I keep coming back to memory, haunted by pale shadows and the hard walls of consequences solidified… I am an acrobat, traipsing along the edges of the rooftops. I am boy Robin grown, Nightwing chasing shadows and walls do not hinder me. I was told once that’s what it is to be grown, to not let go because you can’t but to accept that which is under the hood. I wish I was the Joker
At times a reblog says it best. The following image is from one of my favorite web artists, Gavin Aung Than, known to most as Zen Pencils and it expresses an idea that doesn’t quite exist anymore – the simple satisfaction with life and what you’re doing. I saw this entry and I sent it to my mother, a little passive aggressive gesture after we’d had a spat a while back on ambition and leadership. I too want to make great art, appreciate the things around me and am not so concerned with climbing the corporate ladder. It’s not for me but there are enough people out there who it works for and that’s the point made in this comic; do what works for you. Gavin has some pretty poignant things to say too (here is the link) about the piece and what drove him to not only quote that particular line from Bill Watterson but what Calvin and Hobbes meant to him. Like him, I also found Calvin and Hobbes not only beautiful but also eye-opening.
Courtesy of Zen Pencils- follow the link for the original plus commentary by the Artist
https://soundcloud.com/arturoza/drowning-armin-van-buuren
[03:11:40] Nines: and here i am high
[03:11:56] Nines: again.
[03:12:05] Nines: i feel like writing a message
[03:12:16] Nines: one for the ages
[03:12:28] Nines: a tale lovers will tell
[03:12:37] Nines: one that moves
[03:12:47] Nines: not just my feet (why your feet, dancing?)
[03:13:01] Nines: nor just my heart but
[03:13:06] Nines: the story too (a tale that moves the story, as in the story feels? That in itself is one hell of a feat. Settle for that, telling a story that feels, for darn sakes, a sentient story.)
[03:13:16] Nines: wherever we may tell it
(images of something akin to this: He fell in love with a girl once, not so long ago. She was bright to his dullness, with a cute dimpled smile that stretched her face were he had his taciturn tight-lipped pressed grimace. She danced to life’s beat and he hobbled. She was all the things he was not. But despite all this there was love there; flourishing even as it fought the battles it didn’t know it fought. To each, the sun shone through the eyes of the other, each caress the gentle touch of the silver moon, each word as soothing as silk. Even when enveloped by each other’s darkness, they could see the light that kept the shadows at bay. But despite this, here he was sitting on a park bench holding a scarf, a letter stained with his tears and a fairy’s wand. Somewhere along the line as these things are wont to do something went wrong. It’s a sad tale perhaps, a tale of a bargain, a promise broken, a lost diadem that was never lost and a twice broken mirror. Mostly however, it is a story of fairies and pixies; a story of Puck, Tinkerbell, Tatiana and Oberon. A story of the Fae…)
[03:13:49] Nines: i forgot
[03:13:58] Nines: for a moment
[03:14:06] Nines: where i am
[03:14:16] Nines: but where most
[03:14:26] Nines: i should be (pray thee tell us where it is you must be)
[03:14:46] Nines: and this in the telling next morn,
[03:15:03] Nines: shall be much better than its foretelling
[03:15:31] Nines: because progression afore
[03:15:41] Nines: it, foretold it.
[03:16:11] Nines: ai, wena, zvandatatura pano, (I’ve never been one for languages but I guess it says- wow, this that i have said)
[03:16:37] Nines: panzira ino, ndataura chokwadi (on this path, i have spoken truth)
[03:16:46] Nines: kudhakwa hakuna kudai (being drunk isn’t even comparable)
[03:17:22] Nines: asi kunzwa nziyokubva vekudenga (but listening to the sound of angels)
[03:17:31] Nines: ndiko kuno (this is it)
[03:17:42] Nines: this is history
[03:18:07] Nines: in a sum
[03:18:28] Nines: merely of a fiction
[03:18:48] Nines: that tweedledee and tweedledum
[03:19:01] Nines: might even find elementary
[03:19:14] Nines: this is just my mind
[03:19:26] Nines: telling a story, not the one I set out but a story nonetheless
[03:19:35] Nines: a summary
[03:22:54] Nines: of all human art, there about or so. in a style and hopefully substance of what future english students might discuss on the merits of each line. and here is it, the kicker, what actually every writer has tried to convey – This is, today, in homer’s time, shakespeare’s time, fitzpatricks’s, poe’s, wordsworth’s, twain’s, yeezus and hova – it’s all bullshit. IT’S ALL BULLSHIT. IAB
(My good man, don’t worry about something that isn’t going to happen, no English major is going to study this even if its better than the weeks I agonised over Ulysses. Fair point though, it is all bullshit; Even more so when you look at all this in the plain light of day. Definitely more so then.)
[03:23:11] Nines: i am high (I think that’s rather clear old boy)
[04:08:05] OH MY GOD
hayibo, the things I almost said in an alternate future that isn’t this one about the things I almost said this would be a ridiculously long posting of absolutely nothing that matters (isn’t it already?), that lures you in a never series of near missed and mistakes unending and that near grasp that gives you a smidgen of hope. yeah that one, about the loop. yes, another posting of the loop. yes, this it. the loop, unending, cyclical. there goes it, hope, jumping around enticing begging for the chase. but i’m stuck in the beauty of the conception of the chase and this music in my ear, trance, flying, so beautiful this sound, sound, sou….S>S»>OO»»>U»>ND»>..DDDDDD…. climatic… explains the explosions. “Waiting for the Night” – Alone: Armin Van buuren.
Chindori – Baba Jukwa (Ah, a bit of Zimbabwe politics; must be that Facebook page that Zimbos follow that brought this on. You didn’t strike me as a chap who would be interested though. All that live in the moment stuff, or was it YOLO, you spout whenever anyone lends you an ear leads to that conclusion.)
It’s not as innocent as I chose to think… even in the jokes , jokes about cars and dying I forgot to pay attention of sinister implications…. Strangely in this moment I do… wow… Zim is a hard place to live.
(Clearly too hard a topic to discuss, a mood killer, so you change tack.)
Reprise (also an Armin Van Buuren track, but let me not get ahead of myself or you rather.)- how fitting for this moment-“Under pressure” by Queen pops into my head reliving high school, the dance, what if I’d asked Jo and if I hadn’t taking the girl I took.. The finality of reality. 4.23 am
Armin Van Buuren’s album “Intense”. has been playing on loop the whole time. 3 hrs. Tranced out and flied out. 3 hrs. These are chronicles.
There is light at the end of the tunnel. You keep saying it. Even if it’s another loop. You’ll get out one day. Ahh, another memory. I’ll transcribe the loop conversation one day. This will have to suffice in its stead. I keep recapping 1970-90 comics, rehashing, reintroducing. The loop of today being on History rather than the loop itself. A self-induced reflexive piece. A memory of the harshness of their work tempered by time. Humanity regresses more still. I must save it because, because I’m BATMANNN… Plus he embodied that age. Just saying. Noir cartoon for the win plus 90s Ztv and its backwardness. Enriching my childhood. The memories, the advent of teenage hood felt just like this. Trance being the natural rhythm of life. Glad we finally got to this stage. The answer to the question the mice had found. That is what the number meant. The number of beats in a trance song that lead to symphonic harmony. Teenage hood, coming to grips with the awkwardness of life. But that moment before it is this transic state. 4.36am
Side commentary. When sober. This here would make a solid one man play. 4:40 am
(Well old boy, you got your side commentary and frankly speaking ITS ALL BULLSHIT. I suggest expending your efforts elsewhere or changing tack. But yes, it would make an awesome play wouldn’t it, expanded of course. With me as the star of course, I come from noble blood you know, as a result I have a natural gravitas. I would have studied Drama after Eton but the old fox wouldn’t have any of it. Yes, the finality of reality.)
Armin Van Buuren still playing in the background.
life’s never-ending demands…… pushing….. tugging….. pulling… a contestation of wills, unending…. beating you down…. pressing…. the weight.. and in those moments we wither beaten down by the harshness of sun, hungry, thirsty but even after that.. the rains will come, new life, spring and we remember the hardship, the silence, the death or …..we are long dead, ground to dust, echoes of long forgotten memory.
hmm, a penchant for melodrama only gets you so far, far enough to recognise yourself as a fool , so far to laugh at oneself, and even in the face of this cheerless realisation there is no fool quite like the fool who knows he is a fool. maybe talent abides, somewhere…
there are many things I want to be if I could only ever get the nudge, the push. the will is there but there is no strength, no desperation, no fear. Desperation is what drives the chase, the desperate need to be heard, to feel, to leave a mark. Ambition is merely desperation in sheep’s clothing. what truly moves man is fear, and his response is not hope.. despair… courage; merely pale imitations of something greater, but desperation, for it makes even the weak titans.
and when he is born in the darkness, when sleep slows, brims underneath eyelids, before the embrace, here now flows ideas, concepts , truth. but is it really truth, truth that can be examined in the harshness of daylight? will I wish to hear it, to see it? will I see it for what it is? truth, only the ramblings of a sleepless man.
I am frozen. I am still. I am quiet.
I am dead. This is the end.
Left at Destiny’s crossroads,
through the door filled halls of the sandman Morpheus,
dust stained past the howling wind-swept plains Delirium driven.
Forlorn, wafting, sense deprived in packed halls
Despair in the face of unflinching and unyielding memory.
The futility of Desire,
sisyphean,
satisfaction fleeting, higher peaks evermore.
Destruction reigns as all things must come to an end,
great and small alike to dust,
dust to dust ashes to ashes.
In the ashes a phoenix rises,
new beginnings even here at the end,
I am quietened, I recede into
the comfort of Death’s embrace.
Dream. Death. Desire. Delirium. Despair. Destruction. Destiny
ninetalesfox 