Rantglass - because that's how things are.


Half a page.

From a band fondly welcomed back to the fold after being lost in the dream, to another that would have gone virtually unknown, save for a chance meeting at a website named after a farming tool…

It must have been a slow year music-wise, for I do not yet know for sure what my favourite album for 2014 will be. Yes, there may already be a few in line for the crown, but at times like these, it seems unthinkable to look so far ahead when the past has yet to be.

There are the ones that simply give you the feels – screaming pure euphoria even for just a moment, as carefree notes and minute staccatos dance lightly upon your skin.

Then there are the ones that pull you deeper into gloom – a gathering storm over the horizon, making more woe of yesterday’s flaws and drowning you further in today’s sorrows.

And there are the ones that you care absolutely nothing for – simply breezing you by, unaware, unnoticed and unloved, as you spend another four minutes of your lifetime functioning on autopilot mode.

No sooner than that and it all begins to fade into nothingness. Like a love song tirelessly played to kingdom come, it numbs and strips all of its intended meaning, leaving you no better than when it first started.

Details of this entry.Monday, July 28, 2014, filed under Musings.
Recent tracks played are displayed on Last.fm.Disappearing, The War on Drugs


Never mind.

Having been pelted with words harsh and unkind, there is not much fiery imagination left to the mind. For we sail indeed in waters that bite, even as we slowly disappear out of sight.

Hopeless and useless as one can be, there is no more salvation as far as the eyes can see.

Already a failure, but not yet a loser.

So it is tempting, yes, to draw these old and faded curtains to a close, and buy a brand new one of colours sparkling gold and red as a rose.

Oh, but to again have that sense of pure wonderment and child-like naivety wash over you from head to toe; nothing a sudden rush of goosebumps and a furiously beating heart could not tide you through.

Perhaps it is time to simply dust it all away with a kiss off into the air, and quietly start over without much fanfare.

Details of this entry.Saturday, July 05, 2014, filed under Musings.
Recent tracks played are displayed on Last.fm.Lean, The National


Zipcode.

Blink. Lightning crashes. A snap of the finger. And here we are again, staring blankly at the face of the sixth month of the year.

Disgraced starlets, fallen heroes and crying firstborns; secret hideouts, open windows and a pair of black, shiny boots so well worn, you would think they have been all over the world and back again. Twice.

The journey to get here has been tumultuous to say the least, and yet the intended destination is still far out of reach of many. The much longed for fast-forward button, even if made available, may not have been able to work its magic to the fullest; there are mountains too high to climb, oceans too deep to cross, lands too vast to tread on.

Then again, we make but only a small dent in this big bang of a universe; a tiny speck of dust floating through the only golden stream of sunlight. This is an equation that hardly does any justice in the law of mathematics, for we are here not by design but by necessity, in order to take on a mission unknown to humanity.

We could have stopped and smelled the roses, but weekends that go by too swiftly simply ought to be outlawed.

Details of this entry.Sunday, June 01, 2014, filed under Musings.
Recent tracks played are displayed on Last.fm.Lean, The National


White menace.

Numerous sunsets lost and the occasional few dinners missed; they make one very tired old soul, ill and creaking to the bone.

These little lines of disconnect, they spell sorry and neglect. Like the crispy new pages of a newly-launched tabloid losing its shine after just one day out in the sun, we quickly wither at the face of adversity and hardship, losing our hard-earned deposits upfront.

We may fall out of love, ditching those hardy sneakers that have been to five out of the seven continents for a spanking new pair of designer stilettos; or fall out of favour, losing a dear childhood friend from the innocent yesteryears to the trials and tribulations of adulthood.

But we do not age overnight, just to shriek at the sight of yet another strand of grey hair found the next morning, or to berate ourselves for again forgetting to pick up a carton of milk on the way home from work.

We have also grown out of ourselves, to become increasingly detached from whom we once were.

Maybe it is evolution; others may call it dissolution. And before long, we will become strangers to our own pasts, and there may not be any more left of us to leave to the world that we used to call home.

Details of this entry.Tuesday, January 14, 2014, filed under Musings.
Recent tracks played are displayed on Last.fm.Humiliation, The National


Next territory.

What does it take to be able to cruise down a guilt-free highway and make decisions that hurt no one else except perhaps yourself?

It could be cowardice – in a world of biting financial insecurities, wobbly health concerns and an unsteady political climate, all too often we find ourselves fearing for the future, of what it may or may not even bring.

But it could be anything really, something maybe, and nothing we can control absolutely: we call it fate, destiny, luck; they refer to it as the perfect alignment of all stars known to mankind, or simply a nice complement to the scores of tea leaves falling into distinct patterns that spell either complete droll or dreadful disaster.

One forked path, two broken signposts, and a long and winding road that ends with a mistake in a city of misgivings.

And every time I think I have got the album of the year pat down, something else comes along and blows it out of the water.

Aptly, I thought I could be a total washout. It makes me feel like a human being again.

Details of this entry.Tuesday, September 24, 2013, filed under Musings.
Recent tracks played are displayed on Last.fm.Great Escape, Washed Out


<< Older Entries
About the odd pilot.
Guess who?Female, Malaysia. See who is the odd pilot. Use the backtracker.


Twitter @rhymeglass.View Twitter feed here. Categories.
Announcements
Blogger Archives
Musings
Nanowrimo 2005
Personal
Reviews
Flickr @rayglass.

All content, photographs, and design © Strizzt, 2001-2015 (unless stated otherwise). This website is powered by Textpattern, and is best viewed on a screen resolution of 1024x768 pixels.

home  |  the odd pilot  |  backtracker  |  rss  |  atom  |   online   |