The sound of the autumnal leaves leaves me with the illusion of the beginnings of a downpour.
A train's rhythm to Paddington in the distance knocks nostalgia into me. It never reaches its destination. Slowdive plays, and I gaze out from my window. Former lovers become strangers, and stranger still. We become so far removed, and proud of it. How we learnt, developed, and are all the better for it.
When we embraced one another, I felt us float into the ethereal.
The moment was barely tangible, and your fingers were barely imaginable as they stroked my palm with intimacy. We disappeared.
Finally you become the smoke. Free; cavorting, and dancing in the breeze, through the change of the season. Your scent is lifted; you soar. It's what we must come to expect; the departure of the embers.
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Friday, 22 October 2010
J'adore 4AD.
If you're not familiar with the artists of 4AD then you should be!
1980 Forward is a great starting place, featuring personal favourites Cocteau Twins, Pixies, Blonde Redhead, Mojave 3, Breeders, and Throwing Muses.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
A glint.
When your memories are the only tangible reality left, and when your dreams are your only consciousness. As children it is acceptable to be confused and to ask questions but as adults we are expected to have answers.
We are conceived with imagination; imagination that becomes dilute, mislaid and muddled with 'facts'.
The dull murmur of a street-light closely hugging a tree permeated my skin; a telephone conversation of frustration and passion - a conversation that would lead to me walking back past this dim musicality feeling as drained and weary as the noise itself. Then, a light and tentative rain poked between the strands of my hair; resting where deemed suitable. Each stationary droplet echoing some previous experience - almost forgotten.
Our purity is engulfed by experience and emotional development; armed with a stern expression decisions are made only to later transform into remorse - regret.
Yielding a shield of pride we mostly never look back with intention of rectifying whatever it is that breathes upon our breath at night.
The bed is made; the duvet folded over on the right-hand side into an isosceles triangle. At times it is possible to recapture the imagination we misplaced in the eyes of those who remember; those who saw you travel the world, marry royalty, and fly through the skies.
We are able to recapture this if only in moments at least, thanks to those who remember us.
We are conceived with imagination; imagination that becomes dilute, mislaid and muddled with 'facts'.
The dull murmur of a street-light closely hugging a tree permeated my skin; a telephone conversation of frustration and passion - a conversation that would lead to me walking back past this dim musicality feeling as drained and weary as the noise itself. Then, a light and tentative rain poked between the strands of my hair; resting where deemed suitable. Each stationary droplet echoing some previous experience - almost forgotten.
Our purity is engulfed by experience and emotional development; armed with a stern expression decisions are made only to later transform into remorse - regret.
Yielding a shield of pride we mostly never look back with intention of rectifying whatever it is that breathes upon our breath at night.
The bed is made; the duvet folded over on the right-hand side into an isosceles triangle. At times it is possible to recapture the imagination we misplaced in the eyes of those who remember; those who saw you travel the world, marry royalty, and fly through the skies.
We are able to recapture this if only in moments at least, thanks to those who remember us.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
You are probably air.
If we are fortunate enough, we come across a treasure chest in our lives. At first glance; overwhelmed, we break down into tears. Feeling as though we are in the presence of the incomprehensible. We know what this means. What this is.
Nothing of this value comes easy and we strain ourselves weak to the point we can barely stand and feel all of nothing and everything at the same time. However, with fatigue laid across our backs the nothing is unbearable. The sight and feeling of what we've discovered destroys everything; the search, the 'meaning'. So we put a lid on it: the very thing we sought so hard to open up. We let it be. We walk away in search of the same thing we found - another container to hide and revel in.
With our back contorted from previous station, within one or two steps, we forget the content. But you remain changed. Silently you are changed and you will now never realise. But all the same, it did you some good to have a look. To try.
The treasure is left alone for another to endure your former verse and passage. To re-enact your walking motion over the breeze of nostalgia: for the treasure to feel admired for moments at least.
Nothing of this value comes easy and we strain ourselves weak to the point we can barely stand and feel all of nothing and everything at the same time. However, with fatigue laid across our backs the nothing is unbearable. The sight and feeling of what we've discovered destroys everything; the search, the 'meaning'. So we put a lid on it: the very thing we sought so hard to open up. We let it be. We walk away in search of the same thing we found - another container to hide and revel in.
With our back contorted from previous station, within one or two steps, we forget the content. But you remain changed. Silently you are changed and you will now never realise. But all the same, it did you some good to have a look. To try.
The treasure is left alone for another to endure your former verse and passage. To re-enact your walking motion over the breeze of nostalgia: for the treasure to feel admired for moments at least.
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