toyota, like all the other cars there, with mud speed marks dried orange next to the tires.
My first trip was to the border with Suriname, a chance to see the sugar cane and the natives. We passed Mosquito Hall, and that is the real name of the place. Apart from the rats, snakes and spiders said to be haunting the plantations, the road reminded me of Romania and Bulgaria a few grades up on the Celsius scale. Even my hotel in Georgetown reminded me of a two star villa on the shore of the Black Sea.
That’s what I said before reaching Guyana, as the plane door closed and the fetid odour of the late admitted elderly started to spread to the other BW passengers. Because that is what it was.
That’s what I thought when I entered my hotel guest room at the “International something” in Port Kaituma. Afterall, I was supposed to sleep in the same room with the toilet seat. OK, the small room was sort of private, had air conditioning and it was in the jungle.
That’s what I felt last night after the surreal conversation we had. Never make me call you if you just want to dismiss me. I don’t suppose you have planned it, but bottom line is that has happened.
I have been saving this pic for a special caption, and here it is. Not as planned, but as I intended. Since you feel this blog is somehow adding to the distance between us, I feel I need to sacrifice some of it for you. So here you are. It must be one of my better pictures. It’s for you. Another way to say I never mean to hurt you. I have watered the plants. If you want I’ll also bake them, you let me know.
I am a greedy sentimental bastard. And a sentimental greedy bastard too, because I am both greedy and sentimental… I am just enjoying myself on my own. Nothing guilty, mind you. The ipod is working again, the temperature is just right, I am not hungry, clothes are everywhere. I have decided to through many of them, but I could only actually decide to part with very few. I have lingered for a while in the luke warm just dried Trussardi Jeans longsleeve shirt, just enjoying the scent of freshly washed, the I then have folded and put it back in the wardrobe. Tonight I dreamed of a shallow clear sea with beautiful little fish in golden, blue, and red, swimming towards my fingers instead of away from them.
Looks like I am not getting out to buy the tonic in the gin and tonic, and will have to do with Orangina instead. The horrors!
Been playing Andries on end. Three weeks ago I was drunk in the sun and scorching heat at the races in Georgetown. One week ago I was partying in Soho. Life.
Last night, an old show I saw for the first time. Knowing the process, it made me cry. Powerfull shit, you know. Took pictures with JF’s camera.
I have just found this and saved it from the fate of all drafts. No point there, except I like to title my traumatic flighing experiences.
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