Sunday, September 28, 2008
September stands unstill
Today through blistering hot desert winds that caked the city in awful dry heat I silently strolled into the superficial sanctity of my local shopping plaza. After about 15 minutes of picking up some fruit & veg and a few paper towels I walked out where the temperature had plummeted some 15ºC, at least. It was that mini-heatwave that dissuaded me from doing anything more adventurous this afternoon, such as heading to the TAP gallery to check out some rock-musician paintings. Instead I went back home, and lay down. I had a pleasant mini-siesta with it, the kind where you don’t fully dive into sleep, but instead be overcome by that soothing numbness, the sort that proves the universe of being and feeling is within and not in the external world. Earlier I was finishing off Bob Dylan’s chronicles. After darting his narrative from about 1962, to 1960, up to 1968, to 1989, 1959, and around to the beginning where he was signing his first record deal in John Hammond’s office, he ends his piece with some clues on where his mojo for songwriting had been influenced, and directed. It seemed like Dylan imbibed Woody Guthrie, Robert Johnston, and even Kurt Weill musicals with a passion, using ultra-ordinary aspects of each artist to draw on creating something quite vivid and new in the realm of folk music. That Dylan achieved this, particularly as he reached his apogee of startling creativity within the mid-sixties, is testament to his total dedication to his art, his one-pointed vision.
As I was reading this I almost lamented not having any sort of, um, one-pointed vision in my life as it were. There’ve obviously been periods in my life where I’ve been struck with inspiration, driven into gear to achieve something new. Usually these have been musical inspirations. The most recent ‘big’ inspiration for me was to discover Eva Cassidy and subsequently nut out her guitar-playing. This enterprise bore fruit for me as I go out and play Eva songs at cafes, and that I still enjoy. Music is another anomaly for me. Perhaps it’s too familiar generally. I almost feel an existential languor over everything I do, and in fact I’ve had this all of my life. This is why I’ve never been a big achiever, or hungry for anything. I’m just content to plod along in my own quiet way, enjoying the blue sky and the trees, and to occasionally be hooked internally by a Beethoven-esque inspirational fist-wave along the way.
Yet this is something new, writing in the blog. The purpose for this is to expand my creative thinking and improve my writing. Funnily enough I don’t like to be thought of as a ‘writer’, ‘musician I’m comfortable with, but hopefully I’m more of a ‘righter’, than a “wronger”, when it comes to writing!
Last night we did a gig at the Artichoke café in Manly. That was fun, but I don’t know, this is a strange time of year for me. I begin to feel these frequent blotches of torpor, reaching their peak in October, the nadir of my year. More to the point, these are stabs of depression smudging their ugly vapours from my stomach region. They appear, as they have this weekend for example, and vanish as soon as they come. I know not to give them credence or attention, just pure awareness. That tends to mitigate their power though in the past that had been a struggle of sorts. I’m a much clearer person now.
I’m almost feeling a sense of trepidation about world-wide events. I wonder what’s the point of our day-to-day lives in juxtaposition to the complexities and strains that westernised civilisation has brought to bear on the vast divisions of worldly wealth and power, and with that, the stark possibility of financial collapse and severe economic downturn. Energy depletion and accelerated climate change are other huge monsters bearing down on us from some dark pit in the ground, and the sky. I believe now is the time for me to take a permanent holiday. Back my bags and drive to Cairns and live the tropical life, and shedding the topical life in return. The library is nice, but I come to the time of year where I have to do audits for overdue fines and the like, the sort of thing I really do not like to do at all! One thing is nice and that is play-season, commencing now. And I’ll be seeing all of them. Arnold Wesker’s ‘The Kitchen’ tomorrow night. And a review is forthcoming! ;)
Sydney looks nice on photo but this southern hemisphere metropolis is one of many worldly macrocosms of westernisation in full swing, and force. Sometimes being a bit-player within this giant swirling jigsaw of a city does become somewhat overbearing to deal with. Therein lies the answer to my non-questions that allude to disheartened complexities…fresh air, trees, cottages, sunshine, highlands, nature. That really, is the life!
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