Thursday, April 30, 2009

Liquid Time

I walk down a loosely graveled path and think about the life I have lived.
Was my youth so long ago?

Time is passing, flowing like waves in the ocean. Each wave exists once, and after it hits the shore you will never behold it again.
Each molecule of hydrogen and oxygen become a memory, an event, or a feeling captivated by your conscience. These molecules bond, giving ultimate union to an infinite conscience.

And the water slips slowly through
Your fingers.

Portishead's Third

Portishead’s album Third tends to be like that kinky fantasy you play again over and over in your head. It gets fixated on that idea that gets you off most but is surprisingly progressive. The vocalist, a woman, has a certain seduction about herself, something mechanic, something artificial like clones rather than an honesty. This however allows one to have a "no strings attached" feeling as their ears sensually explore the message at hand. As the album comes to an end you almost want to grab a cigarette. It feels like a charcoal gray satin sheet is bounding you into its cool endless rhythm when you’re doused in sweat. The electronic influence is heavy but not in the repetitive sense like with most music- its organic. Organic electronic music with lots of sex appeal- haha that’s what this album is.

cigarette burn

I flipped my head upside down while I was blow drying my hair this morning. My eyes fixed themselves to a faint circular scar on my thigh. It took only a second to recall the incident.

I was in the back seat of a trashed Subaru wind blowing my hair in every direction. My buddy Stin lit his fag and started to puff. Minutes later he flicked the ash out of the window. The wind however didn’t see this appropriate or suiting, so it spit the ash right back. Unfortunately instead of laying itself on the perpetrator it took a liking to the back seat, specifically my thigh. Burnt right through my jeans (surprisingly) and into my flesh.

While remembering this ridiculousness a flash of anger infiltrated my conscience. Why was I the one who got burned? I wasn’t the one smoking- hell I don’t even like cigarettes! Surely this was undeserved!

Then I realized how silly I was.

Miles Davis

The thing about Miles Davis is this: it’s a man and his instrument being the epitome of intimacy and not caring who’s paying attention! It’s self-expression on a level most individuals hardly achieve in these modern times.

There’s a sense of security within the music they (Davis and his beloved horn) create- you know you’ll always feel something listening to it! How can one stay numb when they’re listening to a man put his heart and soul on record so gracefully? The melodies may go along with feelings of lonely displacement with the rest of the world or utter bliss at the taste of relaxation. He may make you cry tears of joy and tears of sorrow, all at once or over time.

There’s just something about Miles Davis and that trumpet- they plunge themselves deep into your heart without expecting of you what others would. They are just in their existence and complete within each other. It has nothing to do with the filth of this world be it money or sex. It isn’t about popularity or being liked. It’s about making a love – a love supreme as Coltrane would say. It’s about externalizing the most internal thing any being has.


Ever been so excited you feel like your going to explode? You feel like a piƱata full of complacent melody and cheer rather than artificial sweets. At the tiniest prick of inspiration you blow!