Monday, September 17, 2007

capriciously testing the limits.

Yang'en and I have had many long pompous discussions between ourselves about the seemingly dualistic nature of music - be it in Nero, a run-down pub off Porchester Square, or in Hyde Park, where we sprawled on the greenest of green grass whilst squinting at a cloudless summer blue sky. It's really such a wondrous, wondrous gift, but it has also somewhat tainted our souls beyond any redemption.

(Very melo, I know, but I point you to the excuse or reason that we did read music for four intensive years)

Often, the things that I feel or think about are forbidden, and are subsequently painted over swiftly in furious brushstrokes of the inconsequential, which I elevate to a level of vehement importance. I then try, or choose, to forget that anything had ever existed beneath. But should I want to let it take in a sordid breath of air, I find that I cannot, unless I use music as the master key. E.g. Corelli's trio sonatas, Verdi's operas, or Chopin's Etudes.

And I question myself, as to how much of whatever I feel thereafter, is really remembered truth - enhanced, diluted or otherwise. I can never be sure, just how much of it is musically stimulated, and therefore, false and imagined.

Even so, there's a whole inexhaustible string of untouchable pieces that I've blacklisted, for listening to them will surely make my heart give, in a sort of a seasick lurch, a poignant hiccup that one covers with the hand, to muffle the giveaway sign that there's something underneath that cannot be seen or revealed, or even, acknowledged. For my sanity of mind, I hardly listen to them, and ironically enough, they are my favourite of all favourite pieces.

I've just put on Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony, it's not a fantastic recording, but it will do. And yes, it is one of my top top top blacklisted favourites.

You see - once you've realized that you are the architect of your own imprisonment, there's just no turning back.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

familiar strangers.
before i walk out of the door to secret destinations
After I pull an all-nighter, I always promise myse...
gentle ripples.
the things you remember.
irritated.
before i lie awake in bed.
as we have always done before.
it's all about music, and more.
teacher's day; the revival of recognition.

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.