Saturday, November 16, 2013

Also, there were aliens.

Do you know how it's like when it's 02:30 am, you're waking up from another dream where you were going to die horribly and the house is almost too quiet for comfort? And then, just as you think it's safe to go back and fight your way back into sleep, there's that creaking on the roof that kinda sounds like human steps except the weight distribution is a little off? Or the feeling you get when you close the window that maybe there's someone on the outside looking in?

Oh, it's just me then.

The universe is stranger than we give it credit though. Even the slim parts we can explain with science (some would say especially those parts). The trick may be to keep calm and nod at the nice monster under the bed. Maybe it was you who have disturbed her dreams?

You can also use a soundtrack that is written with these unmentionable occurrences in mind. Take a listen to Blitz//Berlin (formerly Theset), a Canadian quartet of supposed human beings, making soundtracks, for movies and those deeply disturbing moments at night, inspired and laced with punk and hip-hop.

Pleasant dreams.

Blitz//Berlin - Drink {MP3}
Blitz//Berlin - Outside {MP3}

Blitz//Berlin is on Facebook & Twitter.

Saturday, November 09, 2013

And It's Alright

My chest hurts. It's probably nothing. Stress. Anxiety. There is much to be anxious about these days.
I try my usual tricks to help me relax, to calm down just a little.

I venture into the imaginary world that I pay a monthly upkeep to access, but I can't find myself there anymore. There are echoes, traces of who I once was, but I'm not there anymore.

I try to write, to create a world of my own. There is so much to tell and paint, so few words. I write a paragraph, then stop. Try another, then pause and stare at the waiting cursor. I know the story but I don't know how to reach it. I am lost to it. Without me it cannot be told, and I am silent.

I turn to look for friends, companions, acquaintances, but I cannot reach them. I am lost.

I try to look inside myself, but there is nothing. Only emptiness, a riddled past, an ever stretching present and a cloudy future. I try to break away from the selfish pain and the gnawing anxiety but it's as though I am trying to leave this body behind. They are too much a part of me by now.

Finally, I turn to music. It has always been there for me. I can still hear it, still listen, though my attention span is declining in favor of the pain and dread in my rib cage. And I am so tired.

But it still works, it's still a lifeline out of this place and, for a short time, out of this existence.

I listen and remember I am still alive, I still hunger, I still dream.

I know it's not going to be alright, but for a few minutes I can believe.

"And It's Alright" by Peter Broderick (from Home)