Watching the Sun reflect off the East River. A thick beam of blinding light, directed over the surface of the nervous water. Exclusively beckoning to me, forward. This is my morning prayer. A road paved by stones of incandescent shouts, from glassy shimmers, stretched across like yawning wings and rolling out as water racing through a virgin canal. From that height above, came to that messenger below, an extension, a bridge of fire, pebbles of plasma spill from its sides toward the banks. The palm of your heat, the channel of your calm, secluded valley, like two great falls succumbing in face of one another. The glow of you straight into my darkened cowl, bound in sacrament, stitched onto each crevice which may avail and all chase candidacy to fill of their hands, a single pour of you. I don’t ask you to stay, I don’t search heavy of your habit or labor, I slip away as you do. Under into the sober city. My morning prayer concluded, awakening into the width of my day.
Have you ever dreamt of someone you know but its really someone else entirely? For all purposes, they are represented as such-and-such but in reality its just your mind either trying to hide the true identity or just getting distracted by another thought in your subconscious. I figure dreams have no reason to lie, since I feel lying comes from consciousness and as dreams operate below this level, I assume its the latter alternative of distraction. The mind will gather in a MacGuyver-esque craft, anything available in your recent subconscious and use it as a palette to paint a surreal portrait of your emotions. You have to view a dream, after you wake up, with distance, with a slight slant of the head and squint of the eyes, you must expand your vision by defocusing. Otherwise, you’ll take your dreams too literal and find yourself not getting the bigger picture.
What do you do with a TV series after you’re done with it? If you own the DVD, you can’t really re-watch it. That investment of time doesn’t seem like something one would want to repeat more than once. Its not like with a film you like, usually running an average of 2 hours, after which you’ve completed what you set out to enjoy. With a TV series, which may run for multiple seasons, committing to a revisit seems like a task. Something assigned rather than volunteered. Or maybe its just me.
Having completed the first season of Aaron Sorkin’s Newsroom over the span of the last two weeks, I now realize, I probably won’t watch it again. And let it be known, I really enjoyed this show. Despite my distance from current events and politics, Newsroom is just my cup of tea, served and seeped in dialogue heavy, reference-rich, dramatically dynamic narratives, add to that a surprising amount of humor (or even goofiness, I would say) and you round out all I could want from some cable TV entertainment. That said (or written), I did not watch this on HBO, I do not have cable. I bought a somewhat questionable copy of the first season from Telco, a local discount department store in Bensonhurst. The price of $4.99 could never be anything but right. So why wouldn’t I watch it again?
Well, for starters two weeks is a long time. On 1 or 2 occasions I watched two back-to-back episodes but I usually conserved myself to one per viewing. An hour is a long amount of time to sit and stare at a flat screen if a movie is not running. Which is why I couldn’t binge watch the full season in one or two days. I rather enjoyed the spaces in between, typically a day or days left for me to pause and reflect on what’s happened to the characters; also to contemplate Aaron’s writing which feels akin to listening to a good album or reading a chapter of good literature. At least for myself, such absorption of entertainment media requires a rest before moving on, in the case of Sorkin, his idealistic, romanticized style usually follows through and accompanies me into my world before I bring it back to the show for the next episode. But now that its over, the show isn’t short enough for me to go through that experience again.
I guess the way to consider it best would be, as one would a good novel one’s borrowed from the library. Use it and bring it back. I want to give this DVD away. I don’t even want to watch another season, as the first is so complete to me. Will gets to stay on the air (for the time being), Mack confesses about Northwestern, and Jim and Maggy do not hook-up (which is perfect in my book). The latter was especially important to me as Jim and Maggy painfully remind me of Jim and Pam of The Office, who also do not hook up in the first season but do so eventually. I’m pretty sure Jim and Maggy will hook up but I want to crystalize them forever in the confines of season one and assume they never will end up together as they most likely will.
For a show whose premise is that the quality of entertainment could be better, Newsroom surprises me in its delivery of comedy, which would find itself more at home on an episode of Big Bang Theory, with characters not too far behind from co-existing in the same TV universe as those of ACN. Its still funny and I’m a fan of Big Bang but its odd nonetheless to hear some of the things Sloan Sabbath says or watching Will struggle to put on a pair of pants. The romance between Maggy and Jim is also hard to swallow. The only redemption is the two aren’t allowed to finally bring the romance to a fruition. So as long as they are in love and don’t do anything about it, then the romance is good enough for me.
This was a lot longer than I wanted it to be. Maybe its an indication that I won’t give the DVD away and wait for a cold, wet, winter’s day when I’m sick as a dog and in the mood for only soup, tea, and coming back to my dear yet zany friends at ACN. To remind myself to push boundaries, be truthful and don’t be ashamed of being flawed, everyone and everything is a work in progress, even and especially Progress itself.
It took me a while to endear to The Cure. Back in the early 2000’s, everything 80’s kind of made a comeback and my initial reaction was to not participate, so I resisted as best I could for as long as possible. This resistance especially included: new wave bands most of my friends were obsessing over and newer bands who were imitating that sound. Eventually, I gave Disintegration a chance and it wasn’t too bad, Head on the Door made me feel even better about them but it wasn’t until I heard Pornography that I discovered The Cure I loved. And I would have loved to remix one of the songs from that album but then again, I don’t think I could remove myself from the original enough to offer a fresh perspective—By comparison, Just Like Heaven is a song I barely know, though I’ve heard it many times and even own the album its on, (I think I only listen to Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me for 2 or 3 songs, mainly If Only Tonight We Could Sleep). But listening to the acapella and the parts that immediately stood out for me, the remix started to pull a shape together inside my head. Robert Smith’s voice is so unique, its frail yet powerful, discordant while still harmonious, its just the right amount of release and restrain to evoke that bare, vulnerable, maybe even desperate quality to which this Cure fan finds instant affinity. That quality was all I needed, and using just a handful of samples, I hoped to create something intimate yet exposed. Enjoy!
ISLANDS IN THE SKY The west coast is known for its chilled out, laid back demeanor. However, there’s something about Anonymous Musik which can be attributed to more than just simple geography. First off, his name is Anonymous Musik and according to his bandcamp, “the question isn’t who made it—it’s why?” And the answer to that would clearly be illustrated in the music itself, should the listener so kindly oblige. And they’ll get the chance to very well do so as Anonymous has released a new album at the start of this week titled, A Wax Painting of Sound.
Imbued with a jazzy brightness, Wax Painting is only helped, too wonderfully, by the LA emcee’s lyrics which, though meditative, never brood or sulk. Its in fact, pretty impressive how light Anonymous could keep his often substantial content. With a patient, relaxed delivery that may recall Slug of Atmosphere at times, we feel good listening to the flow before even realizing that the lyrics are pretty dope as well. On Nourishing the Rain, which is probably my favorite track, he opens:
"Effortless in nature/ everything collapses eventually it doesn’t favor/ the weak over the strong; the strong over the weak/ a whole life’s work ends to dust beneath the street/ and you’ll become the foundation you help create/ mother nature knows no bounds and certainly makes no mistakes/ she loves creation but rightfully she’ll take what’s hers/ and with my voice, I replicate it using words."
This isn’t film noir jazz, its Sunday afternoon cool; a muted trumpet on a hot summer’s abandoned stillness. And that lightness provides the weightlessness of Miyazaki’s floating islands or Mercurial swiftness—Wax Painting is the vivid self-portrait of a sound not defined by the frame or the wall onto which it’s mounted but rather the subject itself, centered and looking outward. Extending itself with love and inspiration. Check out the album and if you dig it, download it for free.
I was planning to go to Afropunk today. There was a pretty good amount of artists that I was looking forward to seeing and a handful of others that I only discovered from the roster alone. Today, however, was one of those days to which I wake up in the extreme awe that its Saturday and I have an apartment to myself (because I live alone). Nothing could beat a cloudy day at home with my MPC and browsing samples till a beat starts to slip together like a mess of dishes in my sink built from a few days of abandonment. Sometimes, its only when you abandon the plan, that anything of true substance surfaces.
When I lived in my old neighborhood in the Bronx, Summer Saturday Nights were occasionally decorated by the sounds of a mild-to-medium raucous from outside my window where a fight between 2 or more people had broken out. In Bensonhurst, BK: Summer Saturday Nights invite the occasional scuffle between Cat and Raccoon, with two other raccoons curiously walking backyard to backyard, fence by fence, either to help out their buddy in distress or spectate.
I can’t say just what exactly it is, but seeing three raccoons in real life, that close, I feel like I could get jumped a whole lot worse out here than all my years uptown.
I have no religion but I’m not an atheist because it takes just as much faith to believe God doesn’t exist as it does to convince yourself of the contrary. In essence, atheism is the worship of the God of Non-God. I am not agnostic because I am neither without knowledge nor being without it, would I accept that it does not concern me whether or not I remain ignorant to such aspects of personal revelation. Its polar, Gnosticism is the closest to expressing what I believe. I believe there is a universe and that the experience of knowing its existence is a valid knowledge. Furthermore, Universe is God. God is Universe. However you choose to interpret the binary relationship between Self and Other, its all for the common end of a communal balance between the two. And while religion is definitely one, its not exclusively the only (or for that matter the best) mean to achieving that end.