Jeff Buckley - I Never Asked to Be Your Mountain
A friend said to me, yesterday, "I'm scared that he doesn't love me because my family is so normal." I couldn't help but sympathize.
When I first moved to Toronto I had to stop asking people about their parents and their families because I found more and more that parents had died, divorced, that people were adopted or their siblings were estranged, that they ran away from home when they were teenagers or else abused. I couldn't assume that people had "regular" families; a mother, a father and brothers and/or sisters. I found forms of families otherwise regarded as deviant or irregular which functioned as families fully. And I found them exciting and new and intimidating and felt insecure in the stories they told.
I come from a "regular" family. They're normal. We're normal. I have a mother and a father who are still married and very loving and supportive. I have two brothers who have jobs and children and significant others, a house and a car and a cat, one owns a business and the other is a website developer.
Boring.
But there's nothing wrong with this. It's strange that I can feel so insecure about a loving and supportive family that gets along. I guess it makes one feel themselves normal; average. There is nothing special or unusual or remarkable about being average, it's a form of gray. But then there is the family on paper vs the family in reality, the self on paper vs the self in reality. Different forms. Completely.
Katie was one of the most beautiful, kind I'd yet met and she brought me to her parents Toronto home. They were lawyers. They owned a home and had built a pond in back filled with goldfish. They had a modest art collection. I spoke with her father about The United Nations as he leaned on his breakfast nook, his pale blue dress shirt tucked into his slacks. We drank wine on their back patio. It was a few days since they had installed lights on the CN Tower and you could see it in the distance, bringing my brimmed wonder to spill.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
November 25, 2010: The Ramones - Pet Cemetery
The Ramones - Pet Cemetery
I remember the room. I remember the woman, frail with glasses, standing in front of us and kind speaking of God. I remember a picture on the wall of a man holding Jesus above the water, cradled. I remember someone asking the woman if animals go to Heaven.
"No," she said, "animals don't have souls like people have so they don't go to Heaven."
I went home and hugged my dog, Susie. She had been roaming the house, waiting for me when I was away for as long remembered and I loved her, she sat next to me when I was picked on by my brothers, when my parents fought, when my friend couldn't play. She loved and anticipated love. I was young and she was the closest thing to humanity I knew.
A friend asked me today, "How many books do you read a year?" and I did the math and figure it around a hundred. I've read Dostoevsky and Henry Miller, immersed myself in Shakespeare and the brothers Grimm, have known the words of Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath, Garcia Marquez and Garcia Lorca. I think I've had enough of a foundation laid that I can finally read the Bible and not tell young children that their most holy of loved family will not join them in the magical made-up land they can look forward to when they die.
I've begun. It is the corner stone of our form of literature and I've begun.
I remember the room. I remember the woman, frail with glasses, standing in front of us and kind speaking of God. I remember a picture on the wall of a man holding Jesus above the water, cradled. I remember someone asking the woman if animals go to Heaven.
"No," she said, "animals don't have souls like people have so they don't go to Heaven."
I went home and hugged my dog, Susie. She had been roaming the house, waiting for me when I was away for as long remembered and I loved her, she sat next to me when I was picked on by my brothers, when my parents fought, when my friend couldn't play. She loved and anticipated love. I was young and she was the closest thing to humanity I knew.
A friend asked me today, "How many books do you read a year?" and I did the math and figure it around a hundred. I've read Dostoevsky and Henry Miller, immersed myself in Shakespeare and the brothers Grimm, have known the words of Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath, Garcia Marquez and Garcia Lorca. I think I've had enough of a foundation laid that I can finally read the Bible and not tell young children that their most holy of loved family will not join them in the magical made-up land they can look forward to when they die.
I've begun. It is the corner stone of our form of literature and I've begun.
Monday, November 22, 2010
November 22, 2010: Neko Case - I'm an Animal
Neko Case - I'm an Animal
Sitting with Laura behind her bar in the day, boxed in by four buildings and the sun overhead a thing rarely seen and seemed new though I saw that space in the night twice a week at least. She was reading horoscopes and telling me about witches, about astrology, about the stars.
At one point I mentioned how this thing of beauty, whatever it was, "broke my heart." Laura felt sympathy for me but no, it was good, it was a glorious breaking that I wanted for for it was in beauty. She didn't understand.
I remember an immense admiration for John Keats when I was introduced to his work. Same with Nick Drake. I tend towards those who, it seems, have their names writ on water. Perhaps it's something inherent in my body, I tend toward sadness and think under any circumstance my body would react in this same wanton way. These is a beauty there, everywhere, and it kills me slowly with sorrowfully bowed strings.
And this song kills me. There's a humour there too, if you want.
Sitting with Laura behind her bar in the day, boxed in by four buildings and the sun overhead a thing rarely seen and seemed new though I saw that space in the night twice a week at least. She was reading horoscopes and telling me about witches, about astrology, about the stars.
At one point I mentioned how this thing of beauty, whatever it was, "broke my heart." Laura felt sympathy for me but no, it was good, it was a glorious breaking that I wanted for for it was in beauty. She didn't understand.
I remember an immense admiration for John Keats when I was introduced to his work. Same with Nick Drake. I tend towards those who, it seems, have their names writ on water. Perhaps it's something inherent in my body, I tend toward sadness and think under any circumstance my body would react in this same wanton way. These is a beauty there, everywhere, and it kills me slowly with sorrowfully bowed strings.
And this song kills me. There's a humour there too, if you want.
Friday, November 19, 2010
November 19, 2010: Daft Punk - Da Funk
Daft Punk - Da Funk
Been in a funk lately. Have moved beyond after past night.
Played in a show that felt good, was a part with many wonderful people I respect and admire. Met many more who were charming and kind. Shared a cigarette with a girl who has been provoking my silences. Drank whiskey from a flask. Heard some beautiful ear splitting music. Brought myself to the floor, it was shaking and I was flung into a restless sea of arms and bodies. No judgment, no sex, just bodies into each other. After, two young girls walked me home full of flirt, to my door.
It was most what the city has been meant to bring me. Or, how I perceive. It was refreshing and I've spent today wandering, listening to music, working, was up at 8:00. New. Can't hear right, though.
Ready for the coming months. I know I stare down the most difficult days.
Been in a funk lately. Have moved beyond after past night.
Played in a show that felt good, was a part with many wonderful people I respect and admire. Met many more who were charming and kind. Shared a cigarette with a girl who has been provoking my silences. Drank whiskey from a flask. Heard some beautiful ear splitting music. Brought myself to the floor, it was shaking and I was flung into a restless sea of arms and bodies. No judgment, no sex, just bodies into each other. After, two young girls walked me home full of flirt, to my door.
It was most what the city has been meant to bring me. Or, how I perceive. It was refreshing and I've spent today wandering, listening to music, working, was up at 8:00. New. Can't hear right, though.
Ready for the coming months. I know I stare down the most difficult days.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
November 18, 2010: No Age - Losing Feeling
No Age - Losing Feeling
There's something holy in music that transcends popular forms.
I know that's a strange thing to admit a third of your way into life but at least it has resonated and fully.
I looked down into the crowd that had converged over this man who manipulated sounds to fill the room and waves. And lights around him were being mirrored onto the ceiling. And some covered their bodies. Most were to the side and casual and barely took note but it seemed like the whole room had become family.
And then another band played and the room filled and I could barely hear and some strange white noise penetrated the background and slightly hurt. And I watched in awe for until the balcony cleared and then went into it all, every body converging onto each other. The first thing I loved was the floor in a shaking. I stood still and all my body moved.
I still can't hear quite right just now and my body is tired and alive.
There's something holy in music that transcends popular forms.
I know that's a strange thing to admit a third of your way into life but at least it has resonated and fully.
I looked down into the crowd that had converged over this man who manipulated sounds to fill the room and waves. And lights around him were being mirrored onto the ceiling. And some covered their bodies. Most were to the side and casual and barely took note but it seemed like the whole room had become family.
And then another band played and the room filled and I could barely hear and some strange white noise penetrated the background and slightly hurt. And I watched in awe for until the balcony cleared and then went into it all, every body converging onto each other. The first thing I loved was the floor in a shaking. I stood still and all my body moved.
I still can't hear quite right just now and my body is tired and alive.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
November 17, 2010 - Townes Van Zandt - Nothin'
Townes Van Zandt - Nothin'
Lately time passes without a word. Barely a whisper. Every day seems like the last and every outcome predictable. I wake, shower, breakfast. Coffee, reading, writing. Home, food, writing. Then comes either a drink with friends, a show with whatever band will have me, a movie alone or more writing, more reading. In between I contact people to help me press an album. I meet pretty faces and attempt a flirt but just say words and walk away. My phone rings and I hope it that girl I met, a dear friend who wants my company, but it becomes someone from work wanting to switch a shift.
It's not a bad life. But there are times when the line of thought becomes so tedious and all the actions so predictable that I long for some surprise, something pleasant to just fall. Or, better, to rise.
The black, the red I love so much is becoming some vague form of grey. And it's more frustrating than most anything I've known.
Lately time passes without a word. Barely a whisper. Every day seems like the last and every outcome predictable. I wake, shower, breakfast. Coffee, reading, writing. Home, food, writing. Then comes either a drink with friends, a show with whatever band will have me, a movie alone or more writing, more reading. In between I contact people to help me press an album. I meet pretty faces and attempt a flirt but just say words and walk away. My phone rings and I hope it that girl I met, a dear friend who wants my company, but it becomes someone from work wanting to switch a shift.
It's not a bad life. But there are times when the line of thought becomes so tedious and all the actions so predictable that I long for some surprise, something pleasant to just fall. Or, better, to rise.
The black, the red I love so much is becoming some vague form of grey. And it's more frustrating than most anything I've known.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
November 16, 2010: Bon Iver - Woods
Bon Iver - Woods: youtube.com/watch?v=tZYVJlhnqxQ
I used to listen to Radiohead's OK Computer every night while I was sleeping. It would play on my stereo above my head and play me to sleep, haunt my dreams. I would often skip "Fitter Happier" if I was still awake because it scared me out of myself.
Then Kid A came out. I remember driving my Dad's half-ton truck to the mall and buying it, putting it in the CD player as I drove home in the dark, hearing it for the first time. I remember the street lights in the gloaming. I listened to twenty seconds of a song and skiped it, the next song wouldn't be any good and I'd fast forward, skipped every song all the way to the end. I took it out before I even got home, disappointed. I hated it. It wasn't what I expected and it was slow and monotonous and I hated it. I put it aside, didn't listen to it for months. I can't recall why I gave it a second chance but I did and thankfully.
And now I can't help but stop and swell up every time I hear Kid A. It's brilliant.
I've seen things which at first I hate to a retching become those things I love most. I don't understand my physiognomy at times and I'm sure, more and more, that I know myself less and less. And these loves are the most intense loves, perhaps because they fought to win me over.
I used to listen to Radiohead's OK Computer every night while I was sleeping. It would play on my stereo above my head and play me to sleep, haunt my dreams. I would often skip "Fitter Happier" if I was still awake because it scared me out of myself.
Then Kid A came out. I remember driving my Dad's half-ton truck to the mall and buying it, putting it in the CD player as I drove home in the dark, hearing it for the first time. I remember the street lights in the gloaming. I listened to twenty seconds of a song and skiped it, the next song wouldn't be any good and I'd fast forward, skipped every song all the way to the end. I took it out before I even got home, disappointed. I hated it. It wasn't what I expected and it was slow and monotonous and I hated it. I put it aside, didn't listen to it for months. I can't recall why I gave it a second chance but I did and thankfully.
And now I can't help but stop and swell up every time I hear Kid A. It's brilliant.
I've seen things which at first I hate to a retching become those things I love most. I don't understand my physiognomy at times and I'm sure, more and more, that I know myself less and less. And these loves are the most intense loves, perhaps because they fought to win me over.
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