Records of a Counterpoint

1. Listening to Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows" and hearing it in Bob Dylan's voice in my head.

2. The person who owned this book before me smoked.

-A

It takes me an hour to notice I'm having a one-sided dialogue (meaning myself and an imaginary, non-vocalized person) while imitating a non-existant character, complete with wonky accent. The previous sentence is also likely grammatically unsound. Oh well - grammar mistakes and misspellings matter less when I'm typing them (but only immediately after the fact (if I re-read this a month later, I'll probably cringe ('specially 'cause of crazy nested parentheses and apostrophe galore)))

-A

PS: First non-discriminating post in ages (i.e. accessible to everyone). w00t.

"Sex and love have nothing to do with female and male. It is just whatever two souls happen to be. It could be male and female, and it might not be male and female. It might be female and female or it might be male and male. You can try to pretend that it doesn’t happen, and you can make fun of it and be snide, but that’s not really the rightful thing. I know, I know."
-Bob Dylan, 1966

-A

I thought it was over, too. But I stumbled on this and it made me inexplicably happy. Even though it's not all that unusual, really.

PS: On a less mushy note, here's another reason why I became fascinated with this man once upon a time...
Interview excerpt -
PLAYBOY: What made you decide to go the rock-'n'-roll route?

DYLAN: Carelessness. I lost my one true love. I started drinking. The first thing I know, I'm in a card game. Then I'm in a crap game. I wake up in a pool hall. Then this big Mexican lady drags me off the table, takes me to Philadelphia. She leaves me alone in her house, and it burns down. I wind up in Phoenix. I get a job as a Chinaman. I start working in a dime store, and move in with a 13-year-old girl. Then this big Mexican lady from Philadelphia comes in and burns the house down. I go down to Dallas. I get a job as a "before" in a Charles Atlas "before and after" ad. I move in with a delivery boy who can cook fantastic chili and hot dogs. Then this 13-year-old girl from Phoenix comes and burns the house down. The delivery boy - he ain't so mild: He gives her the knife, and the next thing I know I'm in Omaha. It's so cold there, by this time I'm robbing my own bicycles and frying my own fish. I stumble onto some luck and get a job as a carburetor out at the hot-rod races every Thursday night. I move in with a high school teacher who also does a little plumbing on the side, who ain't much to look at, but who's built a special kind of refrigerator that can turn newspaper into lettuce. Everything's going good until that delivery boy shows up and tries to knife me. Needless to say, he burned the house down, and I hit the road. The first guy that picked me up asked me if I wanted to be a star. What could I say?

PLAYBOY: And that's how you became a rock-'n'-roll singer?

DYLAN: No, that's how I got tuberculosis.

Discussing religion is like trying to navigate a boundless field carpeted with bodies. Wherever you step, you kick someone in the head or at the very least tread on a couple of toes. Better to just die right on the spot and not have to deal with choosing where to step...oh, shit. Sorry 'bout your hand there.

-A

I really need help with this section. Among other things, tailoring the Dylan section. So, knowledgeable Dylan fans, (ahem, Max) advice would be good, here.

This is slightly more modern stuff (approx. 60's - 80's?), and as you can probably guess, less of it is in the "traditional" genre. Also, less of it is as universal/iconic as the previous stuff is in certain circles. Once again, if I'm forgetting something, gimme an e-kick or sommat. If any of you Russian-speakers (count = 1?) are wondering why I'm not including stuff in Russian, it's because I've been a bit less thorough thus far in examination of the genre, it's because we know all the same stuff anyways, mainly, and lastly it's because linkage is harder to obtain for Russian things.

Also, please ignore the videos...it's just a convenient, easily accessible way to post music, mainly.

( Song Listing Continued )

-A

Plenty of other stuff to be added.

This is a compilation of various awesome traditional-type/oldschool songs, predominantly Irish, and the performances of those songs that I particularly enjoy.
If it just says "traditional" or something like that, I don't know who wrote it. Many of the performances are quite similar to one another, so there's really not much point listening to both unless you actually know the bands/performers.

( Traditional-type stuff )

Note: All Dylan songs (and other post-50's compositions, but not necessarily performances) have been excluded from this, partially because I'm biased in terms of defining traditional, and partially due to the logic that even though one can easily make the argument that some (especially Dylan songs) definitely deserve to be included, putting even one down will probably prompt me to dump at least fifty more. Maybe Dylan will get his own listing. Later.

If you can think of something that I've forgotten (probably several somethings), shoot me a comment and I'll probably tag it on.

-A

I seem to have developed a liking for Egon Schiele's work. Something about the jerky lines, wonky colouring, and distortions appeals to me.

And a lot of his art seems to feature denuded female figures in stockings and shoes. *coughs* Go figure.

-A

I became inspired and decided to pick up guitar. On my mom's scary classical monstrosity that is too ginormous for my tiny hands. I also don't have a pick. So, being a resourceful, mentally unstable child, I decided to use my bamboo spork as a substitute for one. Goddamn that thing is useful.

-A

When I rotate my arm 180 degrees (from pointing up to pointing down, or verse visa) I can feel a strong tingle all the way through my arm to the fingertips as blood rushes in said direction. Wheeeeeeeeeee...tingle. Heh.

-A

"Пароходики" just clicked. Painfully. Scary metaphors attract me amazingly. Allow me to reiterate how amazing D'rkin is.
-A

Today, Kavalos made it rain gold.

Anybody else cursing Zeus and Greek mythology in general right now? My bets are not.

-A

I GETZ INTER CAMBRIDGE!!!

-A

So, for some reason, I've been making lots of private posts recently and then forgetting about them. Oh well. I guess you won't read those. I'll update about NEFFA at some point, though all of you were either there yourselves of have already heard the stories. I feel obliged to write a sort of review anyways - not now, though. Later.

AP's start this week. Argh!

Mum and I photographed an interesting cyclops strawberry. I seem to be unable to post it, since I don't have the fancy version of LJ and I don't have anywhere online I can stick it. Sigh. It was cute, too.

-A

For some, the "coming of age", adolescent rebellion becomes evident when the child begins to procure alcohol for himself, and his parents inevitably (?) find out.

I installed Wine on my computer.

-A

(I received solemn parental acknowledgement when my father discovered this: "I knew that this moment would come one day")

"Counterclockwise" would be a decent name for a going back in time story/movie...or sommat. Strange that it hasn't become a cliche.

You know, how frequently does the following happen:
An artist creates a piece - say, a song, a poem, some literature...it appears intelligent, it boggles the mind, makes you feel something...and then some bloke goes and analyzes it. And each person has his own interpretation, and they're all quarreling over who's right. And the artist, originally, never meant any of it. He just wrote what sounded nice, or powerful, or...a sort of conglomeration of striking, beautiful images.

I just wish we could all lie back and enjoy the picture the way it was made. Keep the first impression, and garner more beauty for the second reading, rather than a single, vague philosophical message that was likely never intended.

Analyse the man who wants to be analysed and says so.

Enjoy beauty for beauty's sake...revel in its utter uselessness. You might find that you will see all the author intended to show, if he had any intent at all apart from expressing the beauty of words.

-A

P.S. No, this doesn't mean I'm back. Absolutely not.

We painted Vrajesh's room. It was fun.

P.S. A sunset tastes like salty rain, methinks.

-A

Before I forget to update again. It was fun, though a little on the slow side and the dances were sadly uncomplicated. The people were great, though. Tucker came! As Anton! And he was so good at being Anton that I confused them many, many times. Yes, I know they look nothing alike. It was really amazing. Oh, and Tucker waltzes with me. I knew I loved him for a reason.

Anyways...Cecily was there! As our white rabbit! I was the Cheshire Cat, Anton was the Caterpillar (he made these crazy antennae at my suggestion), Erin was the Queen of Hearts, and Imagen was Alice. Then there were Juliette, Sofia, and Ethan as opera characters (Violetta, Carmen, and Papageno)...and Matt, who stole my purple hairspray. Harry Potter (the band guy who used to look like him) was there, as was Ross, though both seldom danced. Tim also didn't dance much. Oh well. They were providing music.

Cecily (to me): Wipe that face off your smile!

I love that child.

-A

I love Oscar Wilde.

-A

I'm slightly amused at the idea: make-up.

The term describes cosmetics we put on to enhance our features beyond what is normal, or to hide them. Change them. Either way, it alters appearance.

The term also means inner content ("genetic make-up" is a common term). It means what something is truly composed of.

So strange (understandable, but also amusing) that the same term has two opposite meanings that can be logically justified. Ah, association, association...

-A

People would make curious socks indeed. I think I've found an interesting way of looking at life, though it is probably very tiring to do it that way.

I said words, didn't I?

Words are composed of other words...some don't even make much sense.

Aspiration, for instance. Asp. I. Ration.
Ration. Rat. Ion.
Ion. I. On.

Very interesting to look at words that way.
Aspiration and aspire are siblings, aren't they? Yet all they share between them is a snake.
Aspire. Asp. Ire.
Much more intimidating...an angry snake, hm? Certainly makes more sense to most people than "I have a ration of snake to my personality"...well, maybe that does make sense. But Asp I Rat Ion...a rat ion..or an asp? It's a lovely little puzzle. Then, we also have Asp I Rat I On..."I'm an asp on a rat?" Interesting...expecially if we start thinking up metaphors and release a bit of imagination.

But love, that's only another way of looking at language! Words, rather. We usually think about the meaning. Sometimes we marvel at the sound...at the fittingness of the character of the word to its sounding...like murmur or mutter. Then we ponder how much is just a cruel cycle of association - Murmur is like a murmur because it sounds like one, or because we know what a murmur is and pronounce it that way?... - that sort of thing. This is common, I believe. The two ways I mentioned just now.

How about letters? The sounds, the vowels and consonants together...hm. Curious. Each letter combination DOES convey some sort of atmosphere. We sometimes smother that atmosphere, the character of the word, with its meaning, provided the two don't compliment each other, like murmur does (or so it seems to me...I don't believe I'm smothering it's character, but I could be just deluding myself, too). Some people are likely enough to throw the meaning away and examine just the phonetic quality of the word itself. From what I know, musicians seem capable of it.

I could go on about this forever right now, but I lack the patience at the same time. In a little while, this topic won't interest my flighty mind anymore.

Adieu, love

-A