Friday

The White Stripes.

Precisely:

We aren't slaves of our routines; we're instead tortured by our dreams. (FNV)

Touché.

Oh, shiny!

As a science-fiction and fantasy fan, I can't help but feel a bit afraid of this new fad with zombies. Zombies are always cool, of course, but somehow I fear that some shitty writer will come up with some new kind of sparkling, teenage zombies, and that would be not only worse than death, but also worse than undeath.

The stand alone friend

I was talking with a friend about something that made me think of you. You and her have one thing in common, as you both are my "stand alone friends". You and I, we met by chance, by some boldness of character I used to have, that for some reason I no longer possess. We met a few of each other's friends, but we don't have any friend in common - it's just us, just you and me, just me and you. There's no one else when it comes to us. That's the meaning of a stand alone friend. That's one of the things that keeps you apart from the rest, that makes you the most safe of my friends. That and the friendship we've crafted over the last seven years out of pure and thin air - there's nothing holding it, there's nothing keeping it from vanishing into oblivion, and yet it remains. It's still there, for you and me, like something we keep in the cupboard and know it'll always be there, even if we don't look at it that often. We see each other what, once, twice per year? There's no excuse for that - we don't live far away from each other, our lives are not complicated enough to keep us from seeing each other. We just don't meet often, and as odd as it sounds, it's actually all right. When we finally see each other, everything remains just as extraordinary as it was four, five, six years ago. To the eyes of each other, we haven't changed much. Nor do I think we will. To the eyes of each other, there is no disillusionment, no disappointment, no sorrow. Only the friendship that still binds us. In times like this, bleak and cold, such a friend, with everything it implies, is an invaluable treasure. In times like this, when for some reason I forgot how to believe in love, I think of you and I remember: there's still her. Not to feel something like love (that kind of love, you know), but to remember there's one person in my life to whom distance couldn't keep apart, and to whom I feel something that is not only friendship, but something else entirely.

Friday

Source: Radar

I know Interpol were here last friday as well, but I have heard nothing else since last Friday - all right, I lie, I've listened to a couple of Okkervil River's songs. Really. When it comes to music, the week was entirely devoted to Interpol. I liked them already, but it took me the gig to understand just how much. Straight to the top - they are really, really good. The gig was great, of course, would have been way better in a place with better accoustics, and maybe with a more skilled sound crew, but the sound issues didn't last much. They had this very simple stage, just the instruments and some metallic-like collumns in the back, five of them, with coloured light pouring through. Nothing else - no spinning three-hundred-and-sixty-oh-my-fucking-god-degrees, not much. Just the lights and them: it was all that it took to prove that a good live band is not necessarily the band with better gizmos and stage-pyrotechnics (I still like Muse though). Anyway. They were truly remarkable. From their opening song, Success, to their last one, Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down, and including the rest of the awesomeness: among others, Narc, C'mere, Obstacle 2, Barricade, Lights (this one was outstanding), Lenght of Love, PDA, and the always outstanding Slow Hands. Some were missing (Evil, Obstacle 2), but that is always inevitable unless you're watching the first concert of a band presenting their first album (and even so...). So far, November is the best month of this wretched year - and it has a soundtrack by Interpol.

Emotional plague

He coined the right words, as usual: "emotional plague". The translation is mine, of course, but I think it is accurate. Anyway, as far as my circles are concerned, that "emotional plague" hasn't afflicted only around one third of the people around me: with two or three exceptions, it has swept pretty much everyone. Relationships around me are trembling and crumbling, one after another. Casualties have been immense, with me among them. This is not a complaint, mind you; it's just curious that 2010 is being such a rough year on relationships, that so few of those I can see still retain their promise. All the others, by one reason or another, from the most shaky to the most (seemingly) stong ones, have collapsed. I'm not glad that it's not just me doing the old walk int he shadows, of course; but I can see that there's more people feeling exactly the same. Odd, to say the least.

And now, let's meet these new yorkers at the old bullfight arena

C'mere

Following that, I thought about writing something on the ability we show sometimes to self-delude ourselves, to say that something has no value, as if our saying would indeed change the value of something, even the value for ourselves. I know not the when or the how - I just know it to be true, and I know exactly what will follow. But I'm writing exactly what I said I wouldn't write, and I'll stop here and stick to the original plan: there's no need for me to write anything when someone else did it better than I ever could. As lyrics, with guitar and bass and drums and one hell of a voice. Interpol, C'mere (Antics, 2004):

It's way too late to be this locked inside ourselves
The trouble is that you're in love with someone else
It should be me. Oh, it should be me
Sacred parts, your get aways
You come along on summer days
Tenderly, tastefully

And so may, we make time
Try to find somebody else
This place is mine

You said today, you know exactly how I feel
I had my doubts little girl
I'm in love with something real
It could be me, that's changing!

And so may, we make time
To try and find somebody else
Who has a line

Now season with health
Two lovers walk a lakeside mile
Try pleasing with stealth, rodeo
See what stands long ending fast

Oh, how I love you
And in the evening, when we are sleeping
We are sleeping. Oh, we are sleeping

And so may, we make time
We try to find somebody else
Who has a line

Now season with health
Two lovers walk a lakeside mile
Try pleasing with stealth, rodeo
See what stands long ending fast

And it goes like this:

Friday

Pains of Being Pure at Heart

Bee

Some friends of mine used to tell me back in the day - I'm sorry, I can't find time, I'm rather busy at work, social life went bananas long time ago, etc. I never understood it, really: even though I was employed before, it wasn't that busy. Well. Three days later and I can say - not it is that busy. And I'm not complaining, mind you. Not yet, at least. After so long doing so little, it's nice to be able to spend eight hours a day with my mind focused in something useful, instead of dragging itself around my so-called personal life. It's not that I don't think about it anymore; it's more like it, I have other things to think about.

Change

Happens to everyone.