Here’s to burning bridges
Here’s to the leap in the dark
I’m still running, still waiting
For this life to fall apart
[…]
I forgot what had me going
And where to go

Obvious connection to where I am now mentally. :) I’ve been enjoying what I have now, found my stride once more. Underlying it all is still a certain sense of detachment caused by still waiting to be a bit more free, watch the structure fall apart and take a leap in the dark. Beautiful progression for a more “electric guitar” pop tune, somewhat similar to Sylvian’s “Let the Happiness In.”

On a somewhat related note, but perhaps not worth a separate post I’m rehearing the last two lines of Feiner’s “Siren Song”… an interesting take on a self-conscious surrendering to seduction. Anyways what I originally heard, which I liked:

Let me for once be lost from reason
Let it be lost – for once

The following showed up on a German lyrics site:

Let me for once be lost for a reason
Let me be lost – for words

Eh. I get the kind of “lost for the words of the siren song” but it really didn’t click for me – though I do definitely agree with the first line now! >_<

Let me for once be lost for a reason
Let it be a loss – for words

Much better! Not sure about the “a” but I don’t hear a t in “lost” and “it” over “me”. What makes it interesting is the rather typical “la la la la” chorus part the piece fades out on, there is something joyful in it and also the first part of the piece sung… without words. Reminds me of one of AV’s mix CD concepts.

PS – If you’re wondering why all the Feiner lyric love, I was in transcription mode, which always kind of puts me “in” songs more than normal listening.

http://brokensky.net/songs/ (alpha quality)

Where is the High got me listening to the Opiates again (I only took to three tracks on it before), and before I knew it I got sucked into transcribing the album as I couldn’t find lyrics online (luckily I found songtexte on a German site when searching in this song’s title). It’s an interesting kind of bleak SF dream, though in Murakami fashion one could interpret it as a psychological state.

Wade, in the ocean of forgettable things
Are we just traveling in time?
We from wherever… we’d bailed out
Landed here

Huh? This is… kinda different as a song intro. Desolate, drifting, unintended.

If I could do more than hold you
If I could do more than watch your tears
I wish we could name this place: ‘Oblivion’
Then be happily on our way

The sense of futility is beautifully offset by the throw away “I wish we could name this place: ‘Oblivion’ / Then be happily on our way”.

Here on the outskirts of an age soon spent
With all its demons and songs of untruth
If we could travel ahead and lose this life
Crack it open and live to tell the tale

This is where the song “turns” his voice drops, the music bleeds lethargic chaos – the sparse piano hits on the last two lines are perfect, the build of hope then the discordant shatter as he finishes “live to tell the tale.” Those 5 chords are one of the finer embellishments I’ve heard for a while (e.g. the held out notes via horns/ogran @ the 5 min mark in Wanderlust). The chorus re-enters more forcefully after this, a sign of the impending collapse of the age?

Into my arms
Into my arms
Out of harm’s way

Again the futility, but touching. Undertones of desperation in “into my arms” with “Out of harm’s way” as if from a distance – a longing to save his lover and the knowledge that he can’t “do more” but offer the illusion of protection.

originally typed drunk, in the early morning, after an interesting 24 hours or so. i’ve done a little light editing for style and coherancy but left each “drink” basically intact. third person again…

(shaken, not stirred)

adrift and floating – a haphazard rhythm to the buoyancy, at times sinking dangerously low into the choppy waters, others lazily drifting on his back, eyes closed, gently warmed by the sun bouncing off the swells. still… somewhere, something, always looking to the horizon.

a boat drifts by, a welcoming face peers down, he clambers aboard. all is well, only, perhaps, in the periphery, hints of an awkwardness, a hollowness, confessions and memories returned with a slight pause… perhaps it just needs time. a sense of unease, un-beckoned and unwelcome, grows. over-analysis, or reactions a bit more guarded, pauses growing longer? he feels a heaviness and bids farewell – nevermore to climb aboard too quickly (until, once again, the emptiness flows out him, the allure too strong). but were bounds being overstepped, with a familiarity not yet earned?

adrift and floating, biding time, bobbing gently in the current.

(whiskey and sour)

a voice wakes the man from his reverie, concerned and warm, “are you ok?”

he slowly stands up, eyes haunted, mouthing words but no sound comes out.

arms wrap themselves around him, “what’s wrong, are you feeling alright… I’m worried about you.”

at last he can speak, “i’m tired of it, tired of betraying those who…” he awaits a response, but hears only a long slow exhalation.

he looks down and sees a dagger in his comforter’s back, his hand on the blade. he slowly blinks as the body slides down and away, staggers down the street lost in thought. as the weight of yet another’s blood slowly settles on his shoulders, his steps become slower, more ponderous, until once again he finds himself sitting alone on the curb.

a voice, concerned at his state, breaks through the silence…

(victory gin)

she puts down her cup of coffee, “i swear, when it rains it pours, why must it be like that? isn’t it always supposed to be sunny in this town?”

he smiles. amused, sympathetic… condescending? “ i’ll go for months in a constant drizzle – that’s the safest weather, though it does wear one down. the danger comes after the clouds begin to break and shafts of sunlight start piercing down between them. soon you’re nearly dry, walking at a faster pace, unguarded, carefree, and feeling invincible.” a brief pause. “that seems to be when lightning likes to strike – in an unclouded sky you never think to see it coming.”

(airport cocktail)

“ah – after years of waiting to leave, one foot in the door, i’ve finally come to appreciate this place, love it for what it is… the first time in decades.”

with a steady smile he picks up his bag and boards the plane, a new life ahead.

Well I haven’t really done any major personal web design since… the end of 2006? Wow. Stumbled across someone from my Sylvian days who has been out of the loop for a while and uploaded my Paris recording for him… ended up playing around in photoshop and doing a REALLY minimal html/css comp in around 2 hours. That being said, it’s fully readable at low resolutions, has in a -9999px margined h1 to cover the key elements of the background… and of course there’s chunks of the CSS that require the latest (beta) browsers to render. I guess it’s just the way I design now. It’s also amusing at how 800px width the background gets cropped to “sylvian is everything.”

With the reopening of davidsylvian.net, and the oddly Jägermeisiterish logo on the teaser site for the upcoming album I decided to pay a tongue in cheek “coming soon” homage on brokensky.net.

It’s very basic, but I kind of like the high contrast, and the kind of ultra clean / lofi look. Busy busy with “real” work, but I can see myself launching a redesign soon.

Feels good.

Took a walk over to Echo Park Cycles and chatted with one of the workers there for a long time. After a street hot dog (bacon wrapped with grilled veggies for $2.50, thank you echo park) I hit up Orange 20 at hel/mel – I didn’t get the ‘aloof hipstery vibe’ this time, TJ was really friendly and helpful. And having Scoops across the street is a huge bonus. ;) When I woke up this morning all I knew was that I wanted a “hybrid” bike, with a tire that’s not too thick or skinny. Now…

• 1.5” wide tires, decently threaded (good all around for light trails and shitty LA streets)
• 7-9 speed internal changer (rear hub), one cog on front hub – enough options for my skinny legs while still retaining (some of) the simplicity, lack of maintenance, and weather-proofness of a single speed
• 29”/700c rims – better for distance and lots of road/MTB choices
• enough room on the frame/fork to accept knobby MTB tires ;)
• ability to add paniers/storage rack thing on back
• non-caliper road brakes (not a huge deal for socal)

What I’ve found so far:

Swobo Otis: Coaster brake in the back, disc in the front (fun as hell and weatherproof), internal 3 speed shifter, looks awesome. downsides: 26” tire and 3 speeds. $700

Swobo Dixon double disc brakes, 9 speed internal shifter, looks awesome. downsides: 26” tire. brakes better than Otis, but not as fun. ;) $950 but I found one with a minor cosmetic dent for $900 and negotiable lower!

Schwinn Searcher NX8 8 speed internal, 700cm/29” rims, price. downsides: brakes are nothing special, kind of overly branded stylistically. $650

Redline Monocog solid bike for ~$400. upgrade it with a 7-9 internal changer in the back, perhaps coaster/disk combo of the Otis. $275 on craigslist

Realistically, I should just get the Schwinn. Too bad neither the Otis or Dixon have 29” rims. But the Swobos… cool bikes, cool company. Hmmm.

PS – Fix Coffee. WTF? Looks awesome, in the middle of nowhere. I will work from you.

Update:

So far component wise what I want:

• Shimano Nexus Inter-8 Coaster-brake Hub (rear)
• Avid BB7 Disc Brake (front)
• Steel frame, must support 29”/700c hubs, fat tires, disc brake and rear rack mounts, 130-135 bb spacing. surly? redline? not sure.
• ~1.5” inch tires, treaded for city / light trail (can swap with fat knobbies or road tires later).
• Flat/MBK syle handbar.

Thinking of picking up a used Redline Monocog, cold-setting the back wheelset from 110mm to 132mm and then putting in a Nexus 8 coaster. I can leave on the front caliper brake for now, really don’t need disc brakes in LA. :)

It was a cool day, the sky above clear. A gentle breeze drifted, whispering, between boughs of pine needles, left languid ripples in fields, brought leaves to a sudden dance and as sudden rest. A city lay nestled along the coast, its building growing ever taller in a vain attempt to see something beyond the pacific horizon. People walked like they did in cities of (some) consequence anywhere, though here most carried a self-conscious air of not being as harried worn out as their cousins around the globe.

Nevertheless, how many look up?

And of those that do, how many actually see what is above them?

A lone cloud drifted along high above, bourn of winds that began in some distant place and will travel even further before petering off. Animals sensed a sudden darkening, slowed their movements, then went on their way. It was occasionally caught between the sun above and someone walking below, but those that noticed it paid it no heed. It sped on alone, gradually losing form, tatters of itself breaking off then… vanished.

So it gathered itself up, brows wrinkled in concentration, until it scrunched itself up into a big ball of water. And fell, a track of earthward falling light. Though the sun rays beat down, and air rushed against it in ever increasing speeds, it kept to its purpose. Diminished but not broken, it landed on a downtown skyscraper. Rolled past windows, dodging the grime and soot, sliding down past the field of view of oblivious office workers. It flung itself off a parapet and landed on a rose in a courtyard below. A young woman, tired of the day before her and not looking forward to that which lay ahead, looked up from her lunch.

The drop hung on the edge of a petal, streaks of red flowing out from the warm yellow interior to the soothing peach along its edge. Light caught and shone as it traced a curved path, purifying and renewing. It seemed reluctant as it slowly slid down the stem, finally reaching the earth below.

The young woman smiled to herself and went back to her lunch, mind quickly turned to other things, but somehow lighter than it had been before.

The flower lasted a little longer than it would have otherwise, and it wasn’t too rare for a passing person to remark upon it… yet one day it was there no longer.

A journey past blind earthworms, hungry roots of trees, rivers that have not seen the light of the sun for centuries, ever merging, ever growing, until it reaches the ocean and is at once gloriously free and completely lost, a myriad of selves only perceptible as one that defies true perception.

But someday, somewhere, on a clear day a small cloud will drift along the sky, though most may never know of its passing.

Delicate engravings on the wall caught and scattered light, though there were so many lamps one would be hard pressed to know it. Below the dancers did what they did best after a long week – dance.

A man with a lopsided grin pressed himself against a woman with a frown that seemed ready to split her face, a delicate face that looked to be sculpted of the finest porcelain. In the corner a group of slow moving men held sneers of contempt… or were they envy or lust? A girl with tears that never left her cheeks swayed while her companion kept an unswerving smile on his face. Champagne flowed, fine cheeses whose names were remarked upon and then forgotten were devoured. Night grew, a chill air crept in along the floorboards, but no one payed it any avail – for the lamps shone just as bright and the music kept its unflagging tempo.

One man, head bowed, was expressionless.

Wherever he wandered, giggles and murmurs, uniformly scandalized or titillated, died off in his wake. A squiggle of uneasy silence that was soon engulfed in the boisterous din of the party surrounding it.

At midnight he pulled a whistle out of his pocket and placed it upon his lips. He inhaled, though there was no detectable puff of his cheeks.

A thin squeal cut through a ponderous 3/4 waltz, percussion accompanied by the clatter of clay to the ground, piccolos overpowered by the hiss of in-taken breath. No more inhumanly wide grins, gone the sorrow too strong to contain. Every face was pale, every pair of eyes half open and glazed over, a dark ring below. Mouths set in thin disapproving lines dipped down as, chin to the ground, everyone slowly plodded out, cadence unknown.

The whistle still on his lips one man still stood there, cheeks wet with tears.