Thank-you for the Music

I am trying to remember when I last left an account of the latest ‘happenings’ in my life. I can’t. So I will sum up these few post-exam weeks with “boringly busy” or “busily boring”, whichever suits the moment. Yesterday was tiring as hell, and so was today, but today… it was something more.

I spent the day at Dees’. This meant an argument early in the morning with mum about why I’m going, what time I’m going, how I’m going, how I’m coming back, what time I’m coming back and all sorts of absolutely irrelevant and unnecessary little details about the visit. It did not help that Dee had called late last night (or more precisely, early this morning) and told my mother something to the effect of “this can’t happen”… so after roughly an hour of arguing (after like an hour of sleep too!) mum leaves and I decide that I must also leave. But this act of ‘leaving’ as many of you will know, comprises many other smaller acts (ex: breakfast, choosing attire, changing the choice of attire, trying on the attire, taking off the attire, showering, putting on the attire, changing the attire etc…) which take up roughly another hour. So the nine-thirty rendezvous was delayed to ten, and actually happened closer to eleven. Anyway!

My gosh, I had missed this woman! The first hour or so we spent on a sequence of events similar to that described above which took up my time between deciding to leave and actually leaving (minus breakfast and the shower) during which we decided (or tried to decide) on what I would wear for that not-all-important event taking place on Saturday evening which I was not even sure of attending. But this is not what I wanted to talk about!

Ah, yes. First remarkable event of the day: It’s not exactly an event, it’s a movie.
“Big Fish” starring that absolutely adorable guy from Moulin Rouge with the absolutely GEORGOUS voice (yeah I can’t remember his name, something like … Finney? No way)! *faint! Directed by Tim Burton. Sounded good to me. The story is basically about a storyteller. His story is the story of his life. The problem is, he (like some other people we know) exaggerates a bit, and this leaves his son (who believed the stories until he was a little too old to believe them) thinking his dads’ a fake etc, etc… the movie doesn’t really prove a point, but it’s a great watch, a few typically Tim warped moments, some told-a-million-times-over but hilarious jokes and the feeling at the end like some searing hot liquid that burns your throat and brings tears to your eyes but makes your stomach warm and bubbly, leaving you happy. Really. The end is just amazing. Maybe the whole point of the movie is that there’s no point. A persons’ life story doesn’t really have to prove point as long as it’s interesting, because in the end, it’s just a story.

Either way, everyone needs to watch that movie.

The Second remarkable event of the day was a revival of the ancient tradition of whacking vague chords on the piano and calling it ‘improvisation’. Actually it’s more like mystic composition but I can’t expect normal human beings to understand the concept, so… yes, Dee and I sat at the piano together after about a year, the last time we did the same together being the 1st of October, 2006 at a certain event dubbed ‘Viva la Musica’ where I think we manage to scrape through with quite a good farce, together with Shez tapping a kala-gediya. The experience was amazing. “Amazing” here my hearts, does not mean the regular kind of amazing. It was so amazing, it lifted us up off the piano stool, threw us on the floor and had us shaking and tearing with laughter.

I had forgotten completely how good it felt to just play random chords and tunes on the piano with somebody else, and have that stuff ring through your flesh and bones into your soul. Damn, I had forgotten how good we were at this thing called improvising. I had always felt the power of the bond which is created through making music together. But after months and almost years of not doing this, I had forgotten. The experience brought back so many memories of choir practice in our little school chapel, sitting around the piano just humming random harmonies and rapping random rhymes while Dee played random chords. It also brought back memories of those hours during which she and I made the other choristers sit around the piano and listen to our painfully personalized renditions of Evanescence and the like.
It’s sad her parents are packing her off to Colombo, but it’s also good cus she’s finally getting the chance to do something the way she wants to. So I don’t know how I should feel. I think I’ve decided to be neutral about it, and look forward to seeing her in colo (without her parents!). these meetings are bound to be ‘happa’ as I’m making sure she takes ‘Our Sketch Book’ with her [ this book by the way, is a great book of our compositions which have very enlightening names such as ‘A-minor’, ‘D-minor’, ‘Five-three’ and ‘Staccatto’ – we have got as far as the table of contents].

(sigh!)

I think I’ll miss the woman more than I plan to, but that’s the way these things happen isn’t it?

Look out for the phenomenal debut album!

Kids

Younger siblings, especially thirteen-year-old male ones will never – NEVER – know when they really GOT to keep their gap shut when the rest of the household is arguing about things they don't understand, and this (if you happen to have a younger sibling, especially a thirteen-year-old male one) will ruin your evening/day/week/month/year/life.

<kick>

Political Posts

I generally find it amusing when bloggers choose to rant and rave about the country's political situation in their posts. I suppose this has something to do with the fact that I know nothing about politics. But it also seems like those who rant and rave about politics don't really know much about it either. I suppose this too, has something to do with the fact that I know nothing about politics. Anyway, I'm dedicating this post to something I know nothing about. Politics.

See, it's just a little past 8:00pm, and I've just been watching the news. The highlight today was a brawl at parliament. Yes, a BRAWL, at PALIAMENT. I'm not going to pretend I know what the whole thing was about, cus (just in case I didn't make myself clear enough) I know nothing about politics. But it was quite amusing, the whole thing.

These are people that "the people" voted in to represent them. So if (IF) I voted these people in, then I'm displaying myself as a fist-happy idiot. Right? Right. But no wait, politics is politics, and so maybe, just maybe these people don't really represent "the people" and they just put their money and muscle towards getting into parliament so they can acquire more money and muscle. In that case, our parliament consists of a group of business-minded morons right? Right. So okay, let's forget the 'moron' part and think of them as highly intellectual businessmen. Then/still they would be concerned with money and power.

Now 'Money and Power' makes me think of Coolio and also a certain group of little boys from a certain little gamey school down here in our little haven that call themselves the FreeWorld Wanksters. These guys put 'money and power' side by side with 'respect' and call the whole soup gangsterism. So now, I think we're dealing with gangsters. Or wanksters. Either way…

I'd say that the definition of gangsterism is loyalty – doing unto others as you would them do unto you and sticking together no matter what, for the sake of keeping the peace in the hood – but some others would say it is 'respect'. So since according to the previous scientifically proven fact our parliamentarians are gangsters, their main concern must be respect. But if respect is their main concern, I think it's alright to say that somebody somewhere needs to redefine "respect".

I watched that whole thing on the TV and laughed. I mean, damn! We used to conduct out interact meetings with more dignity despite the fact that 'happa' incidents like the President sleeping with the Secretary who is the Treasurers' girlfriend created immense amounts of friction between the members of the club (which makes me wonder… maybe these guys got 'issues' no?!). If the younger generation of the country laughing at you is the sense of respect these guys got, well then I guess it's understandable that people rant and rave about it even though they don't really know what they're ranting and raving about!

Growing Up

I cleaned up my room today. This is phenomenal and blog-worthy because:
1.) My room is (WAS!!!) the biggest freaking mess on earth. (Should have taken pictures to prove this, but too late!)
2.) The muck on the floor has been accumulating since April, and the floor itself hasn’t been swept since then
3.) The table and bookshelf were removed from my room a week ago. I.e.: all my books, cds, and crap lie strewn across the floor wherever they are dropped.
4.) There is dust EVERYWHERE and cobwebs occupy an eighth of the space
5.) I had the girls over less than a week ago, and their wedding attire, party attire, accessories, shoes, makeup etc… are still heaped up on my bed.
6.) My clothes from the trip to the “remote village in the middle of nowhere” (very smelly and gathering mildew) are heaped up in a corner. (The clothes hamper lies somewhere underneath it I’m sure.)
So yes, I proved a point no!? Anyway, like I said, I cleaned up my room. This took a rough period of about eight hours, with the help of the maid. Unfortunately, the completion of the whole task didn’t leave me as satisfied as I expected it would. Thus I shall label this event of “cleaning up my room” the first anti-climax of the season (The season, by the way, is “right after ALs”). Yet despite its’ nature, it did have its’ moments, which I will now go through in no particular order:
The old Love Letters: Now, those that sucker no.1 sent me are still inside that little pale-blue bag that I always kept them in, and I read them every time a long-lost friend comes over, dwelling on how sadly romantic he was etc etc… These don’t really inspire any emotional changes within me really, although I must say they are quite well written and should succeed in deceiving any poor creature in my (excellent) state of mind. So anyway, it’s not the rainbow coloured cards or the perfumed (gag) letters I’m talking about, but those secret ones that I wrote him, without anybody’s knowledge. The ones I wrote when I was so totally pissed off I could say all kinds of really really nasty things to him. The ones I discreetly decided I would tell NOBODY about. These letters are written in scrawling letters on pieces of random paper, presumably take from the dustbin, and they made me feel good. The handwriting makes it obvious that I was pissed as bleeding hell, but the words! Damn! You’d think I was twenty-six and not sixteen, reading that stuff! Ha! Okay, yeah, so that made me feel real good, but I won’t dwell on it, cus it might – just might – result in some unprecedented level of gloating.
Taking the old posters down: THIS experience was… different. I had long outgrown most of the artists on my wall, except probably Eminem, but taking them off the walls was very significant. It left the walls blank (after the imagination is stretched far enough and one ceases to see the millions of pencilled in rhymes and verses on the paint) , impressionable, which made me think of my mind as blank and impressionable, cleaned up of all the muck stuffed in there during AL coursework.
This brings us to the end-result which left my room looking cleaner, neater and actually bigger, and ME feeling all grown up. I’m serious. It was hilariously elating. I just had to share it!

Spitting out the demons

This blog is not dying. Because I am angry and I have a headache, which means I'm inspired again.

I am angry. I say I am angry because my eyes hurt and I'm sleepy, but I can't sleep. I can't sleep because I'm thinking about how fucked up my life is. I think this is the glitch cus my life is NOT fucked up. I am an average teenager with a million stupid problems and I love to think that my problems are the biggest, so I just believe my life is fucked up whereas it really is not. I'm going around in circles. But then again, that's okay since I can't go around in squares. So I will go around in circles and possibly ovals thinking about everything in my life which has the potential to be fucked up, but is really not, as long as I choose not to label it "fucked up".

The "fucked up" cycle: A cycle can't start anywhere but I will start with what's foremost in my head right now (always). It can't be mentioned. The second thing on my mind is the same as the first and thus can't be mentioned. I am going to be elusive and call it illusive. The Ego. My ego is in pain. Oh poor dear darling. But my ego is in pain because I have subconsciously chosen to keep it in pain. But if I am consciously aware that I have subconsciously chosen to keep it in pain, then I can consciously decide to undo this subconscious decision right? Wrong. Well, right. So I have consciously decided to undo the subconscious decision, but at the same time I have also subconsciously decided not to give in to my conscious. Which is probably the stupidest move a human (or animal) mind can make, but that's called imperfection. Or the subconscious. It's a vicious fucking cycle you see. But I know where it started. It started with not listening to what mamma says and getting laid. See when you get laid, the sucker keeps taking you somewhere you've been before but you feel like you haven't been. You're tripping. And you can't get out of the trip because when the trip is falling in love, then getting out of the trip is falling out of love. But you can't fucking fall out of love. So you get on another trip called falling out of love. And this trip involves falling in love again. But this time you can't be sure if you're actually falling in love or just tripping. But then since falling in love is anyway a trip, you're always tripping. The only thing you can know is the only thing you keep coming back to. You're still in love. With sucker no.1

This leads to sucker no.2 who is still very much amazing. But this is crazy because that sucker no.2 is really a sucker, and not just somebody who gets called a sucker out of a sense of "sour grapes". So fuck that. Another conscious subconscious denial of the conscious. This 'alliteration' of words helps to create a sense of the confusion inside my head.

Which in turn leads to sucker no.3. This one made me realize that once you get bitten once, it gets worse every next time you get bitten. This is a pathetically sad truth. Yet it would be a very happy truth if this was universal, which I am not yet sure about. I think I'm going to conduct a poll on this, and see if it's universal. But I'm thinking natural selection will leave sucker no.3 out of this whole thing. I am aware that I am confused about nothing. There are only two possibilities and I know which possibility is wiser to accept, based on the healthier nature of its outcome, but this is conscious, and my subconscious is the one that rules.

I am angry that I allow myself to be consciously ruled by my subconscious, but then again, don't we all?

I am happy that writing helps.

While chatting

"Sometimes life turns out to be better than dreams"

Shez