Random Bubble of my Consciousness
Imagine I am a fish.
I'm not just any fish. There had to be a catch, right? OK, imagine I'm silvery with a green hew. Let's start over.
Imagine I am a fish. (This time you know)
Not just any fish, mind you. I'm a fish that breaths bubbles of my thoughts every time I think. That means I forget them really quick.
I guess I'm a Gold fish.
My bubbles are schizophrenic. They're all over the place. Some are cold and blustery, some are melancholy. In some of them I am a philosopher first, and a would-be assassin second. Some of them are curry flavoured.
Not any of these, but some could be. Just so you know.
I am skiing. I'm late, and there are no worms for this bird. Fortunately for us, I am still a fish. I'm at a new ski slope, waiting a half hour in line, long shards, shone to perfection, strapped to my feet. Perhaps I am a train, tracks laid in front as I move, pulled up in my wake. (Who could be doing this? Little elves, I don't know. More likely, they are gnomes.)
Anyway, I am not the only fish-train here, and my brother swims stands next to me. It's our first time out skiing this season, and we're late because he was up until 7 am, and I'm just not overly fond of mornings. As a result, we spend three hours doing a total of 6 runs, but mostly waiting in line.
I wish to have my camera with me. Trees, frozen white as if the sea of frigid air has changed them to under-sky coral, cover the landscape. One of these oceanic plant-life specimens seems to be decorated for a pornographic Christmas, with bras and thongs in place of lights and silver balls. We're clearly far from home, in a land of queer customs.
On our last run up, I meet a land merchant from my home town, and we discuss various plans, past and present, meant for my old domain. I wonder aloud if you can sell floating sky-islands. She just looks at me blankly. Clearly, she is not up on her realty. Nice to meet someone from the old country, though.
Bloop.
As we drive back home, riding the screaming steed that is my car, it's like the Outer Limits; I control the sound waves! It's various songs at first, but eventually Atmosphere (a rapper) comes on. He's good. I'm not sure my brother shares this belief.
I also play The Dear Hunter, perhaps the best musician I've ever heard. I'd love to say that I have a favourite song, but really, I have a favourite transition. "The Oracles on the Delphi Express" flirts with "The Church and The Dime." OK, I lied. "The Church and the Dime" has got to be my favourite. However, you need the intro from 3:28 on from the song before it.
Being a fish, I am a virgin, so I can only speculate. Yet with the 6 seconds of memory that I possess, I swear to God: This transition + "The Church and the Dime" has got to be *at least* as good as sex. Seriously. Every time this song comes on, I anticipate it. The rises and falls of the singer's voice as he builds up to (and lets off after) the chorus. God. I almost crash my car every time I'm driving in earshot. The crispness of the wood block some how creating a feeling of hollowness where it seeming can not exist! Keep in mind, it is the journey that defines the scenery, so every song before it is a build up to this one.
Please. If you like strength, passion, frustration, contrast, orchestration, variation. I beg you. Buy this album. It's called "Act II: The meaning of & All Things Regarding Ms. leading."
I feel I am cheating you by flowing into a stop here.
OK, ok. They lived happily ever after.
Consider yourself had.
I'm not just any fish. There had to be a catch, right? OK, imagine I'm silvery with a green hew. Let's start over.
Imagine I am a fish. (This time you know)
Not just any fish, mind you. I'm a fish that breaths bubbles of my thoughts every time I think. That means I forget them really quick.
I guess I'm a Gold fish.
My bubbles are schizophrenic. They're all over the place. Some are cold and blustery, some are melancholy. In some of them I am a philosopher first, and a would-be assassin second. Some of them are curry flavoured.
Not any of these, but some could be. Just so you know.
I am skiing. I'm late, and there are no worms for this bird. Fortunately for us, I am still a fish. I'm at a new ski slope, waiting a half hour in line, long shards, shone to perfection, strapped to my feet. Perhaps I am a train, tracks laid in front as I move, pulled up in my wake. (Who could be doing this? Little elves, I don't know. More likely, they are gnomes.)
Anyway, I am not the only fish-train here, and my brother swims stands next to me. It's our first time out skiing this season, and we're late because he was up until 7 am, and I'm just not overly fond of mornings. As a result, we spend three hours doing a total of 6 runs, but mostly waiting in line.
I wish to have my camera with me. Trees, frozen white as if the sea of frigid air has changed them to under-sky coral, cover the landscape. One of these oceanic plant-life specimens seems to be decorated for a pornographic Christmas, with bras and thongs in place of lights and silver balls. We're clearly far from home, in a land of queer customs.
On our last run up, I meet a land merchant from my home town, and we discuss various plans, past and present, meant for my old domain. I wonder aloud if you can sell floating sky-islands. She just looks at me blankly. Clearly, she is not up on her realty. Nice to meet someone from the old country, though.
Bloop.
As we drive back home, riding the screaming steed that is my car, it's like the Outer Limits; I control the sound waves! It's various songs at first, but eventually Atmosphere (a rapper) comes on. He's good. I'm not sure my brother shares this belief.
I also play The Dear Hunter, perhaps the best musician I've ever heard. I'd love to say that I have a favourite song, but really, I have a favourite transition. "The Oracles on the Delphi Express" flirts with "The Church and The Dime." OK, I lied. "The Church and the Dime" has got to be my favourite. However, you need the intro from 3:28 on from the song before it.
Being a fish, I am a virgin, so I can only speculate. Yet with the 6 seconds of memory that I possess, I swear to God: This transition + "The Church and the Dime" has got to be *at least* as good as sex. Seriously. Every time this song comes on, I anticipate it. The rises and falls of the singer's voice as he builds up to (and lets off after) the chorus. God. I almost crash my car every time I'm driving in earshot. The crispness of the wood block some how creating a feeling of hollowness where it seeming can not exist! Keep in mind, it is the journey that defines the scenery, so every song before it is a build up to this one.
Please. If you like strength, passion, frustration, contrast, orchestration, variation. I beg you. Buy this album. It's called "Act II: The meaning of & All Things Regarding Ms. leading."
I feel I am cheating you by flowing into a stop here.
OK, ok. They lived happily ever after.
Consider yourself had.