Wednesday, 29 April 2009

Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell

(Live, 1970)

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Tuesday, 28 April 2009

Adagio in G Minor, by Tomaso Albinoni

My most favourite classical piece of music ever, deeply embedded in my soul for all time...

Not A Coincidence

This is for you, and you only, you little angeldevil.

Funeral Blues (Song IX / from Two Songs for Hedli Anderson) a.k.a. "After the Funeral" & "Stop all the clocks"

by Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Monday, 27 April 2009

I Want to Hide the Light in My Soul

Hide it, somewhere far away, somewhere secret, and keep it hidden, until the One finds it and uses it to light up both of our lives. And then, there will be no more darkness.

Tuesday, 21 April 2009

Message In A Bottle

I wonder where you might be. How your laughter sounds. If you cry often. I'm asking the universe if you've been hurt, how many times you've loved and been loved back. Maybe not even at the same time. I'm unsure about your smell, the colour of your eyes, your skin or your hair. The shape of your body or the shape of your eyes. Your toes might tickle if I breathe on them and your spine will surely do, when I kiss your neck. What is your name? How many letters? What does it sound like? Is it even one? Or do you have several? I will have my own little name for you. And will probably never tell you. Nah, that's a lie. I could never lie to you. You will never lie to me. My soul will be an open book for you to sign on, any time you like. I am sure you will use it to doodle and write silly poetry in there. Lame verses that amaze me with how innocent you are. Where do you live? Is it day or night right now for you? Can you see the stars? I bet you just shivered, even if it's the beginning of the summer, or the end of it. It's because I just shivered too. How tall are you? Please don't be much taller or much shorter than I am, or it will be difficult to kiss you ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Not that it will make any difference of course. I laugh at such obstacles. No dimension would keep me away from your breath on my tongue. How old are you? Where you born before I was? Maybe even at the same time? Or after me? How long after or before? Could we possibly be soul-twins? I know I haven't seen you consciously yet. If I had, my life would be so much different than what it is right now. But could it be possible we've already crossed each other's paths? What are you going to teach me? What will I teach you? I am sure your parents would love me, and I have JUST decided my friends will fall in love with you. Not like I WILL of course. But close enough. I often try to guess about the depth of your eyes. Are they so deep as mine? Could I see myself in your eyes and then lose me forever? I am sure I would be a prisoner of your long eyelashes. Are you allergic to seafood and peanuts or are you lactose intolerant? Are you an artist like me? Or are you a scientist? I bet you like cartoons, like I do. I am sure you will lay in the sun for hours, holding my hand. I bet you will try to hold your breath underwater longer than I can, just so you can spite and annoy me. You will be right about most things more often than I am. And that will infuriate me. But it will only make me love you more. Do you like some or all of the foods I like? Do you smoke? I wouldn't care, it's a nasty little habit, but I could find myself loving it, because for once, the dire smell would remind me of you. I wonder what your lips would taste like. What your skin could feel like, warm and soft, when brushing up against mine. I spend nights imagining the sound of your voice. How deep or high, adult or childlike. Are you playful? Are you serious? I HOPE we have the same bizarre sense of humour. It would be agony to find different things amusing. But then again... maybe not. I could learn to like the same things as you, not because of the "things" themselves. But because YOU love them. Silly jokes that make you laugh, I could grow to adore, because of their effect on you. Because they would be able to stir you out of nonchalance and push you into short little whirlpools of joy. What makes you angry or sad? Would you be jealous of me? Or possessive? Will you be a free spirit? An idealist trying to make a difference in this world? I bet you love animals and cry secretly in the night for no reason whatsoever, other than because the moon strikes you funny every now and then. Like I do. I love your tears. They are salty. They are warm and leave clear marks on your irresistible cheeks. I hate your tears. My heart is breaking at the mere mention of your pain. Any pain of yours will be double for me.. But I understand. We all cry sometimes. Can I cry your tears, so you can smile again? Oh your smile... OH THAT smile. I can almost picture it now. Soft on the edges, unpretentious and sweet. It could even be crooked and it wouldn't matter that much to me. As long as I could live to see it aimed at me. Or caused because of me. That would surely make me melt into tiny droplets of Myself. We could cry together. Because of laughing too hard, or an eye allergy, or the death of a loved one, or a stupid fight we'd have, or the same romantic instant of a movie we both love so much. I can hold you in my arms right now. Spend the night, pretending to be asleep, just so I could listen to the calming sound of your heartbeat, when you'd dream of me. Or of us. A rhythm that could define my existence. Not the way most people mean it. My life has meaning already. I don't need you. And you won't need me either. I don't want you to need me. I want you to want me. To choose me. To consciously decide that I am the One for you, as I have already decided you are the One for me. I need you to have a life of your own. A life that is complete and full and happy. Like mine is usually. But I want you to choose to share this life with ME and my giggles when I do something naughty. Believe me when I say to you, WE WILL TRAVEL. The whole world or a big enough part of it. Don't care if you have money or not, don't care if I am poor or rich by then. I will be the richest man alive, if I can hold your hand in public. If I can hold your hand in the movie theatre. Because I am sure you will love films almost as much as I do. And music too. What will our song be? Is it an old one? Or one that hasn't even been written yet? Would you perhaps be the one that writes it for me? I want to sing to you. A lullaby. A song that makes you fall asleep in my hands. A song that makes you dream that you can fly. And in that same dream, you chase me from cloud to cloud and when you catch up with me, we both fall tumbling down to earth, kissing all the way to our peril. And you'll wake up from the nightmare, and hold me closer and kiss me and tell me to NEVER DARE DO THAT TO YOU AGAIN. And I will look at you, perplexed at first. But then I'll remember this, and will smile, because I'll know. Will you read to me? Can I read to you? I can hear the sounds your body makes, when you do everyday mundane things, like opening the closet, or burp or sneeze. A SNEEZE! It will be so adorable and cute and SO YOU! and your nose will turn red ever so little, and then you'll do that funny little twitch with the rest of your face, carried away by your rebellious nose. And your ears, will be in tune to my sounds. My voice will soothe you, comfort you, turn you on and piss you off. And the sounds I make, will be your sounds. There's no other reason to break the silence of this existence, other than to paint in your world, pictures of wonder and sights of me. And you. Together forever, and ever and ever, and all over again. What's your favourite animal? You will find it amusing that mine are penguins. You will tease me because of that and take the piss out of me. You'll even compare me to them, and that will make me smile smiles that you will never have seen before. And you'll wonder what I am keeping from you. Which is nothing. You will have all of me. EVERYTHING of me. No one else in the history of mankind has ever felt this way about anyone else, or ever will. Do you believe in God? Are you a Christian? a Buddhist or agnostic? I know you will believe in me, almost as much as I will believe in you. There is no one in the universe that makes you feel like I do, and I sure know I'll feel the same way. There's zillions of stars-worth of emotions of Love I hold for you, and if you can spare a tiny fragment of those for me, I will be the happiest person alive. Not because of the fragments themselves, but because there is someone out there who is worth all my zillions of stars. The One who holds my fragile heart in hands of warm liquid. And your smell? GOD how intoxicated I'll be, burying my nose in your pillow after you're gone for work or even while you're in the loo. It won't matter if you are near or far, the world will be a different place ANYWAY. Just because you are going to be out there. I will be a better person every day, because you exist. For your sake. I will know all emotions I now lack. And the world will be a new place for me. All that I know, will react to your ideas and thoughts. I will know all emotions. I will lack nothing. Would you like to dance? I am terrible at it, unless I pretend I am someone else. Will you teach me? Will you tolerate me? Will you understand me? I bet not, but I know you will try. And that's even better. Because you will want to. But you will accept me as I am. You will love me as I am. I bet we will both change just by being together. But we'll still be the same. Just... better than before. Every day better than the previous one. I will buy you presents, and you won't complain. You want disparage me or put me down. You will just smile and kiss me. And I will break up into a million pieces of you. Nothing is good enough for you. I will constantly feel blessed to be in your life, and also feel like I don't deserve you. I can't help but adore even the ground you walk on. And you will find that ridiculous and think you are ugly or inadequate. I don't really care what the rest of the world or your previous lovers made of your looks or intelligence, but for me you are the most beautiful and smart creature in the whole wide fucking universe. And I will dedicate my every minute to let you know exactly how much I admire you. I will worship you and you will take me as I am. Would you blush at my every compliment? Or would you arrogantly take it in stride? I would love you either way. How would you react to my hundreds of insecurities? I hope you'd be amused and constantly fight to keep me grounded. Say you'd breathe through my nose and I through yours! SAY IT! And now feed me, like a baby. Pasta and cheese. And kisses. Endless kisses. Your saliva and your pleasure juices would be my ambrosia. And you rage would be like a reason to die. Or incredibly funny. You would never hurt me. You will protect me. I will protect you. Our bodies will fit like a perfect match. Like they were designed to go together. Our bodies ARE designed to go together. Don't you know that by now? I bet you do. Are you writing a similar letter to me right now? Or next week? Or a few years back? You know, I would give my life for you. I am almost certain I actually will. My life with you, will be the purpose of this journey in the stars for me. My reason d'etre. The meaning of life till death takes us both to our next stop. I don't really exist. I am an illusion, created to hold your shape in my blood and bones. There's no me. There's only you. Of course. Can't you see that? It's YOU, silly.

You are the Love of my life.

But you don't know it.

Neither do I. Not quite.

You see... we haven't met yet.

But we will. I am sure we will.

Even if it takes 300 lifetimes.

We will.

But I hope it's sooner than that.

I hope we soon find each-other on this tiny little planet, with almost 6 billion distractions. Sure, it's no easy feat, but I've got faith in you.

Even if it means I'll spend the rest of my days waiting for that first moment when our eyes meet, and then we'll BOTH know.

So what ARE you waiting for? FIND ME.

I am waiting.

You know where to look.

You can find me under the same sky you are also looking at, right now.

Go on. Hurry.

Enough of my life was spent without you already.

Enough of everything.

The wheels have been set in motion.

I'm off to bed now, off to dream of you once more. Come meet me.

Look! It's me, waiting at the end of the rainbow. The light at the end of the tunnel, is MY light. It stems from my heart. And my heart is yours.

So come claim it. It's YOUR light. It's YOUR rainbow. It's your heart.

Come claim it. Come claim me.

Go on. Hurry.


Saturday, 18 April 2009

Thursday, 9 April 2009

Dream of Three as One

I am recovering from the most sensually explicit, vividly floating, inexplicably & complicatedly pleasurable dream I've had in a rather long time...

I saw both of them in my sleep, they were both so identical, in their incredible glowing almost, faces and bodies, both of them so beautiful, almost joined/combined as one strange creature, but each one with a unique body, though each body looked like it was a separate liquid form, running and mixing & sticking into the other body, which was also a liquid form of its own, and what was even stranger, I was being held captive in a lingering kissing embrace, being kissed by both at the same time, our 3 auras and bodies entwined and mixed up together, all three of us, and I was being caressed and we were in a never-ending carousel-like sensation in a zero-gravity joining of bodies and soul, we were floating and twisting and turning all three of us, in a an endless kissing and touching embrace, it was so hot and tender and sensual and I recall the sensation and I was so surprised and amazed and kept asking them, how could it be possible and why and how on earth could it be that two gorgeous angels were with me in that way, and the two of them kept smiling a conspiratorial smile at each-other and then together back at me, and our elegant anti-gravity kissing/caressing dance would start all over again and I couldn't understand why, why on earth they both chose me for this and it felt a bit like it was actually a game between the two of them, and I felt like a complete outsider, and I knew I was going to pay for this somehow, but at the same time I was enjoying it so fucking much, and this guilty pleasure was so intense, I didn't want it to end, even though it seemed ridiculous that those angelic two would find me even remotely attractive and it felt like they were playing a practical joke on me, such an outrageously infuriating one that made me want to scream and accuse them both for intruding in my own personal flight-land like this for their own selfish needs, but it was also a painfully sensual joke I surprisingly didn't mind that much, just as long as I could be lucky enough to drink some of their kisses and hoping I wouldn't wake up any time soon, even though it was painfully obvious by now that I was actually just about to.........

Wednesday, 8 April 2009

Merrillee Rush - Angel of the Morning

This is the original version... around 1968.

There'll be no strings to bind your hands
not if my love can't bind your heart.
And there's no need to take a stand
for it was I who chose to start.
I see no reason to take me home,
I'm old enough to face the dawn.

Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.
Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
then slowly turn away from me.

Maybe the sun's light will be dim
and it won't matter anyhow.
If morning's echo says we've sinned,
well, it was what I wanted now.
And if we're victims of the night,
I won't be blinded by the light.

Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.
Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
then slowly turn away,
I won't beg you to stay with me
through the tears of the day,
of the years, baby baby.

Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.
Just call me angel of the morning ANGEL
just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby.

P. P. Arnold - First cut is the deepest 1967

I would have given you all of my heart
But there's someone who's torn it apart
And he's taken almost all that I had
But if you want I'll try to love again
Baby I'll try to love again but I know

The first cut is the deepest
Baby I know the first cut is the deepest
But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
When it comes to loving me he's worse

But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
That's how I know first cut is the deepest
Baby I know the first cut is the deepest

I still want you by my side
Just to help me dry the tears that I've cried
And I'm sure going to give you a try
And if you want I'll try to love again
Baby I'll try to love again but I know

The first cut is the deepest
Baby I know the first cut is the deepest
But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
When it comes to loving me he's the worst

But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
That's how I know first cut is the deepest
Baby I know the first cut is the deepest

Baby I know the first cut is the deepest
First cut is the deepest
But when it comes to being lucky he's cursed
When it comes to loving me he's the worst

Is A New Aids Virus Emerging?

The news are not good.

I have information from someone in a Greek hospital, talking about a new "something" found in random blood streams, "something" which no one yet knows what it is, or what it does... Yet there is increasing evidence of "its" existence, even though it's still far too rare...

1980's flashback anyone?

I looked it up & there is a full article here.

Not sure if this is something to panic about just yet...

Monday, 6 April 2009

A Man of Words and Not of Deeds

A man of words and not of deeds
Is like a garden full of weeds

And when the weeds begin to grow
It's like a garden full of snow

And when the snow begins to fall
It's like a bird upon the wall

And when the bird away does fly
It's like an eagle in the sky

And when the sky begins to roar
It's like a lion at the door

And when the door begins to crack
It's like a stick across your back

And when your back begins to smart
It's like a penknife in your heart

And when your heart begins to bleed
You're dead, and dead, and dead indeed.

It's a traditional English nursery rhyme. There's no known author, but some speculate that the words may have been inspired by a play by John Fletcher, an Elizabethan playwright, which contains the words "Deeds, not words

It can be found in A History of Nursery Rhymes (1899) by Percy B. Green. Green wrote about this rhyme, "In a copy of rhyming proverbs in the British Museum, written about the year 1680, occurs the following Puritan satire on Charles II.'s changeability".

Charles II ruled from 1660 until 1685, during a time known as the Restoration (after the Puritans ruled England under Cromwell). At the beginning of his reign Charles promised religious Dissenters freedom of conscience. But later he began to persecute them. His words did not translate into deeds...

Friday, 3 April 2009

Good News

Over the past several months, I've been searching, hoping, wishing for meaning, longing for any sort of inspiration... to no avail.

Life has been rather quaint (at best) in its meaninglessness & inherent stress (due to various reasons I can't be fucked to mention here all over again...).

Suffice is to say, I was and still am (for the first time in my life) disillusioned by my current career stage/project.

Long irregular hours and exponentially harder work was never my problem, cause I love what I do.

I REALLY DO. And always have. It's what's kept me going all these years.

But when that joyful pleasure-flame was extinguished in a few effective blows by individuals who should really know better, and are not even worth my spit any more, then I knew something had changed inside.

It was me.

I had changed, transformed into a magical, enchanted being that still baffles me.

All of a sudden, my whole life started to change.

Days were long, nights were longer and everything seemed to blend into everything else.

Smells begun to fade.

Flavours followed.

Other sensations started evaporating too.

Touch was among the first casualties.

(Wonderful... non?)

First I gave up sex.

Love was a non-issue. Thankfully I didn't have to give it up. I've been single for over 2 years now, and I'm not really able to even become eligible for a visit by Eros any time soon.

Still, being loveless, is much like being flight-less. With less feathers of course.

(No shit).

Then I gave up social duty (including family & friends).

After that, came sport and recreation. Swimming came to an abrupt halt and so did anything else even remotely resembling a life of luxury (sleep & food, I still count as pretty basic & necessary).

(Please, do try to contain your roaring laughter).

I barely managed to keep "Reading" into my life, and insisted on attempting it, every night, lying in my bed, using pillows as head support, and kept at it for about an hour before escaping to flight-land. Where I was seldom any happier these days (another shocker).

I eventually ceased all diplomatic relations with chocolate... (what a shocker, for everyone that knows me)... Renegotiations are now officially scheduled for the 4th of August, my 33rd birthday. Assuming of course that the international authorities monitoring will allow said meeting to take place.

The final straw was giving up cinema, which admittedly I DIDN'T REALLY give up (how could I? I would rather die), rather, I denoted it to "once every two weeks"-status....

What a sad pathetic state of affairs.

That pretty much did it.

If ever I was more depressed than this I couldn't for the life of me remember it... (notwithstanding my traumatizing "coming out to my family" dark/cubic period)

And that seemed to go on and on and on, in a vicious circle or daily self-inflicted pain, that somehow managed to scathe me ONLY on the surface.


That's the strange thing about it.

Inside me, a fire burning, NEVER died out. It was like I was watching all this happen to someone else, and I myself kept a safe distance, as an estranged spectator, amused and bewildered but unable or unwilling to intervene and save the day.

(How peculiar... non?)

Up until recently.

A few "minor" incidents...

(including a long lost song from my childhood, a small independent movie I never before heard of until I actually saw it, a 4logy of raw, uncompromisingly romantic adolescent books that made my heart flutter like a baby, a piece of lullaby music on my cell-phone alarm-clock, a humbling "bathroom mirror video" encounter with a charming little angel on the other side of the planet, in my most favourite city in the western world, and finally a totally selfless, giving conversation with an adorable stranger who was inexplicably smitten by my eyes & my honest words, that kept both of us up until very late)

...suddenly seemed to fuel that dormant, yet omnipresent flame inside me.

Feeding it. Teasing it. Smiling at it. Poking fun at it. Flirting with it. Tormenting it. Loving it.

And in a delicate way, much like an early Spring breeze caresses the moist, light feathery hair growing on lovers' backs, as they both lie naked, skin touching, both obliviously lost in flight-land, on a "late to sleep - late to rise" morning, that promises many a "soon-to-arrive" summer afternoons, those incidents touched my flame.

And I am alive again.

(Funny how abstinence of life, makes death seem ever the more pointless)...

No I am not in Love, silly. I guess that will come when the time is right. I have faith and patience.

I feel I am creative again.

After a looong time of feeling useless and hopeless, it surprisingly occurred to me, I actually DO have a few things to say.

And I am growing tired of keeping it all inside (if but with a few minor exceptions of self-expressions, scarcely publicized and randomly accounted for).

So that's what I've decided I am going to do.

Get writing.

For the first time in a very long time, I feel I have something worth talking about.

Something worth writing about.

Something worth living for.

I feel so silly.

It's been staring me in the face for so long now, how could I have been so blind?

They always say, write what you know.
(I don't know much, but what I do know is enough).

They always say, no compromises, just FUCKING write the "Big One".
(There is only one thing that's ever been Big Enough For Me).

They always say, write with your heart, and let the mind follow.
(It's ALL my Life's Soul Journey ever was & always will be).

They always say, now is better than ever.
(And now is the time, more than ever, to embrace the Journey ahead).

I am not sure anyone will even bother to listen when I'm all done and finished. I have barely even started yet, the road is long, the river runs deep. It's too fucking early too celebrate.

Hell, it's even too early to say ANYTHING other than "we'll see..."

Still. That's good enough for me. For now. Till I die again.
Fuck that shit.

I'm free and I'm flying again.

The flame is awake and death is dead, so be it.

That's all that matters.

Long live Now.