Sep 23, 2009

carry on, carrion

i'm in the midst of my first brand new, life-altering experience since sex. it entails overuse of my lacrimal glands and underuse of my digestive system. oh my dear sense of humour. what shall i do without you?

if you wish for me to carry on
i will celebrate this carrion
if you wish for me to hide
i will abide
i will take this monumental mind
like an ancient cluster of boulders
gathered for an unknown purpose
and teetering on my desert shoulders

and i will... haven't figured that one out yet. something about stuffing it with stuff of some sort.

Sep 15, 2009


i've cleaned my room thoroughly. i broke the cycle of imagined impediments and just went for it. yet i feel strangely unrewarded. but i digress. point: i shunned the chinese water torture of the music i've been wallowing in for months in favour of some sailor moon s episodes. i let them delight my peripheral vision as the japanese language softly penetrated my subconscious. after a few hours of pretty soldier ranting and shrieking, i had to face it: winamp won. but i wasn't about to play jethro tull again.

how about... vanessa carlton. i'd dubbed her unenticingly corny years ago, still i kept her be not nobody in my library, should the occasion [of me craving corny?] arise. and tonight i put it to good use. yes, drenched in gallons of undeniable corniness and plagued by annoying vocals, but streaked with a quaint sense of individuality and oozing melody. classical piano meets poppy swagger meets a natural inclination toward hooks that perpetuated the sailor moon vibe i didn't really want to lose, that something in the air i could probably locate within a musical spectrum if i knew my stuff. but that would kill it. refreshing. dreamy.

pop is indispensable to life on earth. corny is comfort. corny, corny, corny, corny, corny, corny, corny...

i'll tell it as i best know how, and that's the way it was told to me: two little boys, brothers, allegedly but doubtfully chinese. the cherished firstborn was called tiki-tiki-tembo-nosarembo-chari-bari-ruchi-pip-peri-pembo. the insignificant younger one was called chang. one day, chang fell into a well. tiki-tiki-[...] ran home and yelled: "chang fell into the well!". a swift and successful rescue ensued. the next day, tiki-tiki-[...] fell into the well. chang ran home and yelled: "tiki-tiki-tembo-nosarembo-chari-bari-ruchi-pip-peri-pembo... *gasp for air* fell into the well!". a not-so-swift and not-so-successful rescue ensued. hence, chinese names today are all short.

i spend half my time running from cliché, calling my affections a rabbit made of rags, my sexuality a dog ripping the meat from a bone, my thoughts fetuses in formalin jars, my fear a pharisaic crucifix, my sorrow the untreadable wake of a wretched blitzkrieg. i spend the other half hanging around the well just in case.
in this day and age and place, we all mistake poetry for efficient self-expression. poetize this: cliché makes the world go round. for in this day and age and place, it is to cliché that we have reduced our very human nature, our instincts and pursuits.

heck. pretty baby, don't you leave me, i have been saving smiles for you; pretty baby, why can't you see, you're the one that i belong to... ^.^ pop-song no naka nara ieru... [see second line]

Sep 5, 2009


today is a tragic day for one of my absolute favourite posts. see for yourself, i don't wanna talk about it. i try to write each post as if to make this blog worth writing; i try to write each one as if to trigger some realization within myself, of this and that sweet nothing i've always wanted to share with whomever but couldn't pinpoint. yet that post was one of the better ones. the way those three songs came together to paint my picture of modern japanese music. the colours. the damn colours in the freeze-frames of the videos. everything. perfect. no more.

i'm a gotta-fear-a-man-in-a-uniform kind of girl: police, airport security, bus line check men, bodyguards at big-time gigs, officers guarding embassy buildings i pass by minding my own business and they theirs. they freak me out. even if and even though i've done nothing wrong. it's a phobia. of the symbols of authority, of the testosterone they parade, of their swift readiness to pounce. whether they be good-guy mechas imprinted with a paranoid if bona fide vigilance, or the all too human half-witted bully getting his glorified kicks. and i'm more authoritophobic by the minute. i've heard internet sharing has [finally?] been outlawed in romania. copyright infringement already sounds like an absurd yet spine-chillingly realistic catch-phrase from a dystopic novel. if by 2012, the growth in my musical taste slows to a trickle or i rot in jail, it's the only apocalyptic scenario i need. to quote gigolo joe: in this day and age, nothing costs more than information. getting there. curiously, the only type of man-in-a-uniform that doesn't scare me is the soldier.

but today is also a happy day. as they say, for every youtube video removed, another is miraculously reposted. this is the beta and sigma of my ani difranco. it was taken down shortly after the other one. yet here it is now, one of ani's best shots at melody, most colourfully delivered. enjoy it... while it lasts.