Yet another track uploaded to my Soundcloud account!
“There’s this brook running through the forest not far from where I live. And just as it’s about to leave the woods and enter the open fields, there is an old weeping willow growing at the edge of the solid ground, leaning over the stream, which in the early days of every summer gets more aggressive for a couple of weeks. And when the Moon is out, and it lights up the branches and the leaves of the willow dancing on wind, what appears on the running water is a festival of silver lights. It’s the most mesmerizing, and at the same time refreshing thing I know. Just to watch it happen, every night when the Moon is up and placed right. So small and yet so spectacular. Feels almost wrong to keep this perfect show just for myself.”
An excerpt from The Blue Night. I’m quoting myself now, this is who I am.
No lyrics for this one. I hope you’ll enjoy!
P.S. Spoiler alert! These music posts won’t end anytime soon…
Another track on my Soundcloud account!
I hoped for Sunken to give these vibes of diving, peaceful floating underwater, with bubbles ascending around you and the marine life doing its thing. This dance to a muffled melody in its weird way resembles flight, so I tried to make it light, weightless, but at the same time I wanted to make sure that the pressure of the water remains detectable.
No lyrics for this one.
Hope you enjoy!
I’ve covered trains, I believe. Let’s drop them for a couple of weeks. Time to target something I love just as much: highways. Where the whole universe suddenly shrinks down to however wide the road and the visible landscape around is, so that you can be sure you’re focusing on the right things.
Got those highway blues, can’t you hear my motor runnin’
Flyin’ down the road with my foot on the floor
All the way in town they can hear me comin’
Ford’s about to drop, she won’t do no more
This wonderful verse comes from Doobie Brothers’ song “Rockin’ down the highway”, for those of you who didn’t know. There hasn’t been a personal playlist that I made which didn’t include this song since 2004. It’s powerful, energizing, melodically perfect, and of course – close to my heart. Not so much because, as it is later told in the song, I have a history of the police chasing me, nor do I burn my Ford’s engine on a regular basis. To be honest, I don’t even drive a Ford. But we agree on something that is important enough to make me and the Doobie Brothers brothers: my God, aren’t highways just… perfect?
I had the opportunity to travel a bit the last couple of days. I had a great time altogether, I’m really well rested and ready for what looks like the most important two weeks of my life so far.
I thought I’ll do something different this time. I share my thoughts like promised, and already expanded on that idea, and started posting songs I wrote. Now I decided to share bits from my life, big things that are happening to me, or just things I hope people would find as interesting as I do.
The point of this is to make you, and myself in the process understand how the most common things can be enjoyed. How everyday things are an amazing experience just because they went right. This philosophy of mine is something that I noticed about myself sometime ago, and I hope there are people who feel this way too. Here I go.
Fading stream, just a quiet river,
Days are long and the nights are silver,
Silent swell of the Neptune’s daughters,
Sailing on the calmest waters.
Leaving with the morning breeze,
Seeking shelter in open seas,
Heart at peace, and my soul won’t falter,
Sailing on the calmest waters.
I’ve mentioned my summer home a couple of times before. As you can imagine, it’s a place where I live most of my summer (most of my summers). I’ve been living here over eight years now, at first for the entire year, nowadays just the summers. It’s not only a beautiful and magical place, but an important one too, for me that is.
I was born in a small city. Wasn’t special at all, neither objectively nor subjectively, to be honest, it’s sometimes disturbing, thinking how irrelevant this city is to me today, considering how much I’m affected by my current homes. No valuable memories from there, good or bad. It’s always fun to visit, and I do that fairly often, but I don’t really think of it as of my “home”. I stopped doing that the moment I moved to that new house, in the province of a province. Forests, fields and lakes away from the closest city, but still close enough to the civilization to enjoy all the benefits that the XXI century guarantees. House, that I helped build with my own hands. Literally. God knows how many days I spent on the construction site. Apart from my obvious excitement whenever we as a family went out of town for a day when I was a kid, that was my contribution to creating our new home. The family legend says, that my parents, who loved living in a city before, decided that they want to move to the country only after my brother’s constant crying back when he was a toddler forced them to take long car rides across the neighboring villages, because that seemed to be the only thing that could make him fall asleep. So I suppose we both contributed to moving to the Beautiful Nowhere in our own way.
Listen to the beating heart
Of the tired realm of green,
When the sky clears out,
When the stars shine bright,
Can you feel?
When the year entire comes to pass,
When the Moons and Worlds align at last,
When we raise our prayers to the stars,
Far beyond the doubts and fears,
Beyond the darkened times,
When the cold day ends,
And the starlight reigns
When the cold day ends and warm night falls,
When the Silver Spirit my name calls,
When I enter Astral Temple’s halls,
I’ve never had an imaginary friend as a child. As a teenager, though, I did have imaginary enemies. I don’t want to talk about it, really. But I thought it would be a sort of a, you know, funny, maybe intriguing intro for this post, which I consider the most important one yet.
As Colin Mochrie once said, “you know, for as long as I can remember, I’ve had memories”. That’s another intro I considered. But I didn’t really like the idea of quoting someone in the first sentence. Also, more importantly, this post isn’t exactly about memories. Partially – maybe, if I led it into that direction, which is something I planned originally. But in the end, it would take too many forced analogies etc. Just problematic.
Welcome to my worlds. Now what could that mean? Any ideas? I mean, realistic ideas? For the sake of the argument I’ll assume you know my writing, so, you know me, can’t be too ambitious. But it’s important to me. It’s something I always wanted to ask other people about. I only asked one guy. His answer wasn’t exactly satisfactory. Or maybe I just didn’t like it? I can’t be sure.
Here’s what I want to ask you: how is your relationship with your imagination? How is it doing? You two close? You should be. You hang out often enough? What do you do together? Where does she take you?
“Everyone has a story of his own”. What do you understand by that statement? We all know what a story is, but what is a person’s story? Is it the history of his struggle? The battles he’s fighting? His origin? I suppose the immediate answer is that it’s just an explanation for the person’s current state and disposition, presented with short parts, excerpts taken from his screenplay from scenes already played out. That’s the only version of the definition of a person’s story that can make it be considered at least somewhat interesting, universally. But I look at stories, people’s stories differently.
I think it’s fair to say that everyone has big things happening in his life every now and then, both miracles and tragedies. You see then why I don’t find stories composed only of those moments so fascinating. If you heard enough of them, if you know how your own story is constructed, all stories built in that fashion become universal, indistinguishable. There are two things, that truly determine the value of a story, be it real or fictional: the world, and I’ll talk about it in a future post, and the context.
I’m not a particularly emotional person. And until recently, I wasn’t really affected by neither beauty nor tragedy, and it came naturally to me. Perhaps it was the depression preventing me from doing so, perhaps it’s because for a long time in my adult life I actively avoided taking the time to try and care on an emotional level. This only made the fact that this whole time I’ve been falling in love with seemingly common places so easily, liked I briefly mentioned in one of my previous posts, even harder to understand.
I said before, that I enjoy the common. I call it the “beautiful nothing”. The cornfield as seen through a window on a train, a lonely tree growing in a field of barley, that sort of thing. Of course, many people do find cornfields weirdly appealing. And what isn’t magical about a single tree in a sea of gold? But you don’t understand how much “common” exactly I can and do enjoy. And even I don’t understand what makes them so special to me.