The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.

24.2.11

The Endless Afternoon

Much as I hate to say it, these are those days that seem endless. And please notice that I say neither morning nor night; I say "days". And by those I mean the afternoons.
I hate afternoons. It's that time of day when the most sensible people in the world, the hispanics, will take their siestas. Even animals sleep in the afternoon, goddamm it. Why the hell can't we?
Fucked up, isn't it. If you calculate on an average that you sleep for six hours a day... and spend the other (24-6= 18) 18 hours awake, out of which ten will go in worldly activities, and two more hours spent roaming around the city, waiting for traffic lights and so on, and four hours for BLD (breakfast, lunch....), then that leaves you with exactly two hours to get your act together.
The ideal number of hours of sleep should be equal to eight. From 10 at night to eight in the morning, and this is something my grandparents told me, and is also the norm I found around the net.
So, we sleep for six. Maybe you do, I seem to drink myself to wakefulness. I haven't slept for more than three hours for the last three weeks- so that means I missed out... (10*7= 70, 3*7= 21, 70-21=49, 70*3 weeks= 210 hours, 49*3= 147) 147 hours. WTF was I doing in that time?
No idea. Which means I was drunk. Go figure.

On a serious note, we have, as a generation, begun to sleep late and wake up early. Party long, party deep, wake drowsy and mindfucked. Is it any surprise we are the angry youth, especially first thing in the morning? Maybe if people worldwide got some more sleep, things would be a bit simpler.
Who knows.
And that's one reason why I'd support an old storyline followed by DC, one where Morpheus contacts the JLA about a mysterious star-shaped alien who plans to take over the world through dreams. From his size, I'd say that Freddy Krueger would look like shrimp fried rice to that ugly green single-eyed mother.
They all sleep, and get enslaved... and all right, the blog is going in different directions now- but you get the idea.
So sleep. Take a siesta, it's your right. Have you seen what dogs and cats do in the noontime day? They sleep. That's why they take the time to sigh when we throw a ball for them to catch- they're smarter than that.
Now if only we realized it.

9.2.11

The Inebriated Playlist

"Every move you make...."
The Police croon in my ears as I type, lulling me down to a sense of contentment. You can listen to hard rock, death metal, and rebel. You can listen to lounge/club mixes and get thirsty; listen to pop and dance, listen to western and sing along, no matter how the pitch of your voice.
But it's the essentially soft, lyrical strains like these that really get you.

"I just died in your arms tonight..."
Then winamp moves on to the next item on my liquor-induced playlist. This is a song to make even my wandering mind shut up and sit down. Sometimes you are just compelled to reflect, no matter how bad you think you are, or how good life is. I have not yet heard an alternative to this one, and Cutting Crew got it just right.

"I wake in pain, I dream of love as time runs through my hand..."
Sting. One of the best singers in the world, in my opinion, even after leaving the Police to hit it solo. Desert Rose is just perfect for that sort of mood, when all you want to do is sit down and stare into the sunset, letting past lives and present worries slip by, into a limbo where none else matters.

"Roxanne... You don't have to put on the red light.."
A George Michael classic. On the other hand, Sting is a little faster, but while George Michael puts feeling into his voice for this one, Sting puts in jazz, and a bit more rhythm.

"My life ain't nothing... but this carnival of rust."
Poets of the Fall did their rock stand, but for some reason, this song has the same effect on my as most of the others above- something about its melancholic atmosphere that gets to you.

"Takes more than combat gear.. to make a man; takes more than a license for a gun- confront your enemies, avoid them when you can.. A gentleman will walk but never run."
Sting again. The guy almost seems to sing for this sort of atmosphere. In any case An Englishman in New York is just right- not too much jazz, nor pop; somewhere in between, and balanced by Sting's vocals. This playlist now has me almost staring out again... but some more songs make me think a bit more.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme...
Remember me to one who lives there, she was once... a true love of mine."
Simon and Garfunkel. This song puts me in mind of a gypsy-ish atmosphere... and I can almost feel the moonlight dances and the caravans, the strumming of the guitar, and the gentle movements of scarves, waving in slow, graceful time in tune... this is a haunting melody indeed.

"Trust in my self-righteous suicide... I cry.. when angels deserve to die."
Oh, boy. Trust System of a Down to shake me right down to the roots. With the volume I'd turned up for Scarborough Fair, this one had me deaf for a few moments. System of a Down, one of the most outlandish bands I've heard. If anyone can get their point across, it's these guys. And their Chop Suey.

"The cells I am at the moment will soon die.. but I will be here..."
One of those songs which I picked up as a ringtone, The Servant contributed this song's instrumental for use in Sin City's trailer. It was, in my opinion a bigger hit than the vocals- the music has a quality of inevitability that suits Sin City to a C. Haunting, and slow, but loud and bold.

"Time can never mend.. the careless whispers of a good friend."
Careless Whispers. George Michael. Jazz/Pop. 'Nuff said, more heard.

"Memories... sweetened through the ages, just like wine..."
Elvis. No one has ever come close to his voice. The guy, I remember one particularly eloquent review said, "could make stones cry." Memories is certainly one of those songs where you will simply switch off everything else in the background, and think back yourself.

"On a cold and grey Chicago mornin', another little baby child is born.. in the ghetto."
Now this is a song to make stones weep. Another Elvis Presley classic.

"Give your heart and soul to me, and life will always be... La Vie En Rose."
Little Louie with his incredibly expressive voice, and that trumpet blowing like there's no tomorrow. Everything else fades into the background, and Louis Armstrong, as always, dominates the stage.

So it goes on, and before I slip into any different a mood, let me give you this to ponder on:
"If music be the food of love, play on."

And on a more personal note:
Many more songs await, and many more glasses, true; yet I man one man, and as one can must deal with tomorrow, too.







3.2.11

Yesteryear

I remember putting up something like this, titled after the Carpenters' song, Yesterday once more. It was about Limbo, and the benefits (or lack of them) about the same.
And after nearly a year (I speculate) we have as of yet gone gloriously nowhere. Maybe it's just me, or is there too much horseshit in the air? Perhaps it is just me.
So to relieve the monotony I did adopt a few commandments. Some of them are:
1. Thou shalt never be mindfucked.
2. Thou shalt never kill time.
3. Thou shalt always have fun.

And it went on, a bunch of commandments that I never really put to effect. These three basic commandments were the focus, though, and things took a turn for Murphy's Law anyhow, and I found myself-
a) Mindfucked
b) Vella
c) Bored.

So when I say that we were given work to be done in expectation for a reward, I also say that the only reward for work well done is more work. And here, that means more classes. Of World History of India. How Alexander the great met Puru/Porus and kicked his ass then graciously allotted him a post of vassalage. Nuts.
It could be of some use in the future, I'll allow, but now?
The only thing to look forward to is the road home. Funny that I still have to go through this; you'd have thought I was suffering for past transgressions. Funny, how fallin' seems like flyin'.
And Jeff Bridges in his baritone sings on, and the bottle steadily empties.