we are chained

I am listening to Hey by Pixies and let me start with this. This song is fucking hot. what else can i say except to point out the obvious; the direct, remarkable way that this song exudes and breathes sex and desire and the twisted turns of events that makes us human, that makes us go back to mistakes and nonsense, all which seem to be rearranged, or justified by the 3 odd minutes of this song being played. I really like this concert because of the dim orange lights that seem to be powerless and the way they slow the tempo and everybody singing in the background. it reminds me about my contemporary literary theory class this week, about Mikhail Bajtin studies of Rabelais use of the carnival in Rennaisance literature. The carnival, (or concert, in this context) is a celebration of abundance and decadence, a new way to look at the world based on feeling like a definite part of a collective union. Chaos and self awareness fully formed as a revolt of a culture controlled by the paradigms imposed by social hierarchy and organized institution. It was a response, a way to hold onto inmortality. todo menos morir. people feel, first than anything their unity in time, their inmortality in history. they put all their faith in the collective feeling that swirled in a shared space and a faith was acquired because this was bigger than life itself, or bigger than you for that matter and your own impending death.

i love this song because of the texture of Frank Black's voice and Kim Deal and the
chorus with the we're chaained that comes and goes and completely complements the chord progression, and the base and that intro, which has to be, by far, one of the most powerful intros ever. This anguish, i have felt before. maybe that is why i like it so much? i don't know. we are chained. we have conversations on weekends at seven in the morning about our past and confess that which blinded us, to feel again, with that intensity, fuck. nothing will test you like that. now we build gods out of skepticism, we are made of stone, beautiful granite. we smoke and drink way way too much for our own good and then we can never fall asleep right and my heart starts beating out of my chest, too much cheap red wine, we are exhausted and 24 is just around the corner.

the night multiplies into hundreds, last night i laughed at the ridiculousness of your excuse to come upstairs which spelled desire right from the bat because how little sense it made. we don't make any sense. this is the location of chemistry and reason reducing chaos to movement patterns of fusion and expansion, possible infinites of move and response bounded by the imagination, the unspoken agreements, blah blah blah. i am about to turn 24, i go to sleep, i study, i read, i walk, i work, i sing must be a devil between us and find so much truth in the things we carry. the constant struggle that is being in between the sloppy intersection of desires and fears and having no idea what is going to happen next. what a gift. what a fucked up gift this life has given us.

"It is tragic and sad and chaotic and lovely. All life is the same, as citizens of the human state: the animating limits are within, to be killed and mourned, over and over again." - David Foster Wallace.

Intimacy

This, then, could be our last evening together. My last night with a woman I have known for 10 years, a woman I know almost everything about, and want no more of. Soon, we will be like strangers. No, we can never be that. Hurting someone is an act of reluctant intimacy. We will be dangerous acquaintances with a history. That first time she put her hand on my arm- I wish i had turned away. Why didnt I? The waste; the waste of time and feeling. She has said something similar about me. But do we mean it?

- Hanif Kureishi.

The Rob Gordon Species

I didn’t think much of it at first; I didn’t really started connecting the dots until my last date last night with a very special kind of human belonging to the Rob Gordon Species.You see, there are many types of men, I think, but the Rob Gordonites are definetly one of a kind.

These are the ones that consider High Fidelity the greatest movie or book of all time, who have found a character that has personified all of their insecurities and sensibilities, justified their screw ups, paralleled their past loves and break ups with the ones seen and lived by this character.These are the guys that hold a high regard for Stevie Wonder (of course, vintage Stevie Wonder) and would possibly like I Believe (When i Fall in Love it will be Forever) played at their wedding, the guys who have had a inevitably their heart broken at some point or another and who constantly struggle between their inability to commit and their faith on true human love.

The guys that will quote Is that Peter-fucking-Frampton? As they stumble into a bar, and absolutely, unapologetically, pride themselves in their music tastes and knowledge, which they have worked hard to construct and deconstruct.

Let me just clear something out, I have nothing against this species. In fact, I have noticed a pattern in my dating life where I am immediately drawn to their subdued bitterness, to their cigarette smoke, to that hidden sweetness. The last three men I have seen have at one point or another stated High Fidelity is kiiind of the movie of my life. And of course, you start thinking, in which category do you fall...Are you the sweet Penny, the sad one that he ends up sharing a bed with for 2 years, the iconic Charlie, the exotic and new Caroline Fortis, or and only if you are lucky, the one and only Laura.

I didn’t really become aware of this pattern until recently. But then you start remembering lines quoted from the movie; an exasperated Are we having the state of the union talk? As you laid in bed, the chuckling when you play Belle & Sebastian and have that categorized as Sad Bastard Music, the inevitable top fives.
Pieces of Rob Gordon are reflected in all of my past conquests. In my first love with all the right jokes, In the boy with the tattoos which whom i discussed sadness and the things missed and how he said that he missed intimacy most of all, the sleeping with someone and the little idiosyncrasies from past loves like the rubbing of feet an equal number of times and then the guy who works for a radio station and has an undying love for pop music and all its ramifications.

After thinking how is it that I always end up meeting these Rob Gordonites I came into a very clear conclusion.


I am one of them too.


I too think that the best flirting technique is talking passionately about shared tastes, I believe (and follow) all the rules when making a music compilation, I too have the understated insecurities and have inner conversations with Bruce Springsteen (well, Bob Dylan, whom, was the first choice in the movie but couldn’t compromise due to scheduling conflicts) and have at one point or another played Dry the Rain just to witness all the heads slowly move and ask Hey, what is this?

I did, at one point, think I had my Laura, and at the same time, my Charlie. Saw all of the insecurities, the feeling of fraud and who am I kidding? I dont belong here. Saw someone with all the fascination and glow in the world, I have also said I will never get over this and rationed it to the first night a band opened for Nirvana, something as monumental as that. Thankfully, I came into the same realization as Rob on that one, and even if I wasn’t necessarily left for "the Dreaded Marco" but for a far less exotic, attractive or threatening kind, I still felt it could have been me at one point in the past, standing in the rain, screaming Charlie, you fucking bitch, let’s work it out!

I think I want what all of us, Rob Gordonites, want. I think I want nothing more than the image of browsing used vinyl’s while debating the greatness and mutual exclusivity of Art Garfunkel and Marvin Gaye, something along those lines. I want to never untie what I love, and who I love, to the music I hold closest to my heart. See, I too, organize my albums in an autobiographical way and think that there is no better complement to life other than that which is music and what it provides for us. Our entire history can fly from speakers, and the question of What came first, the music or the misery? May never really be answered, but hopefully we will remain strong among the few. And we’ll play some damn sweet tunes along the way.

but i, i never felt so much life than tonight, huddled in the trenches.

todo menos morir.

i haven't really slept in three nights and all three dawns i have spent sitting in a plastic table on the side of a dirt road by the ocean eating two dollar sandwiches with extra sweet potato and laughing about the most ridiculous, amazing inside jokes, which still make sense now, thank god. the brilliant synchronicity of humor and friendship always shines brighter at ungodly hours of the morning when the rest of the world is asleep and of course that when attraction is added to the equation it makes it even more electric and exciting. The succession of the longest nights all present with copious amounts of alcohol (of course) and music and moving from place to place refusing, absolutely refusing to call a night a night like any normal, rational human being. is it because it is summer? i don't know. but it feels somehow justified, completely justified to have stumbled back to the house at 7:30 in the morning each of these three nights and taking long naps during the day with the ocean crashing by our window. i am inconsistent about my feelings but always (and above all) i want to protect this freedom, this lightness that has taken me so long to achieve after so much time nesting a broken heart and how ironic it all turns out to be now that i am the one giving that speech to boys with good intentions i say i want none of your commitment, that boy said if we are dating then you have to be willing to make some sacrifices i said what if...i don't really want to.
I have decided to take the brutally honest approach. i don't blame the past for this jadedness although we are all somehow creatures of cause and effect i don't really see myself willing to change now that i am finally at ease with who i am just as i don't really see any other way of spending what is turning out to be, quite possibly, the best summer of my life.

irrational decisions feel somehow justified if you are listening to Bessie Smith blues in the summer and drinking day old wine.

blue moon rising

currently enamoured with Steve Martin and his banjo playing skills, reading Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life.



when describing the girls he dated on the road, he writes:


Were they beautiful? We were all beautiful. We were in our twenties.






2009 started with the beach, with books books books, a tan, determination to finish (and put a title to) my short story, early planning for gradschool admitions (first of all, narrow the list of schools, but definetly keep NYU, Columbia, and Cornell) East coast 2010, here i come. Finish my wall, learn how to cook something other than chicken chili lasagna, smoke less, etc, etc, etc.

the ashtray says you were up all night.

underground bars and watching heavy metal drummers who dedicates his songs to the crowd sitting over there and we nod and clap and click our glasses in unison. finals (almost over except for one paper due monday) being over, and summer palp-palp-palpating, blossoming, too many plans, too many things to do, my apartment is a MESS but always so entirely worth it, if its just for the table covered in bottles and the tuning of guitars and the taxi rides that go way too fast and all the inside jokes and all of the brilliant chaos that is now.