Window Blogging

Cracks his fingers, rolls his neck clockwise and arches his back, but just a tiny bit. Puts on his wireless earpods and enjoys that waft of a Leonard Cohen lyric streaming in. Leonard is afterall a perfect accompaniment to the melancholy, the nostalgia thats brought him back to this.  Things are good. They've been great too. There's frankly nothing to complain about and yet he's believed that the best writers are those that have deep sorrow, pain, a certain nakednesses of the soul to share. And he wants to write, he wants to share. Luckily he's often been wrong in his beliefs.  As someone wise once said "When the facts change, I change my mind - what do you do sir?"  His mind changes often and fluidly. So do his beliefs. So does his nostalgia, the melancholy.  And yet he's coming to share. To write whatever's been floating in that mind of his. Don't think he wants to be listened to. Thats for philiosophers and seers. This is more the catharatic ki...

"Happy," I muttered, trying to pin the word down. But it is one of those words, like Love, that I have never quite understood. Most people who deal in words don't have much faith in them and I am no exception – especially the big ones like Happy and Love and Honest and Strong. They are too elusive and far too relative when you compare them to sharp, mean little words like Punk and Cheap and Phony. I feel at home with these, because they're scrawny and easy to pin, but the big ones are tough and it takes either a priest or a fool to use them with any confidence. - Who else but the random and interesting personality of Hunter S Thompson

I know they all are, but boy, this was one helluva fast year. It whizzed by, I swear. With the speed of the worlds largest roller coaster, but also with it's ups and downs, curves and thrills, illusions and what not. The worlds largest. Boiling everything down into one concept is frowned upon in this house, but we partake of that every now and then. For if I were to squint my eyes and look at this years timeline, the biggest single "boiled down" event would definitely be the move. We moved countries, nay, continents. Lively New York is now tattooed on the skin of my life, like the past always is. The present, believe it or not, belongs to a sunny island country. That's right. I live in an island country now. From an island city to an island country. Common first words, drastically different second ones. I miss New York, of course I do. But also so excited about this change. The girl and I moved knowing what we wanted, aiming at it, trying to get it and even...

This year. 2015 they call it. It's a number as random as a name. Could have called it 999 or called you pooh (unless you're already called pooh and then this analogy fails). But regardless, this year... it's different. Or rather it's going to be different I mean. Nothings happened so far, but I give it 3 months. After that, I know it, I can feel it in my spine, in that electric galactic force that pulsates through us ...it'll get real. Nice real. Lovely real. Beautiful real...you get the picture. I'm not psychic in any way... quite the opposite if anything. For example, I'll be all excited for a trip, ready to board a flight and it'd get cancelled. Last minute. And till that freaking last minute, I would have a stupid smile on my face, not expecting a thing. I trust the universe I suppose. Also I'm just basically a numbut. But for some reason, I'm getting a massive psychic (numbnut) feeling. And I checked, not drunk. Its been building up. S...

Man, time flies. But It didn't always do that. When I was in college or maybe school even, it seemed to drag. Crawled, and at times slowed to miserable panicky nothingness. Not always of course. But most times or at least times that mattered and stuck like memory tags in my memory reel. And then it somewhat started to gather steam. Walked, then power walked, jogged and now it's on a real tear. I can't stand runners but this is personal. And now I'm standing here in my mid 30's and I don't know how I got here so bloody fast. The girl thinks this smells funnily of a mid life crisis. This thinking that is. But I say it's only normal. But if this gets me a ferrari then why not.

Did you hear? Crazydiamond's back (CD does a stoopid version of "guess who's back? shady's back") No not me, fools. The real Crazydiamond, or rather his friends. As you've most likely heard - Pink Floyd is going to release a new album this october. The first since 19 freaking 94. Since the ringing of the Division Bell had begun. And in answer to the girls' first question on this - yes, I am obviously going mental. I'm going through all 5 stages, or is it 4. I'm already thinking they won't be able, to be as good as they were. A revival never is. Plus they're old and probably don't like psychedelic lights anymore. But at least they're trying, no they're giving it all. In fact everything points to them being epic, cause theirs was always old wise music. And they've only wisened. They're going to soak in all these 20 years in the middle, roll it all into a long big joint and puff it out into the best emotional mesmeri...