PseudoNeoPostModernism

M-a intrebat cineva ieri seara despre ce scriu pe blog (oarecum scarbit fiind de faptul ca am blog)… Am ajuns la concluzia ca nu stiam exact cum sa ii raspund. Pentru ca eu nu mi-am gasit niciodata o nisa blogosferica in care sa activez. M-a intrebat apoi (din nou oarecum scarbit) daca scriu despre viata. Aici am fost sigura pe mine cand i-am raspuns (si eu la randul meu oarecum scarbita) ca nu. Dar de fapt, despre ce scriu eu aici? In general despre nimicuri. Din cand in cand mai postez cate o imagine, o poza, o chestiuta vizuala vag interesanta. Dar la modul general, postez numai tampenii.

Cum ar fi faptul ca azi am descoperit existenta unui nou site din seria MySpace, Hi5 si toate cele, intitulat Twitter. Numai ca site-ul in chestiune este de 10 ori mai stupid si mai lipsit de utilitate decat celelalte, ceea ce evident m-a determinat sa imi fac cont. Facandu-mi cont, am ramas intrebandu-ma de ce mi-am facut cont. Oricum, ma puteti gasi aici daca vreti sa stiti ce fac. Pentru ca asta este ideea Twitter-ului. Un fel de blog, numai ca nu e blog si e mult mai inutil decat un blog.

In fine, trecand la urmatorul subiect, in mine arde o noua flacara muzicala, o patima auditiva ce ma mistuie, ma curpinde in intregime, ma ravaseste si ma consuma, lasand in mine dorinta arzatoare de a o asculta din nou, iar si iar, mai mult si mai mult, si aceasta obsesie poarta numele Down. O formatie de stoner/sludge metal (sau cel putin asa am dibuit eu) in alcatuirea careia intra Phil de la Pantera si Jimmy Bower. Sunt absolut delectabili! Va recomand albumul “Over the Under”.

Acum ca am terminat si cu acest capitol al postului pot sa clarific situatia: daca chiar as scrie despre viata, in egoismul meu, nu voi scrie despre viata altora, ci despre a mea. Si nu as avea nimic interesant de scris, pentru ca in ultima vreme nu fac altceva decat sa imi pierd zilele pe la cafele si terase, prin facultate si prin barul aferent facultatii mele. Sesiunea ma musca de posterior, iar eu … ma uit la ea si sper ca daca inchid ochii o sa dispara. Hehe. Iar cat despre viata la general, privind problema din punct de vedere spiritual sau ceva de genul asta, nu prea ma mai aventurez in filosofie de crasma decat atunci cand ma aflu in incinta unui asemenea loc, si intr-o stare, daca nu de ebrietate, macar de ameteala. Deci pana una alta, nici aia 2-3 cititori pe care ii am nu cred ca m-ar mai citi daca as scrie despre viata. Si oricum am sa va mint si am sa va zic ca nu ma intereseaza daca ma citeste cineva sau nu. Si oricum n-o sa ma creada nimeni.

Deci blogul meu este despre nimic. Despre ce ma taie pe mine capul in momentul respectiv (nu foarte multe lucruri ajung pe lista asta dar macar sunt variate alea care sunt). Acestea fiind postate, ma retrag in episodul meu nou-nout din House.

Am vazut MUSE live. Si am ramas interzisa dupa concert. Nu puteam vorbi coerent, nu stiam ce-i cu mine. Matthew Bellamy impreuna cu ceilalti doi colegi de trupa si un clapar anonim ascuns in spatele tobelor au facut mai mult decat muzica aseara la Stadionul Arcul de Triumf. A fost mult mai mult decat un simplu concert, a fost o imbinare socanta de sunete diverse, acorduri si efecte, proiectii si lumini orbitoare si atmosferice, iar intregul spectacol degaja o energie si o voluptate artistica ce m-a lasat fara cuvinte. Piesele interpretate impecabil si beneficiind de o sonorizare foarte buna, atat vechi cat si noi, cu mentiunea ca mi-a parut rau ca au fost prea putine insumand doar o ora si patruzeci de minute. Dar eu as fi vrut sa le aud intreaga discografie live si sunt constienta ca cer prea mult.

In orice caz, faptul ca am avut ocazia sa ii vad pe scena a fost un vis implinit, chiar daca nu mi-au cantat Dark shines. Tot respectul pentru Muse. Multumesc pentru un spectacol incredibil.

Noul album Implant pentru refuz este genial. Este putin spus genial, este peste orice au facut ei pana acum. Melodiile precum X, Apus, Messages to Gods (pe care am ascultat-o prima oara live cand IPR au cantat in deschidere la Deftones vara trecuta) sunt imposibil de ignorat. Mai ales Apus, pe care banuiesc eu ca apare Cristina si trompetele Blazzajului. Instrumentatia este incredibila, Vita e minunat ca de obicei. Nu stiu ce as mai putea spune decat: ASCULTATI-L!

Deja am crezut in ea, minunea mea s-a dus Un soare a apus. Un loc unde cerul se ingroapa in pamant, Acolo astept, acolo sunt.

Isis, Lotus Eaters, Old Man Gloom, Mouth of the Architect… they’re the sound of space debree floating around the void, and birds of paradise and grasshopers, and nosebleeds and mountain winds gushing away at the peaks, and haunted metropolises at 3AM, and foggy London outskirts.

An astonishing smudge of grays and blue hues mashed with brown geometrical shapes betraying that which lies beneath: nothing more than useless dust, innapropiately thought to be that of stars, asymmetrical and sensless jabbering of bodies in tight, cramped public means of transportation. Sleepy frozen windshields of abandoned cars rusting away in the cold and bitter urban mornings, decaying under the sharp-toothed afternoon sun of lonely Sundays watching over the theatre. We are nothing more than what we think ourselves to be, pointless in the grande scheme or lack of thereof, slow walking , manufacturing sleepy hollows for every single one of our callous offspring, pulling at their hair in ways unknown to human fingertips until now. Kisses overflowing with subtle lust and masked saliva, lips crushing skin and guitar strings and we have nowhere to turn to for affection now. What is this about? What are we supposed to see in this incoherent poor excuse for an existence lacking everything from base to substance. Ten years pass as quickly as summer break, and we break free from the dirt and spoiled water contrived of flesh and no more anorganic jibberish unrelated to that which is the common origin. Spit is everpresent, flags torn above our heads for they mean nothing. What is this about anyway? Don’t expect too much from people, it will hurt them and wound you like a silver bullet through a chocolate cake and oily tegument, like bronze arrows through nihil and seringe needles through innocent veins. Let the low tide sweep your nosebleeds and gather them inside us like honey from distant flowers. Summing all of this up I find myself not existing, unreal and halucinogenic manifestation of nothingness that shouldn’t even be named for it has none, one thousand hours of staring will do nothing to enlighten my perception of my own persona and no surjectivity exists in my vital functions. What is this about, in the end? What is this about.

Come to me now And lay your hands over me Even if it’s a lie Say it will be alright And I shall believe I’m broken in two And I know you’re on to me That I only come home When I’m so all alone But I do believe That not everything is gonna be the way You think it ought to be It seems like every time I try to make it right It all comes down on me Please say honestly you won’t give up on me And I shall believe And I shall believe Open the door And show me your face tonight I know it’s true No one heals me like you And you hold the key Never again would I turn away from you I’m so heavy tonight But your love is alright And I do believe That not everything is gonna be the way You think it ought to be It seems like every time I try to make it right It all comes down on me Please say honestly You won’t give up on me And I shall believe I shall believe And I shall believe

Nu. Nu sunt intotdeauna vesela, nu sunt intotdeauna fericita, nu sunt intotdeauna entuziasmata, nu am o parere buna despre mine, nu sunt optimista si nu sper la ceva mai mult decat am deja.

Gypsy punk.

Otherwise, I’ve fallen in love with the mastery of a Diesel engine. Yesterday at driving school I got to ride a beautiful Opel Vectra. That car literally almost drives itself hence it being an unbelievable pleasure to drive. Can’t wait to get my licence. Pedestrians, beware! Mwahaha. Hah.