I had some great words to say on this topic; but now I find there is not much which can be said…
I’ve been 13 years in this room. The reminiscence (delighted to find this is a word, as it is just the one I was looking for) just won’t stop.
And won’t somebody please get Bloc Party’s song which goes “M-m-mercury’s in retrograde… m-mercury’s in retrograde…” out of my head? Ever since I thought of the title for this blog it has been bugging me. It is the single most inane violently noisy repetitive maddening piece of crap dance track on the radio at the moment. And believe me; I have heard some mindless shit in my time.
I’ve been feeling rather sickened of late. The kind of unease that comes with fully settling into the holiday lifestyle; the light-sensitivity, sugar dependence, and sleep compulsion that usually takes a month to take hold.
My friend Dean once said, whether in his own words or from some other source: “Nostalgia’s a good way of picking something out of the trash, scrubbing it off, painting it up and selling it on for more than it’s really worth.” And I wholeheartedly believe in that surmise.
I took all my posters down what has now become quite a few nights ago. My room looks strange. Big, and white and pockmarked in all its nakedness it is. And after just a handful of days it becomes hard to remember what it ever looked like with the posters on. It was an all day job. Numbing the tips of my fingers between the pins and the Blu-Tack, but without the same creative satisfaction I used to get from putting them up. A grand montage for all my favourite (and/or conveniently sized) bands. A bragging piece, a feature wall, and an unmistakeable mark of adolescence in one; did it ever become me? We shall never know.
I always thought I would do that (the posters) forever, I thought I’d be the cool aged rocker with an eye still on the music; and that wasn’t so long ago. I was verging on almost the same consciousness I have now; which makes it even more surreal; as I usually dismiss memories such as these on account of how hard I find it to relate to the me of old. But the edges are still sharp on these memories. I never thought I’d take them down. I foresaw way into the future, but I never accounted for just three years. Like how I’ve stopped collecting lyrics now. It used to be my all consuming hobby. I’ve stopped writing lyrics too. A creative outlet that it would have been unfathomable to abandon just a few years ago. But that was before the blog. Sometimes I lament the loss of my creative energies to blogging; as I have always believed I only possessed a finite amount, and was constantly spreading myself to thin. But at least my blog is reaching people, at least my blog is great as it is; and I can deliver it ably and easily, which is more than I can say for those bloody lyrics.
☆
Tuesday 2 December 2008
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I'm not sure if you had noticed my comment on holidays in nowhere when you posted your last "batch", for current lack of other words. I commented on several of your recent entries, individually, because it would be difficult to comment it all at once. I just hope you came around and saw them. You're not abandoned, and surely not unread, for that matter. It's just sometimes difficult to take the time to write. To have the time to. You should get an invisible tracker from StatCounter http://www.statcounter.com/ or something similar, it shows you the pageviews, and where did the people come from, the keywords used, the geographical positions.. it could be disappointing, but it is quite fascinating at times...
ReplyDeleteO_o what was that at the beginning ? That was weird. i didn't get what you were saying O_O .... spooooooky.
Your voice is sad to hear there. Not in the same way as Horse. Dispirited but in a tired, deadened way. Holiday numbness is - a - bitch. I'm barely ever satisfied of my holidays. Sometimes they even depress me. So much time on my hands, and... i do NOTHING, while i generally complain of all the shit i could get done if i had more time. I had some productive holidays once or twice, and i remember them proudly (i built a nice set of shelves with my dad, painted it and all, and cleaned and sorted the hell out of my room). But somehow.. we may hope the button to turn on is not that out of reach we think ... and then being active feels good, and fulfilling, and you take hold of your destiny once again. Oh... bliss...
I hope you find this flame again !
It is frightening of we come up to change in such few years. It is even more frightening that it was the age where you swore yourself you would not become like THEM, old and grey inside, and that breakin your self made promises somehow feels like going to this direction : the old, grey, predictable adult that looked so absurd and weak.I find myself to often resist this change, just out of pure spirit of contradiction, and thus going against what i truely feel like at the moment, what i'm changing into. Would you laugh if i told you i'm most afraid of the day when i'll take my lip ring out and know it's forever? That I'm afraid of what it means about what i am now. A mere phase in existence. A reaction. A childish reaction ? When you change you end up wondering what you really are, a question even more crucial when you want to "stay true to yourself", as they say, while growing in a more and more expectant environment. And i'm lost on the subject really. I think you're doing good. Better than i do. At listening what you really want. At accepting the change as being yourself. And now i'll stop because i already wrote surely longer than your entry.
Hope i'm not rambling too much.