So I'm sitting at Leo's Spaghetti Bar, there is a young bloke busking with a classical guitar nearby, it is hotter than hell and I'm impressed by his enthusiasm and ability to keep that guitar in tune. He is playing the theme from the film The Deer Hunter, a tune which I believe was originally titled Catalina, although I'm not completely sure.
Music always comes in a context. The context affects the way we hear the music. For my generation this "Deer Hunter" music is forever linked with an emotionally traumatic film. I'm certain the composer had no such intention, for me the context is set, I'll always hear that tune the same way.
For the musician, after hours of dedicated practise, and he's really good, the tune means something else. He has learned and conquered, performed, taken his craft to the street because there are so few gigs for classical guitarists, no matter how good. Folks pass by, talk about The Deer Hunter in cliches, keep on walking. The musician must find his own context, disappear into the music, find his own context and reality.
For most at this outside cafe the music is a pleasant background to conversation about New Year's hangovers. It is gentle, soothing, welcome. If they took the time to listen they'd probably hear more truth from this young artist than in every word they spoke for the last year. True, honest music stands apart from any context, at least it should. One human has put the best of himself into composing, another has put the best of himself into playing, all around is just chatter in comparison. I guess this young musician must persist, play on the street until he makes the concert hall, the neutral context where only the music matters.
So the heat has had it's way, a string has broken, the musician has wandered off to find some shade, to restring and regroup. His day is probably done, there is no way he will get that guitar in tune again today. I hope he returns tomorrow, keeps searching for a context he can present his music in. I hope we all do.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Saturday, December 31, 2011
George Carlin On Cynicism.
“Scratch any cynic and you will find a disappointed idealist”
George Carlin.
I'm a cynic, my father before me. He used to accuse me of idealism. I showed him!
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
George Carlin.
I'm a cynic, my father before me. He used to accuse me of idealism. I showed him!
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, December 29, 2011
George Carlin On Religion.
“Religion has convinced people that there's an invisible man ... living in the sky. Who watches everything you do every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a list of ten specific things he doesn't want you to do. And if you do any of these things, he will send you to a special place, of burning and fire and smoke and torture and anguish for you to live forever, and suffer, and suffer, and burn, and scream, until the end of time. But he loves you. He loves you. He loves you and he needs money.”
George Carlin.
Harsh . . . but fair.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
George Carlin.
Harsh . . . but fair.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Disappointment.
My father's sole parenting tool was Disappointment. We maintained a weird double negative relationship, based on avoiding Disappointment. Don't get me wrong, he was a good guy, lived for his family and their welfare, he just spent his entire life being Disappointed that all the other humans couldn't see that he was correct about everything, everyone and everything Disappointed him.
I followed in his Disappointed, and Disappointing footsteps for many years, realized what I was doing, swung to the complete opposite, began letting everything go, no expectation, no Disappointment. Of course I took it too far.
I recall sitting at a restaurant table with a girlfriend and some friends. She spent the entire night with her back to me, flirting with a largely unpleasant fellow who happened to be superbly rich. The obvious question in my mind, "are you intending to come on like a whore every time we encounter a wealthy man? Is that how it's going to go?" I said nothing, let it go. She was very drunk, I thought I'd discuss it sober the next day. Any sort of a man would have dropped some money on the table and walked, like in the movies. I had every right to be Disappointed by her behaviour, to expect better. She even shared the seafood platter with him, let him pay her bill like it was a date. Why did I stay?
We broke up soon after, I learned that over reacting to a parent is just as dumb as copying their approach to life. Finding one's own nature is one of the tasks for any adult. We should only take from parents the nurturing that actually nurtures our true nature.
Respect and loyalty are what we should expect from a lover. I learned that feeling and expressing Disappointment is a natural reaction to such an awful display but that I don't have to be like my father, a slave to one impotent emotion. Expectation and Disappointment are twins, for me learning what I expect, what matters to me, not my father, has been a huge relief of pressure I didn't even realize I was feeling.
Perhaps my father died feeling Disappointed by me? I think he did. I believe I'm ready to live with my own expectations and Disappointments, not his.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I followed in his Disappointed, and Disappointing footsteps for many years, realized what I was doing, swung to the complete opposite, began letting everything go, no expectation, no Disappointment. Of course I took it too far.
I recall sitting at a restaurant table with a girlfriend and some friends. She spent the entire night with her back to me, flirting with a largely unpleasant fellow who happened to be superbly rich. The obvious question in my mind, "are you intending to come on like a whore every time we encounter a wealthy man? Is that how it's going to go?" I said nothing, let it go. She was very drunk, I thought I'd discuss it sober the next day. Any sort of a man would have dropped some money on the table and walked, like in the movies. I had every right to be Disappointed by her behaviour, to expect better. She even shared the seafood platter with him, let him pay her bill like it was a date. Why did I stay?
We broke up soon after, I learned that over reacting to a parent is just as dumb as copying their approach to life. Finding one's own nature is one of the tasks for any adult. We should only take from parents the nurturing that actually nurtures our true nature.
Respect and loyalty are what we should expect from a lover. I learned that feeling and expressing Disappointment is a natural reaction to such an awful display but that I don't have to be like my father, a slave to one impotent emotion. Expectation and Disappointment are twins, for me learning what I expect, what matters to me, not my father, has been a huge relief of pressure I didn't even realize I was feeling.
Perhaps my father died feeling Disappointed by me? I think he did. I believe I'm ready to live with my own expectations and Disappointments, not his.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sophia Loren On Youth.
“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”
Sophia Loren.
Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you, when you're young at heart.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sophia Loren.
Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you, when you're young at heart.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Work And Me.
"It is impossible to imagine a more complete fusion with nature than that of the Gypsy."
Franz Liszt.
The most common currency that is exchanged for goods and services is money. Folks spend a lot of time working hard to obtain enough money to exchange for all the goods and services they wish to consume. It's a simple system, seems to work reasonably efficiently. It's all fine if you like working. Me and work don't get along so well.
The second most popular currency is sex. One gender is born with an advantage in this transaction. I am of the incorrect gender to easily trade sex for goods and services. The absence of a six pack, and discernible shoulders makes this currency even less useful for me.
The lesser known currencies are charm, wit, talent, luck, old fashioned manners, the ability to share a dream. I wasn't blessed with a fortune in any of these currencies, just enough of each to get by. Fortunately I don't have much desire for goods and services, so getting by is plenty. When I do work for cash I'm usually trading one or more of these currencies rather than actually working. It never looks like work, or feels like it. I've done work, writing and playing music isn't it. Making conversation, contributing ideas, collecting information and experience and handing it on, these things feed and clothe me more easily than any day job I ever held down. I'm not quite sure how it works either.
Of course this is a risky way to live. There are lean times, some days there is no market for stories and jokes, songs and tunes. Sometimes all the free stuff, the excess of a flatulent culture, just seems to elude me. Other times there is bounty for all. Security is an illusion, we all fall on hard times, for me it is a shorter, softer fall.
Years go by, I look back and wonder what I've lived on, apart from love and air? My tax return certainly doesn't match my lifestyle. If I live long enough to get truly old I guess I'll pay the price, so it goes. When my wits dessert me I'll look for a job.
In the meantime I'll dodge work. Work and I just don't get along.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Franz Liszt.
The most common currency that is exchanged for goods and services is money. Folks spend a lot of time working hard to obtain enough money to exchange for all the goods and services they wish to consume. It's a simple system, seems to work reasonably efficiently. It's all fine if you like working. Me and work don't get along so well.
The second most popular currency is sex. One gender is born with an advantage in this transaction. I am of the incorrect gender to easily trade sex for goods and services. The absence of a six pack, and discernible shoulders makes this currency even less useful for me.
The lesser known currencies are charm, wit, talent, luck, old fashioned manners, the ability to share a dream. I wasn't blessed with a fortune in any of these currencies, just enough of each to get by. Fortunately I don't have much desire for goods and services, so getting by is plenty. When I do work for cash I'm usually trading one or more of these currencies rather than actually working. It never looks like work, or feels like it. I've done work, writing and playing music isn't it. Making conversation, contributing ideas, collecting information and experience and handing it on, these things feed and clothe me more easily than any day job I ever held down. I'm not quite sure how it works either.
Of course this is a risky way to live. There are lean times, some days there is no market for stories and jokes, songs and tunes. Sometimes all the free stuff, the excess of a flatulent culture, just seems to elude me. Other times there is bounty for all. Security is an illusion, we all fall on hard times, for me it is a shorter, softer fall.
Years go by, I look back and wonder what I've lived on, apart from love and air? My tax return certainly doesn't match my lifestyle. If I live long enough to get truly old I guess I'll pay the price, so it goes. When my wits dessert me I'll look for a job.
In the meantime I'll dodge work. Work and I just don't get along.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Kilgore Trout On The Battle Of The Sexes.
"Men are jerks. Women are psychotic."
Kilgore Trout.
I believe Mr. Trout is my favourite imaginary writer.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Kilgore Trout.
I believe Mr. Trout is my favourite imaginary writer.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Meaning In Order.
Chaos is action without meaning.
Order is action without meaning.
A chess board, a square divided into squares, action defined by explicit rules. The game is played, the pieces replaced in order. It all appears to mean something. The players learn strategy, discipline, concentration, patience. In the real world the guy who is willing to employ corruption and force of arms will win every time. The game of chess turns the chaos of battle into order. Both mean nothing. The chaotic game of war is played, the pieces repopulated, the game starts again.
Civilization is a useful tool, creates a mass delusion that there is meaning in what we do, allows most of us to sleep securely in our beds. It only works if everyone subscribes to the rules. If someone picks up the opposition's chess pieces in his fist and asks, "what are you going to do about it?", the game makes no sense.
We believe that order creates meaning, I can't see it. Order is just useful, it doesn't change the meaning of anything. Chaotic action, ordered action, it's all the same. We fear that life loses meaning when it becomes chaotic but it's all just the same meaningless action in a different context.
I'm all for order and civilization, I reckon we should look for meaning elsewhere.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Order is action without meaning.
A chess board, a square divided into squares, action defined by explicit rules. The game is played, the pieces replaced in order. It all appears to mean something. The players learn strategy, discipline, concentration, patience. In the real world the guy who is willing to employ corruption and force of arms will win every time. The game of chess turns the chaos of battle into order. Both mean nothing. The chaotic game of war is played, the pieces repopulated, the game starts again.
Civilization is a useful tool, creates a mass delusion that there is meaning in what we do, allows most of us to sleep securely in our beds. It only works if everyone subscribes to the rules. If someone picks up the opposition's chess pieces in his fist and asks, "what are you going to do about it?", the game makes no sense.
We believe that order creates meaning, I can't see it. Order is just useful, it doesn't change the meaning of anything. Chaotic action, ordered action, it's all the same. We fear that life loses meaning when it becomes chaotic but it's all just the same meaningless action in a different context.
I'm all for order and civilization, I reckon we should look for meaning elsewhere.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Monday, December 26, 2011
Ansel Adams On Art And Life.
“Life is your art. An open, aware heart is your camera. A oneness with your world is your film. Your bright eyes and easy smile is your museum.”
Ansel Adams.
Some people appear fortunate, seem to simply fall into what they were born to do. Mr. Adams was lucky enough to be born into the infancy of the camera, found his niche in this world. It is difficult to discern if his approach to life lead him to his passion, or if his fulfilled passion gave him this attitude to life.
It is probably best to search for an approach that will lead to your passion, rather than relying on luck.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Blues, Not Art by Blute-Kent Parkstreet, available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
Ansel Adams.
Some people appear fortunate, seem to simply fall into what they were born to do. Mr. Adams was lucky enough to be born into the infancy of the camera, found his niche in this world. It is difficult to discern if his approach to life lead him to his passion, or if his fulfilled passion gave him this attitude to life.
It is probably best to search for an approach that will lead to your passion, rather than relying on luck.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Blues, Not Art by Blute-Kent Parkstreet, available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
Time And Space And New Year.
So, New Year and all that. Like the comedy and tragedy masks of the theatre we look both ways, assess which applies to the year past, which we predict will apply to the year ahead. Our memory of the year past hangs like laundry on the line, images of the costumes we wore, the beds we soiled, soon to be dried and folded away. For our predictions for the year ahead we employ all the old tricks of the psychic, try to guess what sort of person we really are, where that will lead us.
For me 2011 hangs off time in Sydney, Portland Oregon, Melbourne, falling in love, beginning to play saxophone with some intent. Right now my life is in flux, I can't even guess what sort of person I am, where I will end up next year, with who, which instrument I'll be playing. All is uncertain. Uncertain is the way I like it. The feeling that anything could happen is exciting. Knowing what lies ahead is a personal hell for me.
We are all travelling through time and space, it doesn't feel like it, we only notice in deeply comic and deeply tragic moments, and at New Year. We are all aware that everything passes, choose to forget. It is confronting to know that all we do and say, all our lives, disappear, there is only room for the current calendar on the kitchen wall, 2011 will be in the recycling bin soon enough. Our comic, tragic trip through time and space goes on, then passes. Our memories and dreams pass too.
Play out the drama of comedy and tragedy, feel every moment, take the trip. Travel through time and space, arrive and depart, let past and future take care of themselves. Enjoy New Year for what it is, a reminder that we are travelling through time and space even if it doesn't feel like it.
Happy New Year!
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Blues, Not Art by Blute-Kent Parkstreet, available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
For me 2011 hangs off time in Sydney, Portland Oregon, Melbourne, falling in love, beginning to play saxophone with some intent. Right now my life is in flux, I can't even guess what sort of person I am, where I will end up next year, with who, which instrument I'll be playing. All is uncertain. Uncertain is the way I like it. The feeling that anything could happen is exciting. Knowing what lies ahead is a personal hell for me.
We are all travelling through time and space, it doesn't feel like it, we only notice in deeply comic and deeply tragic moments, and at New Year. We are all aware that everything passes, choose to forget. It is confronting to know that all we do and say, all our lives, disappear, there is only room for the current calendar on the kitchen wall, 2011 will be in the recycling bin soon enough. Our comic, tragic trip through time and space goes on, then passes. Our memories and dreams pass too.
Play out the drama of comedy and tragedy, feel every moment, take the trip. Travel through time and space, arrive and depart, let past and future take care of themselves. Enjoy New Year for what it is, a reminder that we are travelling through time and space even if it doesn't feel like it.
Happy New Year!
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Blues, Not Art by Blute-Kent Parkstreet, available for download at iTunes, all the other sites.
M. F. K. Fisher On Food, Security And Love.
“It seems to me that our three basic needs, for food and security and love, are so mixed and mingled and entwined that we cannot straightly think of one without the others. So it happens that when I write of hunger, I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and the hunger for it… and then the warmth and richness and fine reality of hunger satisfied… and it is all one.”
M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating.
One of my favourite book titles, and favourite books, is Consider The Oyster by M. F. K. Fisher. Such love, for humans and food, and oysters.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
M.F.K. Fisher, The Art of Eating.
One of my favourite book titles, and favourite books, is Consider The Oyster by M. F. K. Fisher. Such love, for humans and food, and oysters.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Kurt Vonnegut On The Semicolon.
“Let me note that Kilgore Trout and I have never used semicolons. They don't do anything, don't suggest anything. They are transvestite hermaphrodites.”
Kurt Vonnegut.
I concur; punctuation affectation.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Kurt Vonnegut.
I concur; punctuation affectation.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tomorrow.
I've been thinking about the song Tomorrow, the one from the stage show Bugsy Malone, not the Annie one. The one from Bugsy Malone is pretty much the opposite of the Annie one, this tomorrow you keep promising never comes, don't think you are fooling me with your promises of tomorrow.
That I am thinking about showtunes is of great concern to me. I need to get out and play with a ska punk band before I lose whatever edge I ever had.
There is one superbly written verse that is sticking in my mind. The idea that this promised tomorrow is a "resting place for bums, a trap set in the slums", that's pretty good writing. I wish I'd written that, a sure sign that it's good.
"I won't take no for an answer,
I was born to be a dancer."
The chorus is the pay off. It claims that if the music is in you it must be expressed, until it comes out as a "love shout".
A love shout. As fine a definition of music as I've heard, if you are doing it right.
The Tomorrow from Annie is the classic showtune. Wouldn't it be nice if everything were nice, clap your hands and believe. The Bugsy Malone version draws a line in the sand, states that real life begins here, you can keep your promises of tomorrow.
I need to do some love shouting through a saxophone and stop thinking about showtunes, I'm starting to worry about myself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
That I am thinking about showtunes is of great concern to me. I need to get out and play with a ska punk band before I lose whatever edge I ever had.
There is one superbly written verse that is sticking in my mind. The idea that this promised tomorrow is a "resting place for bums, a trap set in the slums", that's pretty good writing. I wish I'd written that, a sure sign that it's good.
"I won't take no for an answer,
I was born to be a dancer."
The chorus is the pay off. It claims that if the music is in you it must be expressed, until it comes out as a "love shout".
A love shout. As fine a definition of music as I've heard, if you are doing it right.
The Tomorrow from Annie is the classic showtune. Wouldn't it be nice if everything were nice, clap your hands and believe. The Bugsy Malone version draws a line in the sand, states that real life begins here, you can keep your promises of tomorrow.
I need to do some love shouting through a saxophone and stop thinking about showtunes, I'm starting to worry about myself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Words And Neckties And Making Love.
Imagine, if you will, how you would go about explaining how to tie a neck tie to someone over the telephone. Words are not the correct tools for every job. Some things you just need to show someone.
Now, imagine trying to use words to explain making love. Unlike the classic Windsor knot there is no defined, correct way of tying two people together, it's something they need to show each other. Getting a tie right is an earnest business, too short or long and it looks comical, not the desired affect. Making love can be anything, from a hooked little finger to laughter that ends in kisses. Making love can be intense, lighthearted, passionate, hilarious.
A patient teacher, a little practise, a man can tie his own tie for the rest of his life. When it comes to making love two people are teaching each other, every tie is roughly the same, every lover is different. Two people need to keep tying that knot, differently every time, teaching and learning, sighing and giggling, blushing and moaning.
Words are the incorrect tool. Time, patience, desire, love, these are the correct tools. There is no right way, no cunning rhyme to remember that makes it easier.
Learn to tie a necktie correctly and you will pass for a gentleman. Learn to make love and you will pass for a lover. Why not learn to do both?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Now, imagine trying to use words to explain making love. Unlike the classic Windsor knot there is no defined, correct way of tying two people together, it's something they need to show each other. Getting a tie right is an earnest business, too short or long and it looks comical, not the desired affect. Making love can be anything, from a hooked little finger to laughter that ends in kisses. Making love can be intense, lighthearted, passionate, hilarious.
A patient teacher, a little practise, a man can tie his own tie for the rest of his life. When it comes to making love two people are teaching each other, every tie is roughly the same, every lover is different. Two people need to keep tying that knot, differently every time, teaching and learning, sighing and giggling, blushing and moaning.
Words are the incorrect tool. Time, patience, desire, love, these are the correct tools. There is no right way, no cunning rhyme to remember that makes it easier.
Learn to tie a necktie correctly and you will pass for a gentleman. Learn to make love and you will pass for a lover. Why not learn to do both?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Don Cupitt On Christmas.
“Christmas is the Disneyfication of Christianity”
Don Cupitt.
Nailed it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
That Guy.
You know when you've been driving between Christmas engagements, you've seen some strange looking, long haired middle aged guy striding along in the rain, a cigarette optimistically tucked under his palm, looking lost, bewildered, completely out of context in some non descript suburb? You must have seen that guy once. Have you ever wondered what that guy's story is? Where he has been, where he might be going, why he's walking alone in the rain on Christmas Day?
Today I was that guy, so I can tell you. He was removing himself from all the other humans, trying to find a railway station so he could get back to his guitar, to sit on his bed and play reggae songs. The drenching rain was making him feel alive for the first time all day.
He was alone, wet, happy.
Next Christmas, when you see that guy, don't worry, he's doing fine.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Today I was that guy, so I can tell you. He was removing himself from all the other humans, trying to find a railway station so he could get back to his guitar, to sit on his bed and play reggae songs. The drenching rain was making him feel alive for the first time all day.
He was alone, wet, happy.
Next Christmas, when you see that guy, don't worry, he's doing fine.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Freedom Of Now.
So I'm sitting on my bed on Christmas morning. Last night I had a spat with my girlfriend, I've been witness to a month of unpleasantness about where and when Christmas lunch should be, I'm looking forward to a day of family tension.
And I don't care.
Right at this moment I am happy. I'm old enough to know that everything passes, that my girlfriend and I will work out our differences, they are minor, or we won't, that I'll sit quietly through the family fiasco, that by tonight I'll be wondering what all the angst was about? Everyone goes fucking mental at this time of year, I can accept this and disappear into my happy dream land, sit beside my river and wait for it all to float away.
Some things are worth fighting for, not many. Freedom is in our minds, a free man is free wherever he goes, whoever he is with. I can say that at this age I've given up fighting for things that don't matter, save my strength for when someone tries to mess with the freedom of my own mind.
I want to live fully in this three dimensional world, this human life, truly experience it, feel the joy and pain. Why bother getting out of bed if you aren't going to do that? What is a life for? Right now is all we really have. Tomorrow, some afterlife, nothing but fantasy, they don't exist until we are in them, until they are now. They may not happen. I won't live for them, now. Now.
All we do and say is suddenly the past. The past doesn't exist either, just the skewed memory we carry around. Lessons from history? Doomed to repeat and all that? Bollocks. The repetition is in people living for the past or the future, even for after death, that's why we repeat the same mistakes.
Right now I am sitting on my bed. Some stuff happened, other stuff will happen, all that really exists is now, me, on my bed, writing this.
Now is the true freedom.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
And I don't care.
Right at this moment I am happy. I'm old enough to know that everything passes, that my girlfriend and I will work out our differences, they are minor, or we won't, that I'll sit quietly through the family fiasco, that by tonight I'll be wondering what all the angst was about? Everyone goes fucking mental at this time of year, I can accept this and disappear into my happy dream land, sit beside my river and wait for it all to float away.
Some things are worth fighting for, not many. Freedom is in our minds, a free man is free wherever he goes, whoever he is with. I can say that at this age I've given up fighting for things that don't matter, save my strength for when someone tries to mess with the freedom of my own mind.
I want to live fully in this three dimensional world, this human life, truly experience it, feel the joy and pain. Why bother getting out of bed if you aren't going to do that? What is a life for? Right now is all we really have. Tomorrow, some afterlife, nothing but fantasy, they don't exist until we are in them, until they are now. They may not happen. I won't live for them, now. Now.
All we do and say is suddenly the past. The past doesn't exist either, just the skewed memory we carry around. Lessons from history? Doomed to repeat and all that? Bollocks. The repetition is in people living for the past or the future, even for after death, that's why we repeat the same mistakes.
Right now I am sitting on my bed. Some stuff happened, other stuff will happen, all that really exists is now, me, on my bed, writing this.
Now is the true freedom.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Friday, December 23, 2011
Eric Idle On Comedy And Society.
“At least one way of measuring the freedom of any society is the amount of comedy that is permitted, and clearly a healthy society permits more satirical comment than a repressive, so that if comedy is to function in some way as a safety release then it must obviously deal with these taboo areas. This is part of the responsibility we accord our licensed jesters, that nothing be excused the searching light of comedy. If anything can survive the probe of humour it is clearly of value, and conversely all groups who claim immunity from laughter are claiming special privileges which should not be granted.”
Eric Idle.
Let no sacred cow go unslaughtered. The funniest thing on earth is a human taking himself or herself seriously, believing they are above the comic nonsense we call life.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Eric Idle.
Let no sacred cow go unslaughtered. The funniest thing on earth is a human taking himself or herself seriously, believing they are above the comic nonsense we call life.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Rose And Cactus.
So the suspiciously cheerful types are constantly on about smelling the roses. Some days we are surrounded by cactus, only a fool would stick his nose into a cactus. Cactus are wonderful plants, hardy buggers, they make the most of a harsh life, some of them bloom much more beautifully than roses. I still don't want to stick my nose in one.
I know what the cheerful types mean, make the most of the good things in your life, don't focus on the bad. Well, of course. Smell the coffee, taste the summer blueberries, share a smile with a pretty girl, why not? But some days are just crap days, denying them, papering over the cracks with faux folk wisdom, why not experience the crap fully? Rose bushes accept that much of their lives are manure and waiting, they don't pretend every day is in full bloom.
The cactus does what a cactus does, breeds in good seasons, hunkers down in the bad. They survive, thrive another day. If every day is roses you simply aren't living. Living fully means truly feeling pain, anger, blues, how would you know a sweet day if you'd never tasted bitter? Sadness can be very beautiful, only if you truly feel and express it, not if you deny it. Rage can be power. The blues can heal your soul, give you the serenity to live another day, to feel the joy when it comes your way.
The only place where roses bloom all year is the synthetic environment of the hothouse. I don't want to live there. Take the time to admire the cactus as well as the rose.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I know what the cheerful types mean, make the most of the good things in your life, don't focus on the bad. Well, of course. Smell the coffee, taste the summer blueberries, share a smile with a pretty girl, why not? But some days are just crap days, denying them, papering over the cracks with faux folk wisdom, why not experience the crap fully? Rose bushes accept that much of their lives are manure and waiting, they don't pretend every day is in full bloom.
The cactus does what a cactus does, breeds in good seasons, hunkers down in the bad. They survive, thrive another day. If every day is roses you simply aren't living. Living fully means truly feeling pain, anger, blues, how would you know a sweet day if you'd never tasted bitter? Sadness can be very beautiful, only if you truly feel and express it, not if you deny it. Rage can be power. The blues can heal your soul, give you the serenity to live another day, to feel the joy when it comes your way.
The only place where roses bloom all year is the synthetic environment of the hothouse. I don't want to live there. Take the time to admire the cactus as well as the rose.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Richard Bach On Christmas.
"In the United States Christmas has become the rape of an idea."
Richard Bach.
Mr. Bach usually annoys me, I like this simple idea. Not just in the U.S., a sweet, spiritual festival has been turned into a parody of itself. Just as rape is an act of violence in the form of sex, a violent act has been committed against the idea of Christmas, it has been violated.
I loathe the modern Christmas, every tedious cliche ridden moment of it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Richard Bach.
Mr. Bach usually annoys me, I like this simple idea. Not just in the U.S., a sweet, spiritual festival has been turned into a parody of itself. Just as rape is an act of violence in the form of sex, a violent act has been committed against the idea of Christmas, it has been violated.
I loathe the modern Christmas, every tedious cliche ridden moment of it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Lateness Ettiquette.
So is it safe to assume that everyone owns a cell phone now, that if they are running late for an appointment it isn't too much trouble to send a text? I think that is a safe assumption.
There are so many variables when it comes to punctuality. Are you meeting a group of people, or is just one person waiting alone? Meeting at their home where they have something to do, or on a street corner where the other person will be open to the elements, and strange humans? Was it a firm arrangement, or "I'll make it if I find myself in the area"?
Given it is an arranged meeting, at a set time, I figure fifteen minutes late isn't the end of the world. It's not like I'm rushing off to perform bottom surgery on Kylie Minogue, anything important like that. After thirty minutes I leave. Is that too harsh? I reckon it isn't about the time, it's about respecting my time. My time is mine to waste, and I do, not cheap currency for someone else to fritter away. I hate it when someone arrives around twenty seven minutes late without getting in touch. I feel robbed of my rightful indignation, my "well I'm leaving" moment. I find myself resenting that they turned up at all, for at least an hour, until I chill and begin enjoying their company.
I wonder what you think? Are the fifteen and thirty minutes marks reasonable? Am I being frumpy because I won't call them to find out where they are? Maybe I am, I feel that if I'm there the responsibility lies with the other person to call me. I'm in the music business so they rarely do. I get to be indignant and huffy quite regularly.
I believe all cell phones should come with a standard feature, and electric shock device, a way of teaching some manners. After thirty minutes an electrotext could be sent to the late party. Fair enough? Am I going too far? At least they'd call next time.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
There are so many variables when it comes to punctuality. Are you meeting a group of people, or is just one person waiting alone? Meeting at their home where they have something to do, or on a street corner where the other person will be open to the elements, and strange humans? Was it a firm arrangement, or "I'll make it if I find myself in the area"?
Given it is an arranged meeting, at a set time, I figure fifteen minutes late isn't the end of the world. It's not like I'm rushing off to perform bottom surgery on Kylie Minogue, anything important like that. After thirty minutes I leave. Is that too harsh? I reckon it isn't about the time, it's about respecting my time. My time is mine to waste, and I do, not cheap currency for someone else to fritter away. I hate it when someone arrives around twenty seven minutes late without getting in touch. I feel robbed of my rightful indignation, my "well I'm leaving" moment. I find myself resenting that they turned up at all, for at least an hour, until I chill and begin enjoying their company.
I wonder what you think? Are the fifteen and thirty minutes marks reasonable? Am I being frumpy because I won't call them to find out where they are? Maybe I am, I feel that if I'm there the responsibility lies with the other person to call me. I'm in the music business so they rarely do. I get to be indignant and huffy quite regularly.
I believe all cell phones should come with a standard feature, and electric shock device, a way of teaching some manners. After thirty minutes an electrotext could be sent to the late party. Fair enough? Am I going too far? At least they'd call next time.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Benito Mussolini On Anarchists.
“Every anarchist is a baffled dictator.”
Benito Mussolini.
I love it when I disagree with nearly everything someone says, then find a sweet truth amongst their nonsense.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Benito Mussolini.
I love it when I disagree with nearly everything someone says, then find a sweet truth amongst their nonsense.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
The Kids Today.
I love telling young people that their music all sounds the same to me. It's just a fun thing to do, very upsetting apparently.
Mostly I hear their music leaking out of little white headphones. I'm a public transport user, for my sins, trains and trams are the places to establish a personal disco, to share the joy with fellow passengers by turning it up to eleven, one louder. These kids are going to look real cool when they are my age and most of what they say is, "huh?, what's that you say?".
I guess I am surprised by the music. It has regressed. I won't be contradicted on this, popular music has returned to the nursery rhyme lyric that started rock and roll, reduced the music to a childish electronic riff. Of course there is still great music being produced, great music is rarely popular music.
My generation likes to think we were all buying Led Zep, Zappa, Bowie and Waits records in the 1970's. The statistics show we were buying Shaddupa Ya' Face by Joe Dolce. I'm sure in twenty years the folks listening to fashionable tnntz music will be claiming to have been into something much cooler too. Bless 'em.
It's not that it all sounds the same. A short listen will tell you the songs are all different. I'm pretty sure that as we get old we simply close our minds when we hear music we don't fancy, categorize it, put it all in the same delete file, so it all sounds the same to us. Maintaining an open mind is one of the great challenges of middle age. An open mind seems to return of it's own accord as we grow seriously old, which is very cool, it's just the middle years that we get cranky and closed. Of course there is a possibility that we are right, popular music was much cooler when it was being made by James Brown, Janis Joplin, Springsteen, The Stones, Ian Dury, The Clash. Damnit it was cooler.
Today's music doesn't all sound the same. I'm doing my part to hold up a tradition by telling young people that it does. So much fun. I can't wait until I'm old enough for my mind to be naturally open again. Right now giving new stuff a listen is just hard work.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Mostly I hear their music leaking out of little white headphones. I'm a public transport user, for my sins, trains and trams are the places to establish a personal disco, to share the joy with fellow passengers by turning it up to eleven, one louder. These kids are going to look real cool when they are my age and most of what they say is, "huh?, what's that you say?".
I guess I am surprised by the music. It has regressed. I won't be contradicted on this, popular music has returned to the nursery rhyme lyric that started rock and roll, reduced the music to a childish electronic riff. Of course there is still great music being produced, great music is rarely popular music.
My generation likes to think we were all buying Led Zep, Zappa, Bowie and Waits records in the 1970's. The statistics show we were buying Shaddupa Ya' Face by Joe Dolce. I'm sure in twenty years the folks listening to fashionable tnntz music will be claiming to have been into something much cooler too. Bless 'em.
It's not that it all sounds the same. A short listen will tell you the songs are all different. I'm pretty sure that as we get old we simply close our minds when we hear music we don't fancy, categorize it, put it all in the same delete file, so it all sounds the same to us. Maintaining an open mind is one of the great challenges of middle age. An open mind seems to return of it's own accord as we grow seriously old, which is very cool, it's just the middle years that we get cranky and closed. Of course there is a possibility that we are right, popular music was much cooler when it was being made by James Brown, Janis Joplin, Springsteen, The Stones, Ian Dury, The Clash. Damnit it was cooler.
Today's music doesn't all sound the same. I'm doing my part to hold up a tradition by telling young people that it does. So much fun. I can't wait until I'm old enough for my mind to be naturally open again. Right now giving new stuff a listen is just hard work.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Adolf Hitler On Propaganda.
“By the skillful and sustained use of propaganda, one can make a people see even heaven as hell or an extremely wretched life as paradise.”
Adolf Hitler.
I love that he wrote all this stuff years before he did it, that no one picked up on it. Of course he backed up what he wrote with large groups of armed men, so those who did notice or disagree didn't have a whole lot of options.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Adolf Hitler.
I love that he wrote all this stuff years before he did it, that no one picked up on it. Of course he backed up what he wrote with large groups of armed men, so those who did notice or disagree didn't have a whole lot of options.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
It's Hot.
It's hot. It's nothing but hot. No cloud, no breeze, just hot.
It is very nearly too hot to drink coffee. Nearly. I will face my latte manfully, take my caffeine like the trooper I am.
I can see my friends in Oregon, leaning forward on their chairs, scanning down the screen a little, wondering if I have the temerity to complain about how hot, sunny and dry it is? Do I?
I could tell those shivering Oregonians about the constant stream of luscious young girls in their tiny shorts and singlets, headed to the beach at the end of this street. I could mention how gaddamn sexy my waitress looks with that sheen of sweat on her slender arms. I could write that I can feel the sun bleaching my hair blonde, that I can feel the vitamin D soaking my skin, the lust of Summer rising in my loins.
Or I could complain that it is too hot and drive my Winter friends crazy?
It's hot.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
It is very nearly too hot to drink coffee. Nearly. I will face my latte manfully, take my caffeine like the trooper I am.
I can see my friends in Oregon, leaning forward on their chairs, scanning down the screen a little, wondering if I have the temerity to complain about how hot, sunny and dry it is? Do I?
I could tell those shivering Oregonians about the constant stream of luscious young girls in their tiny shorts and singlets, headed to the beach at the end of this street. I could mention how gaddamn sexy my waitress looks with that sheen of sweat on her slender arms. I could write that I can feel the sun bleaching my hair blonde, that I can feel the vitamin D soaking my skin, the lust of Summer rising in my loins.
Or I could complain that it is too hot and drive my Winter friends crazy?
It's hot.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Songs And Bridges.
My Buddhist friends tell me that passion and desire should be defeated. What a steaming pile of middle class weakness. I can't help wondering what these people are afraid of. Perhaps living?
Without passion and desire no one would ever have written a song, built a bridge. Without songs and bridges we would all be alienated from each other, emotionally and physically. Without passion and desire we would all just sit under trees and wait for someone to bless our bowls.
Holy spoiled rich kids, flatulent children of the deconstructionists, owners of little statues, you can sit and wait for enlightenment, I bet you can't tell me what it is. To feel an emotion, to express it in a way that makes others feel less alone, to bridge that emptiness, to see a river and connect the people of both banks, these are things that living humans do. If you are afraid of dying perhaps the answer is to try living, feel some passion and desire, act on it, not to retire from living and wait for the answer to fall from a Bhodi tree like Newton's apple.
The denial of passion and desire is just that, denial, a psychiatric illness. Passion and desire exist, you can't meditate them away. To deny life itself is being dead. There is plenty of time for being dead. Try living, write a song build a bridge, while the gifts of passion and desire are still yours.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Without passion and desire no one would ever have written a song, built a bridge. Without songs and bridges we would all be alienated from each other, emotionally and physically. Without passion and desire we would all just sit under trees and wait for someone to bless our bowls.
Holy spoiled rich kids, flatulent children of the deconstructionists, owners of little statues, you can sit and wait for enlightenment, I bet you can't tell me what it is. To feel an emotion, to express it in a way that makes others feel less alone, to bridge that emptiness, to see a river and connect the people of both banks, these are things that living humans do. If you are afraid of dying perhaps the answer is to try living, feel some passion and desire, act on it, not to retire from living and wait for the answer to fall from a Bhodi tree like Newton's apple.
The denial of passion and desire is just that, denial, a psychiatric illness. Passion and desire exist, you can't meditate them away. To deny life itself is being dead. There is plenty of time for being dead. Try living, write a song build a bridge, while the gifts of passion and desire are still yours.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Richard P. Feynman On Sex And Physics.
“Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it.”
Richard P. Feynman.
Gotta' love a man who loves his work. Mr. Feynman did a lot of his thinking while he was drumming. Just makes sense when you think about it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Richard P. Feynman.
Gotta' love a man who loves his work. Mr. Feynman did a lot of his thinking while he was drumming. Just makes sense when you think about it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I'm Ready For My Close Up.
Female camera operators are always hot. It's a rule, I don't know why.
My last experiences with film crews were twenty five years ago when my mates were studying. I was Guy Standing In Background Miming Talking Number Two quite a few times, a stellar screen career cut short by a lack of discernible talent. I was also Catering Guy, and Waster Friend With A Car Who Had Time To Drive Folks Places. All worthy credits.
Back then directors were opinionated, pushy bastards, actors were dedicated sweethearts, and the aforementioned camera operators were hot but so into their craft they didn't even know it themselves, most likely part of the charm. Right now I'm putting some music together for a Tropfest film, went along to watch some shooting, and nothing has changed. The director still says whatever it takes to get the job done in time and budget, spares no feelings. Everyone understands, no one complains. Actors still give everything they've got, if they are being paid or not, they seem to love what they do. I watched a scene where the male lead had to dig in the dirt with his hands, again and again, he came up smiling each time. And the camera operator was still hot, and blissfully unaware of it.
The film cast and crew are a fantastic microcosm, a very small society where roles are defined, where everyone knows how they fit in, everyone does everything they can to make everyone else's job easier. They'll happily work for twenty hours in a row, pep each other up, keep laughing when everything hurts, keep on trying to do their best to achieve a great result. I can see why they do it. It must feel good. It must feel how a society, a culture, a civilization is supposed to feel.
On the way home, riding a tram, an arrogant young man nonchalantly stretched his legs across two seats while an old lady stood up. I couldn't imagine anyone from the scene I had just left doing that, even if they were exhausted after an all night shoot.
I'm feeling good about being amongst film folks again. This time I'll obtain a real credit, Composer, Musician, Kent Parkstreet. I like the sound of it. And I like the people. And I like the camera operators.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
My last experiences with film crews were twenty five years ago when my mates were studying. I was Guy Standing In Background Miming Talking Number Two quite a few times, a stellar screen career cut short by a lack of discernible talent. I was also Catering Guy, and Waster Friend With A Car Who Had Time To Drive Folks Places. All worthy credits.
Back then directors were opinionated, pushy bastards, actors were dedicated sweethearts, and the aforementioned camera operators were hot but so into their craft they didn't even know it themselves, most likely part of the charm. Right now I'm putting some music together for a Tropfest film, went along to watch some shooting, and nothing has changed. The director still says whatever it takes to get the job done in time and budget, spares no feelings. Everyone understands, no one complains. Actors still give everything they've got, if they are being paid or not, they seem to love what they do. I watched a scene where the male lead had to dig in the dirt with his hands, again and again, he came up smiling each time. And the camera operator was still hot, and blissfully unaware of it.
The film cast and crew are a fantastic microcosm, a very small society where roles are defined, where everyone knows how they fit in, everyone does everything they can to make everyone else's job easier. They'll happily work for twenty hours in a row, pep each other up, keep laughing when everything hurts, keep on trying to do their best to achieve a great result. I can see why they do it. It must feel good. It must feel how a society, a culture, a civilization is supposed to feel.
On the way home, riding a tram, an arrogant young man nonchalantly stretched his legs across two seats while an old lady stood up. I couldn't imagine anyone from the scene I had just left doing that, even if they were exhausted after an all night shoot.
I'm feeling good about being amongst film folks again. This time I'll obtain a real credit, Composer, Musician, Kent Parkstreet. I like the sound of it. And I like the people. And I like the camera operators.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Vaclav Havel On The Truth.
“Keep the company of those who seek the truth - run from those who have found it”
Václav Havel.
Vaclav Havel died today. He was a giant.
His experience of political extremes qualified him to speak about the search for the truth.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Václav Havel.
Vaclav Havel died today. He was a giant.
His experience of political extremes qualified him to speak about the search for the truth.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Fog.
The idea of fog was essential to One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, the feeling of being unable to see what is right in front of your face, confusion, not just vision clouded. We all get fogged in occasionally, even if we aren't living in the Bay Area. It's a natural phenomena, sometimes the fog is created by a fellow human, all you can do is sit and wait for it to clear.
When the fog clears it is essential to take hold of something heavy and throw it through a window, get out into the clean, fresh air. It's easy in the fog, nothing is your fault, tempting to wait for it to come back, disappear again.
Clear air means taking action. Taking action requires courage. It takes courage and action to be happy.
The fog has cleared. Hand me something heavy.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
When the fog clears it is essential to take hold of something heavy and throw it through a window, get out into the clean, fresh air. It's easy in the fog, nothing is your fault, tempting to wait for it to come back, disappear again.
Clear air means taking action. Taking action requires courage. It takes courage and action to be happy.
The fog has cleared. Hand me something heavy.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Edwin Hubble On Science.
“Equipped with his five senses, man explores the universe around him and calls the adventure Science.”
Edwin Hubble.
Thank you Mr. Hubble, despite all the bad press about science this is all it is.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Edwin Hubble.
Thank you Mr. Hubble, despite all the bad press about science this is all it is.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Christmas Gestapo.
Herr Claus and his bizarre elvish goon squad are out on the streets, enforcing the party line of compulsory merriment. For now dissenters are just being forced to wear an S for Scrooge, or G for Grinch on their clothing, they should have the education camps up and running by next Christmas.
Christmas is not compulsory people. I don't feel compelled to celebrate the religious festivals of the Hindus or the Jews, why would I feel any differently about the religious festivals of Christians? Why? If I was being offered a good old fashioned pagan affair, with food and fornication for all, I would be interested. A capitalist orgasm of consumption dressed up as a spiritual event just turns my stomach and makes me flaccid.
Resistance is, apparently, futile. Like every other non believer I will attend a lunch, make nice, the fallout for the rest of the year isn't worth the moral stand. I've purchased some suitably pagan goats for poor African families so the strictly enforced present regime has been observed. It's the very least I can do, and the very least is all I will do.
Ho ho ho, buy buy buy, the propaganda machine is running hot, it's saccharine message is unavoidable. It's all people talk about. It will soon be over.
Bless us one and all.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Christmas is not compulsory people. I don't feel compelled to celebrate the religious festivals of the Hindus or the Jews, why would I feel any differently about the religious festivals of Christians? Why? If I was being offered a good old fashioned pagan affair, with food and fornication for all, I would be interested. A capitalist orgasm of consumption dressed up as a spiritual event just turns my stomach and makes me flaccid.
Resistance is, apparently, futile. Like every other non believer I will attend a lunch, make nice, the fallout for the rest of the year isn't worth the moral stand. I've purchased some suitably pagan goats for poor African families so the strictly enforced present regime has been observed. It's the very least I can do, and the very least is all I will do.
Ho ho ho, buy buy buy, the propaganda machine is running hot, it's saccharine message is unavoidable. It's all people talk about. It will soon be over.
Bless us one and all.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Federico Fellini On Life.
“Life is a combination of magic and pasta.”
Federico Fellini.
That'll do me for a philosophy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Federico Fellini.
That'll do me for a philosophy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Running On Empty.
So your car is running on empty, your wallet is empty. What to do? Call a friend to help you out? Hope for a downhill run to get you home where you can regroup, collect all the random change, look through coat pockets for forgotten fun coupons, enough to tide you over until things come good? Leave the car on the side of the road, let it burn someone else's money?
Running on emotional empty is the time to call a friend, let someone help. If there is no one around you might have to just make it home, hope some good news turns up. Sometimes it just makes sense to ditch whatever is draining your heart, leave it by the side of the road, walk away.
Some cars are worth less than a full tank of gas anyway.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
"Blues, Not Art" by Kent Parkstreet - Blute, available on iTunes, all the other sites.
Running on emotional empty is the time to call a friend, let someone help. If there is no one around you might have to just make it home, hope some good news turns up. Sometimes it just makes sense to ditch whatever is draining your heart, leave it by the side of the road, walk away.
Some cars are worth less than a full tank of gas anyway.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
"Blues, Not Art" by Kent Parkstreet - Blute, available on iTunes, all the other sites.
Alfred Hitchcock On Women.
“I’ve never been very keen on women who hang their sex round their neck like baubles. I think it should be discovered. It’s more interesting to discover the sex in a woman than it is to have it thrown at you, like a Marilyn Monroe or those types. To me they are rather vulgar and obvious.”
Alfred Hitchcock.
I don't know. I know what he means, but I don't mind it being thrown at me occasionally.
Alfred Hitchcock.
I don't know. I know what he means, but I don't mind it being thrown at me occasionally.
Another Day, Another Dollar.
You'll notice the advertising has disappeared from this blog. Good riddance.
I really should be plugging my own work on here anyway. If anyone feels they want to support this blog, help buy me the time to write it, perhaps you can buy a download of my song Blues, Not Art? It's on iTunes and all the other sites, under Kent Parkstreet-Blute. It's the one recording of my own material I like, so I'm happy to recommend it. I'll be recording in the new year, more flute based stuff, I'll let you know when I have another one I like.
Thanks again to all who continue to read and encourage. At present I can't spend the time on here that I'd like to, I will get back into it again once a couple of things are sorted, hopefully entertain and provoke more in the new year.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I really should be plugging my own work on here anyway. If anyone feels they want to support this blog, help buy me the time to write it, perhaps you can buy a download of my song Blues, Not Art? It's on iTunes and all the other sites, under Kent Parkstreet-Blute. It's the one recording of my own material I like, so I'm happy to recommend it. I'll be recording in the new year, more flute based stuff, I'll let you know when I have another one I like.
Thanks again to all who continue to read and encourage. At present I can't spend the time on here that I'd like to, I will get back into it again once a couple of things are sorted, hopefully entertain and provoke more in the new year.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Martin Scorsese On Simplicity.
"There's no such thing as simple. Simple is hard."
Martin Scorsese.
This idea comes up repeatedly in quotations about creativity. All the quotations seem to agree that simplicity is the aim, that it is difficult to achieve. Our culture concentrates on adding more, more is more, stripping back is an old lesson that has to be learned anew every day.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Martin Scorsese.
This idea comes up repeatedly in quotations about creativity. All the quotations seem to agree that simplicity is the aim, that it is difficult to achieve. Our culture concentrates on adding more, more is more, stripping back is an old lesson that has to be learned anew every day.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Friday, December 16, 2011
Girls Like These And This Spinning World.
Her denim shorts are cut so high that an inch or so of her butt is showing. It's one of those round bottoms, a pleasure to view now she is twenty one, firm and ripe, it will be vast and dimpled when she is forty one.
Hey, I don't make the genetic rules, I'm just reporting the facts as I see them.
She is right to show that tush off while it is at it's best, a fresh pie to be enjoyed fully and now. She turns and smiles at me, knows full well the effect her wardrobe is creating as she walks away. There is no pretence here, the girl has a marvellous bottom, she is enjoying every youthful minute of it.
It's Friday night, she is drinking wine from the bottle, sharing it with her friend, the girls are out to play. They are free and independent and happy, gossiping about their friend's relationships, who are fuck buddies, who might be in love. They are working out what they want, what feels right for them. Their minds are open to all the possibilities, they are letting it all hang out and seeing where it leads them.
Bless them both, their youth, their excitement, their slightly drunk chatter, their showing off, their exuberance. Bless them as they step off the tram, waving, smiling, thanking me for the directions, enjoying my attention even though they are in search of much younger men this evening.
I watch those denim shorts, the wonder they contain, cutting their way through the city crowd, causing smiles and joyous trouble. I'm glad we met, girls like these make the world go around.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Hey, I don't make the genetic rules, I'm just reporting the facts as I see them.
She is right to show that tush off while it is at it's best, a fresh pie to be enjoyed fully and now. She turns and smiles at me, knows full well the effect her wardrobe is creating as she walks away. There is no pretence here, the girl has a marvellous bottom, she is enjoying every youthful minute of it.
It's Friday night, she is drinking wine from the bottle, sharing it with her friend, the girls are out to play. They are free and independent and happy, gossiping about their friend's relationships, who are fuck buddies, who might be in love. They are working out what they want, what feels right for them. Their minds are open to all the possibilities, they are letting it all hang out and seeing where it leads them.
Bless them both, their youth, their excitement, their slightly drunk chatter, their showing off, their exuberance. Bless them as they step off the tram, waving, smiling, thanking me for the directions, enjoying my attention even though they are in search of much younger men this evening.
I watch those denim shorts, the wonder they contain, cutting their way through the city crowd, causing smiles and joyous trouble. I'm glad we met, girls like these make the world go around.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Grover Cleveland On Feminism.
“Sensible and responsible women do not want to vote. The relative positions to be assumed by man and woman in the working out of our civilization were assigned long ago by a higher intelligence than ours.”
Grover Cleveland.
We know some folks used to think this way, it's still kinda' weird to read it like this, considered and deliberate.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Grover Cleveland.
We know some folks used to think this way, it's still kinda' weird to read it like this, considered and deliberate.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
The God Of The Common People.
Homer Simpson floods the streets of Springfield as a work of modern art, an installation piece. He looks at his work and sees that it is good, mumbles the words, "I wish God were alive to see this".
Nietzsche thought his concept, that God is dead, would take centuries to dawn on the common man, like the light from a distant star. In this analogy he saw himself as the distant star. Within decades the popular magazine Time had posed the question on it's front page, "Is God Dead?". A few decades later and it is a clever, very clever one liner in an animated sitcom, uttered by the modern archetype of the common man. Great thinkers often discount the proletariat, of course they think about the nature of god and their relationship with it. Of course they do.
All the high churches have seen themselves as keepers of the faith, it's a form of psychosis, me and my mates are closer to god than you lot down there. It is also a proven method for gaining and maintaining power, building wealth on the pennies of the poor and ill educated. If a god inspired tyrant plays his cards right there will always be plenty of poor, ignorant, fearful people to exploit. All the usual tools are employed, theatre, music, mythology.
The common man is inclined to lay a bet each way, toe the party line whilst maintaining his own thoughts, his own code. He and she pay attention, they talk, listen, read, want to know how to relate to this human life just as much, if not more than any great thinker, leader, clergyman. The gap between their real life experience and what they are told to believe is so blatantly apparent, how could they not wonder?
So for Mr. and Mrs. Suburbia the idea that the traditional idea of god, the order it enforced, is dead is not so hard to understand. They see it every day. They see it when the free press reports some of the hypocrisy of their own faith, they see it in a changing culture, they feel it in their souls when they are no longer satisfied with what they grew up with.
The real question is what will replace the old order? We are in flux right now. Any new concept of god, any new moral code, will have to pass the test of the common man. Perhaps it will rise up from the people, not be frowned down upon them? There have been vast social experiments, most replaced a church with a state, same shit, different architecture.
I guess we are both the laboratory rats and the scientists at the same time. We are the experiment and the observers. How very post modernist of us all, we oughta' be congratulated on our work, awarded a Nobel when the results come in. We are all new stars, shedding a new light, uncertain what we will illuminate.
Parkstreet.
From www.parkstreetgodblog.blogspot.com
Nietzsche thought his concept, that God is dead, would take centuries to dawn on the common man, like the light from a distant star. In this analogy he saw himself as the distant star. Within decades the popular magazine Time had posed the question on it's front page, "Is God Dead?". A few decades later and it is a clever, very clever one liner in an animated sitcom, uttered by the modern archetype of the common man. Great thinkers often discount the proletariat, of course they think about the nature of god and their relationship with it. Of course they do.
All the high churches have seen themselves as keepers of the faith, it's a form of psychosis, me and my mates are closer to god than you lot down there. It is also a proven method for gaining and maintaining power, building wealth on the pennies of the poor and ill educated. If a god inspired tyrant plays his cards right there will always be plenty of poor, ignorant, fearful people to exploit. All the usual tools are employed, theatre, music, mythology.
The common man is inclined to lay a bet each way, toe the party line whilst maintaining his own thoughts, his own code. He and she pay attention, they talk, listen, read, want to know how to relate to this human life just as much, if not more than any great thinker, leader, clergyman. The gap between their real life experience and what they are told to believe is so blatantly apparent, how could they not wonder?
So for Mr. and Mrs. Suburbia the idea that the traditional idea of god, the order it enforced, is dead is not so hard to understand. They see it every day. They see it when the free press reports some of the hypocrisy of their own faith, they see it in a changing culture, they feel it in their souls when they are no longer satisfied with what they grew up with.
The real question is what will replace the old order? We are in flux right now. Any new concept of god, any new moral code, will have to pass the test of the common man. Perhaps it will rise up from the people, not be frowned down upon them? There have been vast social experiments, most replaced a church with a state, same shit, different architecture.
I guess we are both the laboratory rats and the scientists at the same time. We are the experiment and the observers. How very post modernist of us all, we oughta' be congratulated on our work, awarded a Nobel when the results come in. We are all new stars, shedding a new light, uncertain what we will illuminate.
Parkstreet.
From www.parkstreetgodblog.blogspot.com
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Time Magazine On God.
I believe I will start an entirely new blog devoted to this subject. The relationship between deity and human is tense at best, a trial separation, possibly divorce. Was the relationship always flawed, based on fear, not love? Was it fiction? Who or what will we invite into our dark and lonely bedrooms now?
I do believe this new blog will begin tomorrow.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tune That Kit.
My friend Brett knows how to tune his drum kit. I can stand directly in front of him while he's crashing every object in sight and my ears are happy. Loud or soft the sound is sweet, pleasing to my ears.
Other drummers I've worked with possess kits of the same quality but don't know how, or don't take the time, or don't have the ears to tune them properly. I don't care why they don't do it, I just know that when I stand in front of them my ears hurt and I can't wait to get off the stage.
Some humans look, sound, feel abrasive. They don't know how to tune their souls, don't bother, don't have the sensitivity to do the job properly. If a drummer wants to play with a band he owes it to his comrades to tune his kit. If humans want to play in a civilization they owe it to the people they share the city with to not destroy everyone else's sense of peace. They can still play loud, crash everything in sight, do it without hurting my ears, my serenity.
The option of playing alone with your untuned kit remains open.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Other drummers I've worked with possess kits of the same quality but don't know how, or don't take the time, or don't have the ears to tune them properly. I don't care why they don't do it, I just know that when I stand in front of them my ears hurt and I can't wait to get off the stage.
Some humans look, sound, feel abrasive. They don't know how to tune their souls, don't bother, don't have the sensitivity to do the job properly. If a drummer wants to play with a band he owes it to his comrades to tune his kit. If humans want to play in a civilization they owe it to the people they share the city with to not destroy everyone else's sense of peace. They can still play loud, crash everything in sight, do it without hurting my ears, my serenity.
The option of playing alone with your untuned kit remains open.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Jack Johnson On Television.
“I would turn on the TV, but its so embarassing.”
Jack Johnson.
The perfect word to describe it. A medium created by brilliant minds, mostly occupied by lesser minds.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Jack Johnson.
The perfect word to describe it. A medium created by brilliant minds, mostly occupied by lesser minds.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I Don't Know Much About Art.
With most folks I meet the conversation consists almost entirely of a list of things they like, a list of things they don't like. I couldn't be more bored. So why should I suffer alone? This is a list of things I like.
I like people who trip over a crack in the pavement but don't look back. These folks aren't hung up on cause and effect, take the universe as it comes.
I like dogs and I like pizza and I like people who like dogs and people who like pizza.
I like the Ellen Show because it reminds me that talent without integrity is valueless, it may lead to a lot of money but also leads to dancing like an idiot fool bear.
I like that Christmas is almost over.
I like that the human sense of smell, the most primitive of the senses, can transport us through time and space.
I like blowjobs.
I like that Milan Kundera and J. D. Salinger wrote books that made me feel less alone.
I like that politicians still expect us to believe them, believe in them. There is always a place for blind optimism in this cynical world, our politicians are a triumph of self belief over results.
I like fresh parsley.
I like modern art. I don't understand a single brush stroke, I just like how much angst it causes. Folks who never see a frame other than the one around their television get quite cross about modern art. No one brings it into their lounge room and forces them to look at it Clockwork Orange style, yet they do enjoy being affronted, indulging in indignation. Most of the lists of things I like that I hear end up with "I don't like modern art". Like they'd know it if I rubbed their noses in it.
I like writing blog posts that will probably annoy people.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I like people who trip over a crack in the pavement but don't look back. These folks aren't hung up on cause and effect, take the universe as it comes.
I like dogs and I like pizza and I like people who like dogs and people who like pizza.
I like the Ellen Show because it reminds me that talent without integrity is valueless, it may lead to a lot of money but also leads to dancing like an idiot fool bear.
I like that Christmas is almost over.
I like that the human sense of smell, the most primitive of the senses, can transport us through time and space.
I like blowjobs.
I like that Milan Kundera and J. D. Salinger wrote books that made me feel less alone.
I like that politicians still expect us to believe them, believe in them. There is always a place for blind optimism in this cynical world, our politicians are a triumph of self belief over results.
I like fresh parsley.
I like modern art. I don't understand a single brush stroke, I just like how much angst it causes. Folks who never see a frame other than the one around their television get quite cross about modern art. No one brings it into their lounge room and forces them to look at it Clockwork Orange style, yet they do enjoy being affronted, indulging in indignation. Most of the lists of things I like that I hear end up with "I don't like modern art". Like they'd know it if I rubbed their noses in it.
I like writing blog posts that will probably annoy people.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Monday, December 12, 2011
Ned Kelly On Acceptance.
"Such is life."
Ned Kelly.
Ned Kelly was a psychotic criminal, us Australians like to hold him up as a role model. He defied the law, lived a life, made a name, more than most of us.
Many writers have placed pretty words in his mouth, when I read what he actually wrote himself I doubt any of those words are very accurate.
These last words, in the face of death, accurately recorded before his hanging, are superb. What a man, so cool under pressure, so accepting of his life. I can only hope to emulate him when my time comes.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Ned Kelly.
Ned Kelly was a psychotic criminal, us Australians like to hold him up as a role model. He defied the law, lived a life, made a name, more than most of us.
Many writers have placed pretty words in his mouth, when I read what he actually wrote himself I doubt any of those words are very accurate.
These last words, in the face of death, accurately recorded before his hanging, are superb. What a man, so cool under pressure, so accepting of his life. I can only hope to emulate him when my time comes.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Two Short Tram Stories.
So I have my headphones in, avoiding the imbecilic conversation of the junkies behind me. The tram stops, folks board and alight, the junkies stir themselves and hold everyone up, shamble towards the door. One stops in front of me, I can't hear him, watch his lips move as he asks me for money. I know the whole tram has to wait until this little drama is complete, remove my headphones, listen to his spiel.
"Mate, if I had dollars to give away I'd be riding in a car, not in this tram with you."
The junky takes offence, wants to fight for his honour. The tram driver decides right then is a good moment to shut the doors, the fellow leaps out, hurls abuse at me as I ride away, replace my headphones.
Beggars today are so sensitive.
So I'm riding the light rail, a fast tram along an old railway line. A tiny muppet of a dog is running alongside, it's a slower part of the journey, some points ahead must be taken at a lesser speed, but just the same that handspan of a mutt is really racing. The driver is grinning, rings her bell a few times, eventually we speed up, leave our new friend behind.
That dog was nothing but pure exuberance. In that moment it was thinking about nothing but running, keeping up with that tram. Canine bliss, running for the hell of it. I tried to recall when I last felt like that, realized it was just yesterday when I was playing flute on my own, just for the hell of it.
A small dog with a brain the size of a walnut is a great teacher, reminder of what is worth doing in this life. Humans, with our enormous brains, we get so strung out, forget why we are here, spend so much of our time addicted to idiocy, seeking reasons to be indignant.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
"Mate, if I had dollars to give away I'd be riding in a car, not in this tram with you."
The junky takes offence, wants to fight for his honour. The tram driver decides right then is a good moment to shut the doors, the fellow leaps out, hurls abuse at me as I ride away, replace my headphones.
Beggars today are so sensitive.
So I'm riding the light rail, a fast tram along an old railway line. A tiny muppet of a dog is running alongside, it's a slower part of the journey, some points ahead must be taken at a lesser speed, but just the same that handspan of a mutt is really racing. The driver is grinning, rings her bell a few times, eventually we speed up, leave our new friend behind.
That dog was nothing but pure exuberance. In that moment it was thinking about nothing but running, keeping up with that tram. Canine bliss, running for the hell of it. I tried to recall when I last felt like that, realized it was just yesterday when I was playing flute on my own, just for the hell of it.
A small dog with a brain the size of a walnut is a great teacher, reminder of what is worth doing in this life. Humans, with our enormous brains, we get so strung out, forget why we are here, spend so much of our time addicted to idiocy, seeking reasons to be indignant.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Machiavelli On Common Sense.
“If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared. ”
Niccolò Machiavelli.
I'm a cynic by nature, Mr. Machiavelli appeals to me. People pretend to be shocked by his honesty, if we are being honest with ourselves we know he was just telling it like it is. Power has been acquired and maintained by the same means forever, read The Prince and know your enemy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Niccolò Machiavelli.
I'm a cynic by nature, Mr. Machiavelli appeals to me. People pretend to be shocked by his honesty, if we are being honest with ourselves we know he was just telling it like it is. Power has been acquired and maintained by the same means forever, read The Prince and know your enemy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sappho On Manhood.
“Raise high the roof beam, carpenters. Like Ares comes the bridegroom, taller far than a tall man.”
Sappho.
I'm pretty certain Sappho wasn't talking about physical height, more about a large spirit. I first came across this quotation as the title of a J.D. Salinger story, I think he took it the same way.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sappho.
I'm pretty certain Sappho wasn't talking about physical height, more about a large spirit. I first came across this quotation as the title of a J.D. Salinger story, I think he took it the same way.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Man And Flute.
Old friends, bookends, Simon Smith and his Dancing Bear, my flute and me. We haven't hung out together for a while now, today we ventured into town together, took coffee, made a few calls, checked e mail, watched the girls go by. I don't really know anyone in this city, with my flute under my arm I wonder if I'll bother meeting any new humans?
I don't have anywhere to practise right now, the people I'm staying with say they wouldn't mind, I know they would. I really learned to play by busking in a pedestrian tunnel that leads to Flinders Sreet Station in Melbourne, the sound down there is made for flute playing. Today my flute and I took an hour for a sentimental journey, filled that tunnel with sweet sounds, snuck in some practise on a tune I'm recording next week. We had a blast. In the middle of the day there was almost no one around, we didn't care, just two old mates mucking around.
One and two dollar coins are the busker's friends, I was surprised how many folks gave me some. That busking can pay more per hour than a proper job is a marvelous thought, any excuse to avoid a day job.
There is something noble, honest about a man and a flute, no amplifiers, no tricks, no costume, just simple, sweet music. There have been men with flutes playing on the street for centuries, I felt like part of a tradition. Music fashions come and go, making a beautiful sound is something apart from fashion, it's real, appeals to the natural humanity of everyone. What you do with that beautiful sound is your own business, making a beautiful sound is an excellent start to playing any music, this has always been true, always will be true. A man and a flute playing what is true, what a fine way to spend an afternoon.
Another coffee, a tram home before the swarm of peak hour. We both agreed it had been too long, that we'll have to spend another day together soon. I don't want to appear too gushy or pushy, I'll wait a day, then like man and bear, accepted everywhere, like bookends, we'll head out into the big city again.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I don't have anywhere to practise right now, the people I'm staying with say they wouldn't mind, I know they would. I really learned to play by busking in a pedestrian tunnel that leads to Flinders Sreet Station in Melbourne, the sound down there is made for flute playing. Today my flute and I took an hour for a sentimental journey, filled that tunnel with sweet sounds, snuck in some practise on a tune I'm recording next week. We had a blast. In the middle of the day there was almost no one around, we didn't care, just two old mates mucking around.
One and two dollar coins are the busker's friends, I was surprised how many folks gave me some. That busking can pay more per hour than a proper job is a marvelous thought, any excuse to avoid a day job.
There is something noble, honest about a man and a flute, no amplifiers, no tricks, no costume, just simple, sweet music. There have been men with flutes playing on the street for centuries, I felt like part of a tradition. Music fashions come and go, making a beautiful sound is something apart from fashion, it's real, appeals to the natural humanity of everyone. What you do with that beautiful sound is your own business, making a beautiful sound is an excellent start to playing any music, this has always been true, always will be true. A man and a flute playing what is true, what a fine way to spend an afternoon.
Another coffee, a tram home before the swarm of peak hour. We both agreed it had been too long, that we'll have to spend another day together soon. I don't want to appear too gushy or pushy, I'll wait a day, then like man and bear, accepted everywhere, like bookends, we'll head out into the big city again.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Aaron Allston On Tragedy And Comedy.
"The difference between tragedy and comedy: Tragedy is something awful happening to somebody else, while comedy is something awful happening to somebody else."
Aaron Allston.
This series is more confusing than confusion.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Aaron Allston.
This series is more confusing than confusion.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Almost Two.
This blog is close enough to two years old now, petulant infant that it is. I started it to practise writing each day, after twenty years of talking about writing it was time to actually do some writing. I don't like to rush into things. Over one and a half thousand posts later it has become something of an addiction.
Writing takes time. There is no end of stuff to write about, finding an angle that makes it your own is the hard bit. A constant stream of coffee and cigarettes appears to be essential to finding that angle. Some days I've been successful, others less so, overall I'm pretty happy with the body of work I've pumped out.
I'm pretty sure it's time to start something new. It's becoming difficult to justify dedicating so much time to a hobby, it's not like I'll end up with a scale matchstick model of Winchester Cathedral to show off, I really have to turn this hobby into a career. Any suggestions on how that works will be gratefully received.
So, two years on, where to next? I don't know yet, probably some longer fiction. Thanks to all who read regularly, I love checking my stats to see readers from all over the world. Keep an eye out for a new fiction blog, I'll keep you posted, I can't help myself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Writing takes time. There is no end of stuff to write about, finding an angle that makes it your own is the hard bit. A constant stream of coffee and cigarettes appears to be essential to finding that angle. Some days I've been successful, others less so, overall I'm pretty happy with the body of work I've pumped out.
I'm pretty sure it's time to start something new. It's becoming difficult to justify dedicating so much time to a hobby, it's not like I'll end up with a scale matchstick model of Winchester Cathedral to show off, I really have to turn this hobby into a career. Any suggestions on how that works will be gratefully received.
So, two years on, where to next? I don't know yet, probably some longer fiction. Thanks to all who read regularly, I love checking my stats to see readers from all over the world. Keep an eye out for a new fiction blog, I'll keep you posted, I can't help myself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
A Few Days Off.
I'm taking a few days off blogging, sort out some personal stuff.
Back soon.
Parkstreet.
Back soon.
Parkstreet.
Horace Walpole On Tragedy And Comedy.
“Life is a tragedy for those who feel, but a comedy to those who think.”
Horace Walpole.
This may be a long series. I'm just confused now.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Horace Walpole.
This may be a long series. I'm just confused now.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Mel Brooks On Tragedy And Comedy.
“Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die.”
Mel Brooks.
I'm just collecting quotations about the relationship between tragedy and comedy. I don't think I even get this one.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Mel Brooks.
I'm just collecting quotations about the relationship between tragedy and comedy. I don't think I even get this one.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Carol Burnett On Tragedy And Comedy.
"Comedy is tragedy plus time."
Carol Burnett.
If folks are laughing at you when you feel tragic, enough time must have passed for you to be getting over it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Carol Burnett.
If folks are laughing at you when you feel tragic, enough time must have passed for you to be getting over it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
My Teeth And The Street.
I'm always dubious about busking on the street. It can be fun, it can be a nightmare. Call me a snob, I do like the safe distance of a stage between me and the drunk dancing fools. Playing saxophone, one bump means broken teeth, when the crowd is getting all rock and roll my teeth are the last thing on their mind.
I went out with a bunch of percussionists last night, it was great fun. One group of idiots tried to bang every drum, then bang on my horn. I backed off just in time, my smile is intact, after that nearly every punter who passed was a darling. Folks danced, laughed, tossed money.
The crew was an L.A. based Haitian, a Colombian, a South African Australian, and me. I'm half New Zealander, not sure if that makes me exotic or not? Pretty sure not. Oh yeah, an Irishman sat in for a while too. Melbourne is like that. A bunch of congas, cowbell, an empty, cleaned can of Whole Peeled Tomatoes played with a stick. I had to blow my skinny white arse off to get over the racket. I'm accustomed to being the loud guy, I like a challenge.
Taking music to the streets is a great tradition. There should be more of it. Random fun in public is all too rare, I reckon we'll do it again. I'll still have one eye out for drunk dancing fools, I like my teeth more than I like busking.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
I went out with a bunch of percussionists last night, it was great fun. One group of idiots tried to bang every drum, then bang on my horn. I backed off just in time, my smile is intact, after that nearly every punter who passed was a darling. Folks danced, laughed, tossed money.
The crew was an L.A. based Haitian, a Colombian, a South African Australian, and me. I'm half New Zealander, not sure if that makes me exotic or not? Pretty sure not. Oh yeah, an Irishman sat in for a while too. Melbourne is like that. A bunch of congas, cowbell, an empty, cleaned can of Whole Peeled Tomatoes played with a stick. I had to blow my skinny white arse off to get over the racket. I'm accustomed to being the loud guy, I like a challenge.
Taking music to the streets is a great tradition. There should be more of it. Random fun in public is all too rare, I reckon we'll do it again. I'll still have one eye out for drunk dancing fools, I like my teeth more than I like busking.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Friday, December 9, 2011
Fry On Home.
"Fry: My God!! It's the future! My parents, my co-workers, my girlfriend. I'll never see any of them again. YAHOOO!!!!"
Fry, Futurama.
Fry was transported to the future. Most of us just enter the Green Card lottery.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Fry, Futurama.
Fry was transported to the future. Most of us just enter the Green Card lottery.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Harry Nicolaides Is In A Bangkok Prison.
It is the year 2011, is it not?
Australian Harry Nicolaides begins a three year sentence in a Bangkok prison today. His crime is insulting the royal family of Thailand. I say fuck that, it is 2011, not 1011.
Harry wrote a novel, a work of fiction, self published fifty copies, sold seven, none in Thailand. Three sentences that refer to a rumour about a fictional crown prince have resulted in a sentence of one year in hell for each sentence. Harry sent the book to the state library and ministry of culture to be vetted before he printed it, no objections were raised.
Medieval monarchy laws have no place in this modern world. You can do your own research on how a medieval political system treats many Thai people, I'll stick to Harry and his life threatening imprisonment for now. He will be lucky to survive, will never be a well man again if he does survive. He has already spoken of the "unspeakable atrocities" he has suffered whilst on remand. Harry was denied bail because of his nationality. He comes from a nation that sends billions of dollars in aid to the nation that refused him bail.
I don't care if Harry wrote that the Thai King sucks big Thai elephant dicks, he should not be in prison right now. I'm ashamed of my government for not finding a way to arrange his release. Deeply ashamed. This case isn't about Harry and his novel, the real agenda is unclear, my government knows and doesn't care enough, or have the balls to fix it.
Authors have the right to write. I love the Thai people I've met, would love to eat my way across their country sometime. I guess after that elephant's dick gag I can't. Not until the Asian Spring follows the Arab Spring.
It is 2011, time for medieval laws of privilege to disappear. Free Harry Nicolaides.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Australian Harry Nicolaides begins a three year sentence in a Bangkok prison today. His crime is insulting the royal family of Thailand. I say fuck that, it is 2011, not 1011.
Harry wrote a novel, a work of fiction, self published fifty copies, sold seven, none in Thailand. Three sentences that refer to a rumour about a fictional crown prince have resulted in a sentence of one year in hell for each sentence. Harry sent the book to the state library and ministry of culture to be vetted before he printed it, no objections were raised.
Medieval monarchy laws have no place in this modern world. You can do your own research on how a medieval political system treats many Thai people, I'll stick to Harry and his life threatening imprisonment for now. He will be lucky to survive, will never be a well man again if he does survive. He has already spoken of the "unspeakable atrocities" he has suffered whilst on remand. Harry was denied bail because of his nationality. He comes from a nation that sends billions of dollars in aid to the nation that refused him bail.
I don't care if Harry wrote that the Thai King sucks big Thai elephant dicks, he should not be in prison right now. I'm ashamed of my government for not finding a way to arrange his release. Deeply ashamed. This case isn't about Harry and his novel, the real agenda is unclear, my government knows and doesn't care enough, or have the balls to fix it.
Authors have the right to write. I love the Thai people I've met, would love to eat my way across their country sometime. I guess after that elephant's dick gag I can't. Not until the Asian Spring follows the Arab Spring.
It is 2011, time for medieval laws of privilege to disappear. Free Harry Nicolaides.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Mel Brooks On Life.
“Look, I really don't want to wax philosophic, but I will say that if you're alive, you've got to flap your arms and legs, you got to jump around a lot, you got to make a lot of noise, because life is the very opposite of death. And therefore, as I see it, if you're quiet, you're not living. You've got to be noisy, or at least your thoughts should be noisy, colorful and lively.”
Mel Brooks.
I'm not certain that I agree with Mr. Brooks, I like quiet people, they have their own way of bringing colour and life to the world.
I do love this idea though, in a world full of lame Lamaspeak it's great to hear words of life, joy, exuberance, noise. I can see Mel Brooks flapping his arms about as he tries to get through to people. It's now or never, live while you can.
There is a chance many of us were sucked in by pseudo Asian philosophies that told us to live quietly and breathe a lot when all we really wanted to do was make some noise. There is no evidence that these philosophies make anyone any happier than they were, or happier than anyone else, quite possibly the opposite.
Live while you can. If flapping your limbs about and making noise makes you feel alive, the opposite of dead, then flap your limbs about and make some noise.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Mel Brooks.
I'm not certain that I agree with Mr. Brooks, I like quiet people, they have their own way of bringing colour and life to the world.
I do love this idea though, in a world full of lame Lamaspeak it's great to hear words of life, joy, exuberance, noise. I can see Mel Brooks flapping his arms about as he tries to get through to people. It's now or never, live while you can.
There is a chance many of us were sucked in by pseudo Asian philosophies that told us to live quietly and breathe a lot when all we really wanted to do was make some noise. There is no evidence that these philosophies make anyone any happier than they were, or happier than anyone else, quite possibly the opposite.
Live while you can. If flapping your limbs about and making noise makes you feel alive, the opposite of dead, then flap your limbs about and make some noise.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tram Gestapo.
Before dawn, the compound stirs, the operation begins. Trams silently glide into the half light, surge out into the suburbs to drag the innocent from their beds, tear them from the arms of their loved ones, carry them, standing on each other and packed to the doors like cattle, carry them to the towers of the city where they will be chained up in three walled cubicles for hours.
It is possible I need some sleep.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
It is possible I need some sleep.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Michelle Pfeiffer On Smoking.
“I used to smoke two packs a day and I just hate being a nonsmoker... but I will never consider myself a nonsmoker because I always find smokers the most interesting people at the table.”
Michelle Pfeiffer.
I love it when Hollywood types have the stones to be politically incorrect. And she's right.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Michelle Pfeiffer.
I love it when Hollywood types have the stones to be politically incorrect. And she's right.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Cafes And Old Lovers.
So I eat in this Italian cafe bar a couple of times a week, been doing so on and off for twenty seven years, whenever I'm in Melbourne. It specializes in off hand, some might say arrogant, Italian service. It took a quarter of a century to become a local, to be acknowledged on my way in and out. "Ciao."
So tonight the fellow behind the jump was cranky. Fair enough, his dreams died with his gambling career, I'd be irritated if I'd been pulling coffees for the same lazy schmuck musician for fifteen years. I usually take the large ravioli and a long machiato, tonight I had the small. I reminded him when I paid, it's only two bucks difference, but just the same. He returned with change, he'd charged me for a large, I showed him the change, was about to explain his error, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
I was still putting my money away when the surly bastard came to wipe the bench. I reached to the tip saucer with my customary two bucks, shrugged my shoulders, stuck the coin in my pocket and walked away. I heard him laugh loudly as I sauntered out the door.
"Fair enough my friend, ciao."
We'll laugh about it next time I visit. Old lovers don't take small disagreements too seriously.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
So tonight the fellow behind the jump was cranky. Fair enough, his dreams died with his gambling career, I'd be irritated if I'd been pulling coffees for the same lazy schmuck musician for fifteen years. I usually take the large ravioli and a long machiato, tonight I had the small. I reminded him when I paid, it's only two bucks difference, but just the same. He returned with change, he'd charged me for a large, I showed him the change, was about to explain his error, he shrugged his shoulders and walked away.
I was still putting my money away when the surly bastard came to wipe the bench. I reached to the tip saucer with my customary two bucks, shrugged my shoulders, stuck the coin in my pocket and walked away. I heard him laugh loudly as I sauntered out the door.
"Fair enough my friend, ciao."
We'll laugh about it next time I visit. Old lovers don't take small disagreements too seriously.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Colonel Sherman Potter On Love.
"Listen, when you love somebody, you're always in trouble. There's only two things you can do about it: either stop loving 'em, or love 'em a whole lot more."
Colonel Sherman Potter, played by Harry Morgan.
Harry Morgan died today. Mine is the generation that grew up with M.A.S.H. I think most of us wished Sherman Potter was our grandfather, wise yet fun. Mr. Morgan must have died pleased that he delivered so many great performances, that a generation looked up to the character he played.
It's a lovely quotation about love too, whoever wrote it. These really are the two choices. Both are valid.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Colonel Sherman Potter, played by Harry Morgan.
Harry Morgan died today. Mine is the generation that grew up with M.A.S.H. I think most of us wished Sherman Potter was our grandfather, wise yet fun. Mr. Morgan must have died pleased that he delivered so many great performances, that a generation looked up to the character he played.
It's a lovely quotation about love too, whoever wrote it. These really are the two choices. Both are valid.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
A Record Of Now.
Many bands who can tear it up on stage sound lame when they record. It's the difference between acting in the now and thinking about the future.
Recording is a weird process. It is the definition of time and money being equals, most of us can't afford to trial and error, we have to get it right, or wrong. The very act of trying to get it right harshes the buzz, dulls the shine of playing live. Just trying is a mistake, let alone trying to get it right. So often recordings contain more cliches than a Friends script, it's safe to repeat what we know works.
The whole point of recording is to save a version of what you and your band do, who you are, it's a permanent record of a moment in time. It's so easy to get lost in the commercial world, to make a product, pander to what you think might sell. That's a great thing to do, why shouldn't we all make a dollar? Everyone else does. Just do it under a different name, sell a product, not yourself.
The secret to making a record of a moment in time is to see the studio as the moment, the now. This is easy if you can book into Abbey Road, if you are in a crap suburban studio, or a stark room with the atmosphere of an operating theatre it's more difficult to find that vibe. The vibe has to be inside you. Find the now inside you, share it with the band, play this moment with these people, now. Don't consider the future result, that way lies madness, play now.
The future is the result of all the now moments of your life. You can't skip ahead and make it right. Take care of now, the future will take care of itself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Recording is a weird process. It is the definition of time and money being equals, most of us can't afford to trial and error, we have to get it right, or wrong. The very act of trying to get it right harshes the buzz, dulls the shine of playing live. Just trying is a mistake, let alone trying to get it right. So often recordings contain more cliches than a Friends script, it's safe to repeat what we know works.
The whole point of recording is to save a version of what you and your band do, who you are, it's a permanent record of a moment in time. It's so easy to get lost in the commercial world, to make a product, pander to what you think might sell. That's a great thing to do, why shouldn't we all make a dollar? Everyone else does. Just do it under a different name, sell a product, not yourself.
The secret to making a record of a moment in time is to see the studio as the moment, the now. This is easy if you can book into Abbey Road, if you are in a crap suburban studio, or a stark room with the atmosphere of an operating theatre it's more difficult to find that vibe. The vibe has to be inside you. Find the now inside you, share it with the band, play this moment with these people, now. Don't consider the future result, that way lies madness, play now.
The future is the result of all the now moments of your life. You can't skip ahead and make it right. Take care of now, the future will take care of itself.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Jamie Oliver On Breaking Bread.
“If you can eat with mates or friends or family, I mean, it's such a brilliant thing isn't it? If you feel really rubbish and you have a nice bit of food it makes you feel good, you know?"
Jamie Oliver.
Mr. Oliver is a simple fellow at heart, and why not? There is nothing wrong with this statement at all, I'm glad he bothers to remind me occasionally.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Jamie Oliver.
Mr. Oliver is a simple fellow at heart, and why not? There is nothing wrong with this statement at all, I'm glad he bothers to remind me occasionally.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
These Are The Days Of Miracle And Wonder.
I recently heard the Peter Gabriel version of Paul Simon's Miracle And Wonder, the boy in the bubble song. Mr. Gabriel played it in a minor key, made it a little sinister, forced me to hear the lyric all over again. It's quite beautiful if you fancy looking it up.
Like most Paul Simon songs there is a little more going on than you think at first. He talks about all the amazing, apparently miraculous things that us humans can do today, there are even "lasers in the jungle, lasers in the jungle somewhere". He leaves me wondering what all these miracles are for? They are all pretty damned astonishing in their own right, what do they actually do for us humans?
I'm presently waiting for a stem cell procedure to arrive in Australia, I'm hoping it will return my vision to an average level, enough to drive a car, hold down a proper job if I want to. That a cornea can be grown from one of my cells, then stitched into my eye, would have been considered a laughable prospect just a few decades ago, pure science fiction. The result for me will be better financial security, more opportunity to be involved in social activities that most take for granted. I'm looking forward to it, who I am won't change at all, just my circumstances. Low vision has forced me to seek contentment in different ways to many people, a blessing in a way, I've discovered the real joys in life are the same no matter what your circumstances, rich or poor, blind or sighted, driving a sports car or catching the train. I find more joy in inner peace than in Blueray, happiness in genuine communion with fellow humans, not so much in consuming mass media that I can't see properly anyway.
I'm grateful to this age of miracle and wonder, it has already saved me from complete blindness once, will do so again, hooray for everything. I'd happily trade my sight for a world where everyone had enough food and clean water, where everyone could read, I can't see any reason why we can't have both. The pursuit of new technology is a worthy human pursuit, it shouldn't distract us from the basic pleasures of a full belly and a full mind.
There is an Australian charity, The Fred Hollows Foundation, that delivers cataract surgery, lens replacement, to third world people, trains locals to perform the surgery themselves. The technology is fabulous, miraculous, the human spirit of the man that took that technology to those who need it most is the real wonder. He wasn't distracted by the whizzbangery, he took lasers to the jungle for a purpose.
I've no desire to go backwards, I enjoy the hell out of my iPad and all I can do with it. The joy isn't in the technology, rather in the people I can connect with through it. "The way the camera looks at every angle" is great, I still want to be looking at a real human at my table most of the time.
The more miraculous and wonderful we become the more our essential humanity is at risk. We can have both, humanity and technology, stem cell corneas and inner vision, as long as we remember that humanity is the real miracle, the real wonder, remember that the technology should serve us, not the other way around. I'm glad that guys like Paul Simon and Peter Gabriel are around to remind me.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Like most Paul Simon songs there is a little more going on than you think at first. He talks about all the amazing, apparently miraculous things that us humans can do today, there are even "lasers in the jungle, lasers in the jungle somewhere". He leaves me wondering what all these miracles are for? They are all pretty damned astonishing in their own right, what do they actually do for us humans?
I'm presently waiting for a stem cell procedure to arrive in Australia, I'm hoping it will return my vision to an average level, enough to drive a car, hold down a proper job if I want to. That a cornea can be grown from one of my cells, then stitched into my eye, would have been considered a laughable prospect just a few decades ago, pure science fiction. The result for me will be better financial security, more opportunity to be involved in social activities that most take for granted. I'm looking forward to it, who I am won't change at all, just my circumstances. Low vision has forced me to seek contentment in different ways to many people, a blessing in a way, I've discovered the real joys in life are the same no matter what your circumstances, rich or poor, blind or sighted, driving a sports car or catching the train. I find more joy in inner peace than in Blueray, happiness in genuine communion with fellow humans, not so much in consuming mass media that I can't see properly anyway.
I'm grateful to this age of miracle and wonder, it has already saved me from complete blindness once, will do so again, hooray for everything. I'd happily trade my sight for a world where everyone had enough food and clean water, where everyone could read, I can't see any reason why we can't have both. The pursuit of new technology is a worthy human pursuit, it shouldn't distract us from the basic pleasures of a full belly and a full mind.
There is an Australian charity, The Fred Hollows Foundation, that delivers cataract surgery, lens replacement, to third world people, trains locals to perform the surgery themselves. The technology is fabulous, miraculous, the human spirit of the man that took that technology to those who need it most is the real wonder. He wasn't distracted by the whizzbangery, he took lasers to the jungle for a purpose.
I've no desire to go backwards, I enjoy the hell out of my iPad and all I can do with it. The joy isn't in the technology, rather in the people I can connect with through it. "The way the camera looks at every angle" is great, I still want to be looking at a real human at my table most of the time.
The more miraculous and wonderful we become the more our essential humanity is at risk. We can have both, humanity and technology, stem cell corneas and inner vision, as long as we remember that humanity is the real miracle, the real wonder, remember that the technology should serve us, not the other way around. I'm glad that guys like Paul Simon and Peter Gabriel are around to remind me.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Gene Autry On Being A Cowboy.
The Cowboy Code By Gene Autry
1. The cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.
2. He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him.
3. He must always tell the truth.
4. He must be gentle with children, the elderly, and animals.
5. He must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas.
6. He must help people in distress.
7. He must be a good worker.
8. He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits.
9. He must respect women, parents, and his nation's laws.
10. The Cowboy is a patriot.
Gene Autry.
This is just brilliant. Simple, straight ahead good advice for any man, even this latte sipping inner city cowboy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
1. The cowboy must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.
2. He must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him.
3. He must always tell the truth.
4. He must be gentle with children, the elderly, and animals.
5. He must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas.
6. He must help people in distress.
7. He must be a good worker.
8. He must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action, and personal habits.
9. He must respect women, parents, and his nation's laws.
10. The Cowboy is a patriot.
Gene Autry.
This is just brilliant. Simple, straight ahead good advice for any man, even this latte sipping inner city cowboy.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Work Versus Time.
The time versus money debate goes on forever. Apart from the lucky few most people have to balance how much they work to make money with how much time they have to enjoy that money. We are carrying buckets back and forward from the well, rarely taking time to enjoy the cool, clear water.
Of course there are realities, those expensive little children critters being the most real, with child labour laws the way they are it seems parents have to pay for everything. Parents I know tell me they like their children so much it never feels like a burden. Strikes me as a curious state of affairs, but each to their own. Still, with long life expectancy now children take up a quarter of our lives, not half as they used to. Much of our lives is spent working for what we want, and it seems we want a lot by how much we work.
Life expectancy is at the heart of this dilemma. How long do you intend to live? If that big red double decker bus of fate squished you into the heartless road tomorrow would you be happy with how much time you spent working, how much you spent playing? Planned retirement is a long odds bet.
Finding a job that doesn't feel like work is the best option I can see. Again, this is for the lucky few, someone has to pull on the rubber gloves and clear that S bend, ditches won't get out in the hot midday sun and dig themselves. We do live in the days of miracle and wonder, with some imagination many more of us could find our dream job, never the majority. Beware, dream jobs often pay imaginary dollars too.
There is no answer, greater minds than mine have sought it, but there can be a balance. For me being out late enough to take in the stars is worth more than any day job could ever pay me. What price the still night air, the excitement of the city, the relaxed, happy people I meet? I've made my choice, I'll go without all but the essentials to live as I wish, money is such a small price to pay. Of course, I don't have children, all you parents can take what I say, flush it scornfully, fair enough.
Each morning, when the alarm goes off, when you battle the traffic, when your boss is in your face first thing, take a moment to question if this is what you want, what it's worth?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Of course there are realities, those expensive little children critters being the most real, with child labour laws the way they are it seems parents have to pay for everything. Parents I know tell me they like their children so much it never feels like a burden. Strikes me as a curious state of affairs, but each to their own. Still, with long life expectancy now children take up a quarter of our lives, not half as they used to. Much of our lives is spent working for what we want, and it seems we want a lot by how much we work.
Life expectancy is at the heart of this dilemma. How long do you intend to live? If that big red double decker bus of fate squished you into the heartless road tomorrow would you be happy with how much time you spent working, how much you spent playing? Planned retirement is a long odds bet.
Finding a job that doesn't feel like work is the best option I can see. Again, this is for the lucky few, someone has to pull on the rubber gloves and clear that S bend, ditches won't get out in the hot midday sun and dig themselves. We do live in the days of miracle and wonder, with some imagination many more of us could find our dream job, never the majority. Beware, dream jobs often pay imaginary dollars too.
There is no answer, greater minds than mine have sought it, but there can be a balance. For me being out late enough to take in the stars is worth more than any day job could ever pay me. What price the still night air, the excitement of the city, the relaxed, happy people I meet? I've made my choice, I'll go without all but the essentials to live as I wish, money is such a small price to pay. Of course, I don't have children, all you parents can take what I say, flush it scornfully, fair enough.
Each morning, when the alarm goes off, when you battle the traffic, when your boss is in your face first thing, take a moment to question if this is what you want, what it's worth?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Monday, December 5, 2011
Lana Turner On Gentlemen.
“A gentleman is simply a patient wolf”
Lana Turner.
I disagree. A gentleman is a man who can witness otherwise intelligent women falling prey to wolves, again and again, and rise above despising them for it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Lana Turner.
I disagree. A gentleman is a man who can witness otherwise intelligent women falling prey to wolves, again and again, and rise above despising them for it.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Share It Like A Love Song.
I struggle some days, I really do. I sit and watch all the humans scurrying about, doing whatever it is they do, wonder why? The next obvious question is why I do what I do?
If a love affair breaks up a man can write a song about it, get it out, hopefully reassure another human in the same situation that they aren't alone. For some reason us humans feel better when we know we aren't the only ones, I don't know why. One can write a song about most intense emotions, joy to despair, pen a poem, build something, paint something, punch a bag. The melancholy of why bother getting off the couch when there is so much crap television to watch doesn't make for a great song.
There are most likely hundreds of millions of humans feeling exactly as I am right now. Rich, poor, popular, alienated, hopeful, hopeless, strong and weak. Melancholy is probably a more common feeling than either joy or despair, yet it is difficult to express, nothing is really wrong, it is hard to tell an interesting story without a beginning, a cause.
So these days pass, are forgotten easily enough. We remind ourselves why we do what we do, think about the work and the people that give us purpose, we laugh at ourselves for being foolish, move on. This feeling of melancholy is never expressed, shared, even admitted to. Everyone who feels it believes they are the only ones, the only one.
If you feel down don't wallow or feel sorry for yourself. Accept it, employ your courage to work through it, but don't be embarrassed to tell someone. Almost anyone you tell will know what you mean. As long as you don't bang on about it they will be happy to listen. It will make them feel better, like they aren't the only ones.
Share it like a three minute love song, then change the record.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
If a love affair breaks up a man can write a song about it, get it out, hopefully reassure another human in the same situation that they aren't alone. For some reason us humans feel better when we know we aren't the only ones, I don't know why. One can write a song about most intense emotions, joy to despair, pen a poem, build something, paint something, punch a bag. The melancholy of why bother getting off the couch when there is so much crap television to watch doesn't make for a great song.
There are most likely hundreds of millions of humans feeling exactly as I am right now. Rich, poor, popular, alienated, hopeful, hopeless, strong and weak. Melancholy is probably a more common feeling than either joy or despair, yet it is difficult to express, nothing is really wrong, it is hard to tell an interesting story without a beginning, a cause.
So these days pass, are forgotten easily enough. We remind ourselves why we do what we do, think about the work and the people that give us purpose, we laugh at ourselves for being foolish, move on. This feeling of melancholy is never expressed, shared, even admitted to. Everyone who feels it believes they are the only ones, the only one.
If you feel down don't wallow or feel sorry for yourself. Accept it, employ your courage to work through it, but don't be embarrassed to tell someone. Almost anyone you tell will know what you mean. As long as you don't bang on about it they will be happy to listen. It will make them feel better, like they aren't the only ones.
Share it like a three minute love song, then change the record.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Catherine Deneuve On The Edge.
“I always try to keep that feeling of being on the edge. I'm afraid of knowing too well and seeming mechanical.”
Catherine Deneuve.
Contempt and familiarity and all that. I like this quote a lot but I really posted it as an excuse to inspect and post a photograph of Catherine Deneuve.
That's not strictly true, this idea that finding the edge and hanging out there is a decision appeals to me. We are sometimes forced out there, scramble to return to the familiar, then yearn for the "real life" feeling to return. By deciding to abandon the familiar, constantly seek the new, we make our lives less comfortable, more real.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Catherine Deneuve.
Contempt and familiarity and all that. I like this quote a lot but I really posted it as an excuse to inspect and post a photograph of Catherine Deneuve.
That's not strictly true, this idea that finding the edge and hanging out there is a decision appeals to me. We are sometimes forced out there, scramble to return to the familiar, then yearn for the "real life" feeling to return. By deciding to abandon the familiar, constantly seek the new, we make our lives less comfortable, more real.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Greatness, Madness, Humans.
Aliens did not build the pyramids. Detailed records have survived, accounts for the provision of accommodation, food, tools to enthusiastic young men who left the farm to be part of constructing a tribute to god and king. Police records, over one hundred years, from all over the world, prove that no more crime occurs on a full moon than any other night. Before street lighting, when a full moon was an opportunity for illuminated late night shenanigans, the story may have been different, the myth remains.
The truth about the truth is that the truth is often very boring. Records and statistics are nowhere near as much fun as E.T. and Luna lunacy. Of course we like to believe the fun option, like gossip, the more freaky the better.
Humans are capable of remarkable feats, of constructing the seemingly impossible, of committing the most disturbing crimes. We go in search of supernatural explanation when the truly extraordinary thing is how amazing humans are. Are we humbled by greatness in others, are we afraid of the potential evil we all contain? We are like dogs looking away from the hole under the fence, hoping another, safer explanation will arise.
We are only now learning how and why the human brain works. We know enough to be sure that imagination and gumption are influenced by external stimulus, that madness is too. We know that some are more inclined towards one or the other, that environment instructs our brains which behaviour is rewarded, which punished. As we learn more it's difficult to imagine what humans will achieve, if we seek human causes for achievement, provide environment that encourages it.
The humans who built pyramids were inspired by religious fervour, a belief in something bigger than us. Murderous madmen often report the same source for their inspiration. Perhaps if we look to humanity, to ourselves, for inspiration we will all go seeking greatness? History tells us that our species is capable of the extraordinary, why not us, all of us, all us humans?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
The truth about the truth is that the truth is often very boring. Records and statistics are nowhere near as much fun as E.T. and Luna lunacy. Of course we like to believe the fun option, like gossip, the more freaky the better.
Humans are capable of remarkable feats, of constructing the seemingly impossible, of committing the most disturbing crimes. We go in search of supernatural explanation when the truly extraordinary thing is how amazing humans are. Are we humbled by greatness in others, are we afraid of the potential evil we all contain? We are like dogs looking away from the hole under the fence, hoping another, safer explanation will arise.
We are only now learning how and why the human brain works. We know enough to be sure that imagination and gumption are influenced by external stimulus, that madness is too. We know that some are more inclined towards one or the other, that environment instructs our brains which behaviour is rewarded, which punished. As we learn more it's difficult to imagine what humans will achieve, if we seek human causes for achievement, provide environment that encourages it.
The humans who built pyramids were inspired by religious fervour, a belief in something bigger than us. Murderous madmen often report the same source for their inspiration. Perhaps if we look to humanity, to ourselves, for inspiration we will all go seeking greatness? History tells us that our species is capable of the extraordinary, why not us, all of us, all us humans?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Erik Satie On Life.
"I often regret having come into this petty world; not that I hate the world. No . . . I love the world, I love high society and even the demimonde, since I'm a sort of demimondaine myself. But what have I come to do on this Earth, which is so earthly and so earthy? Do I have duties to perform here? have I come here to carry out a mission-a commission? Have I been sent here to amuse myself? to enjoy myself a little? . . . to forget the miseries of a beyond, which I no longer remember? Am I not unwelcome here? What should I say to all these questions? Thinking, almost from the moment of my arrival, that I was doing some good down here, I began to play a few musical airs which I myself had invented. . . . All my troubles stemmed from there."
Erik Satie.
Next time a musician friend irritates you with his or her whining about life, about not knowing what they are for, try to be kind, they can't help it, existential angst is their natural state.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Erik Satie.
Next time a musician friend irritates you with his or her whining about life, about not knowing what they are for, try to be kind, they can't help it, existential angst is their natural state.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Kings, Slaves And Sages.
It is said that a slave who dreams he is a king sleeps joyously, hopes he will never wake, a king who dreams he is a slave dreads sleep, fears he will never wake.
On the other hand a king can afford the good drugs and to pay a lingerie model to wake him each morning. Being a king is better than being a slave. Even the greatest sage must make his way in this three dimensional world.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
On the other hand a king can afford the good drugs and to pay a lingerie model to wake him each morning. Being a king is better than being a slave. Even the greatest sage must make his way in this three dimensional world.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Napoleon Bonaparte On Religion.
“Religion is excellent stuff for keeping common people quiet. Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich.”
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Today we employ the faith of Aspiration, the faith that if we truly believe we too will become one of the rich, that we are practically one of the rich already. Aspiration is a religion of sorts, the common people are keeping quiet as they practise Aspirationalism, they cannot murder the rich because they believe they will be one of the rich, if they just believe.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Today we employ the faith of Aspiration, the faith that if we truly believe we too will become one of the rich, that we are practically one of the rich already. Aspiration is a religion of sorts, the common people are keeping quiet as they practise Aspirationalism, they cannot murder the rich because they believe they will be one of the rich, if they just believe.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
A New Musical Life.
There are people out there who not only do stuff, they do stuff with a beautiful spirit. I'm presently ensuring that I hang out with these people. I'm enjoying this shared pursuit of virtue and beauty, it is making me happy. Who'd have thought it?
The only time these people mention money is when they laugh about having none. They make plans, fulfill them when the time is right, not according to a timetable. Stuff gets done when the time is right, without haste, therefore stuff gets done well. Feeling, is as important as technique, technique is respected and worked at.
The surprising thing is that these ventures are succeeding, growing, without ever feeling like work. I'm so pleased. This jaded old rock dog is feeling refreshed by the process. I've done the hard yards as a pro, there is a place for all that, coming back to playing music purely for the spirit of it is like a new musical life, a reincarnation. Each new day feels like a new day, as it should.
Tomorrow I will continue in this pursuit of pure music and pure people. It is working for me. Together we are creating beautiful things, music, friendships and to my surprise everything else is falling into place. Who'd have thought it possible?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
The only time these people mention money is when they laugh about having none. They make plans, fulfill them when the time is right, not according to a timetable. Stuff gets done when the time is right, without haste, therefore stuff gets done well. Feeling, is as important as technique, technique is respected and worked at.
The surprising thing is that these ventures are succeeding, growing, without ever feeling like work. I'm so pleased. This jaded old rock dog is feeling refreshed by the process. I've done the hard yards as a pro, there is a place for all that, coming back to playing music purely for the spirit of it is like a new musical life, a reincarnation. Each new day feels like a new day, as it should.
Tomorrow I will continue in this pursuit of pure music and pure people. It is working for me. Together we are creating beautiful things, music, friendships and to my surprise everything else is falling into place. Who'd have thought it possible?
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Friday, December 2, 2011
Joseph Heller On Faith.
“So many things were testing his faith. There was the Bible, of course, but the Bible was a book, and so were Bleak House, Treasure Island, Ethan Frome and The Last of the Mohicans. Did it then seem probable, as he had once overheard Dunbar ask, that the answers to riddles of creation would be supplied by people too ignorant to understand the mechanics of rainfall? Had Almighty God, in all His infinite wisdom, really been afraid that men six thousand years ago would succeed in building a tower to heaven?”
Joseph Heller, Catch 22.
Mr. Heller applied logic to things that don't stand up to logic. That no one ever has satisfactory answers to these logical questions means Heller was right ask them.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Joseph Heller, Catch 22.
Mr. Heller applied logic to things that don't stand up to logic. That no one ever has satisfactory answers to these logical questions means Heller was right ask them.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
It's Not About The Money.
So there is a tradition amongst Australian men, the shout. This tradition isn't peculiar to Australia, I buy, or shout, you a beer, you shout me a beer, not necessarily right now, some time, but the tradition is considered essential to good form in this country. You have to understand that it isn't about the money, it's about respect. Australian men don't say much, even less about what they feel, the shout is an expression of friendship.
The shout doesn't have to be of equal value. One man can shout a thousand dollar dinner, if the other can't afford to return the favour shouting a coffee in return is considered plenty. It simply isn't about the money, it isn't a deal, a transaction.
Every culture has it's own traditions of friendship, the shout is a typically simple Australian one. There are nuances. A man down on his luck will often find himself being shouted more often than usual. He knows that when he is back on his feet, whenever that is, it will be his turn to shout his mates. A man with a few dollars in his pocket who always seems to be in the bathroom when a round of beers needs paying for will be deemed "tight", find himself excluded from the next shout.
Shouting is an unwritten law and lore. Young men learn it from old men, the definition of a tradition. Like most traditions it is being lost to a take what you can generation. Australian men used to be tough, would walk away from those who don't show respect. We've become soft, find it easier to avoid the shout altogether rather than try to explain it.
As men become more in touch with their goddamned feminine side they have become very keen on saying how they feel about their friends, out loud, with words. It's sickening. The same men have become tight, see shouting as throwing away money, or a chance to gain status. The shout was never about showing off, and it certainly wasn't about the money. It was about respect, friendship.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
The shout doesn't have to be of equal value. One man can shout a thousand dollar dinner, if the other can't afford to return the favour shouting a coffee in return is considered plenty. It simply isn't about the money, it isn't a deal, a transaction.
Every culture has it's own traditions of friendship, the shout is a typically simple Australian one. There are nuances. A man down on his luck will often find himself being shouted more often than usual. He knows that when he is back on his feet, whenever that is, it will be his turn to shout his mates. A man with a few dollars in his pocket who always seems to be in the bathroom when a round of beers needs paying for will be deemed "tight", find himself excluded from the next shout.
Shouting is an unwritten law and lore. Young men learn it from old men, the definition of a tradition. Like most traditions it is being lost to a take what you can generation. Australian men used to be tough, would walk away from those who don't show respect. We've become soft, find it easier to avoid the shout altogether rather than try to explain it.
As men become more in touch with their goddamned feminine side they have become very keen on saying how they feel about their friends, out loud, with words. It's sickening. The same men have become tight, see shouting as throwing away money, or a chance to gain status. The shout was never about showing off, and it certainly wasn't about the money. It was about respect, friendship.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Joseph Heller On Smoking And Talking.
“Let's take a drive into the middle of nowhere with a packet of Marlboro lights and talk about our lives.”
Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
There is no better way to talk than lying on the bonnet of a big old car in the desert, sharing a packet of real American cigarettes, stars so close, horizon distant, the earth spinning you and your friend and the car so fast that the smoke trails behind you even though there is no breeze. Any other talking is just chatter in comparison.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
There is no better way to talk than lying on the bonnet of a big old car in the desert, sharing a packet of real American cigarettes, stars so close, horizon distant, the earth spinning you and your friend and the car so fast that the smoke trails behind you even though there is no breeze. Any other talking is just chatter in comparison.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Boy's Bits And Girl's Bits.
I love it when people have hang ups about other people's sexuality. I find it hilarious that anyone has the energy and will to think and worry about what other people do with their boy's and girl's bits. The more they try to rationalize their position the funnier they become, the more I'm convinced their own sexuality has been repressed, their frustration must exit their mouths in the form of hate. If only they'd inflate the paddle pool and squish jelly into their underpants, as they are longing to, or whatever kink it is that they desire, they'd be too busy and happy to bother shouting at anyone else's groin.
It seems obvious that human sexuality is fluid, context dependent. What happens in Vegas, what happens on Cell Block D, what happens in the backpacker's hostel, it's all within us before we arrive. What feels right on a vacation fling doesn't feel right in a loving relationship, what feels right after ten years together is different to what feels right after ten weeks.
Humans enjoy sex as a social recreational activity. Some people play the game of squash for fun, for me the idea of being trapped in a box with another sweaty man and an eye sized flying ball is hell. Some people enjoy different forms of sex, just as they enjoy different forms of play. Stamp collectors don't judge rally drivers, boxers don't judge bird watchers, so why do missionary position in wedlock people feel so free to judge spanking paddle and a video camera people?
Sexual repression is a method to controlling people. Every religious cult has rules about sex, controlling the base desire makes the rest of the human more pliable, makes them feel different to everyone else, superior. The virgin/whore complex of the Catholic Church is the most common example, but every cult that wants to control it's followers is in the same game. Control their thoughts about sex organs and you've got them.
Sex takes place in the brain, what we think we are doing is more important than what we are actually doing. The symbolism of stockings, of a dog collar, of a pizza box, whatever the fantasy it's just variations on a theme. How can anyone judge another person's mind, imagination? How can anyone decide which variations are good and which are bad? No one can decide these things for anyone else, and when people try to they just end up looking ridiculous. Perhaps public humiliation is their kink, they find it by saying ludicrous things about other people's sexuality?
So the gay marriage debate has been fired up here again. Many people are employing terms like "morals" and "standards". I reckon gay people have had it too good too long, why should only straight people have to suffer marriage? Jokes aside, why should anyone decide who can marry based on their own interpretation of which sex bits go with other sex bits? How can that be anything but funny? You can smother me in honey and feed me to sweet toothed lesbians if that ain't funny.
The only rule about sex is to do what feels natural for you and your partner. Anything else is control freakiness of the most ignorant kind. Perhaps the other rule is to wipe the baby oil off your fingers before you turn the Donna Summer record over? Whatever it is that does it for you, don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. When some fool tries to tell you what is right and what is wrong just laugh at them. Imagine them naked and laugh at them.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
It seems obvious that human sexuality is fluid, context dependent. What happens in Vegas, what happens on Cell Block D, what happens in the backpacker's hostel, it's all within us before we arrive. What feels right on a vacation fling doesn't feel right in a loving relationship, what feels right after ten years together is different to what feels right after ten weeks.
Humans enjoy sex as a social recreational activity. Some people play the game of squash for fun, for me the idea of being trapped in a box with another sweaty man and an eye sized flying ball is hell. Some people enjoy different forms of sex, just as they enjoy different forms of play. Stamp collectors don't judge rally drivers, boxers don't judge bird watchers, so why do missionary position in wedlock people feel so free to judge spanking paddle and a video camera people?
Sexual repression is a method to controlling people. Every religious cult has rules about sex, controlling the base desire makes the rest of the human more pliable, makes them feel different to everyone else, superior. The virgin/whore complex of the Catholic Church is the most common example, but every cult that wants to control it's followers is in the same game. Control their thoughts about sex organs and you've got them.
Sex takes place in the brain, what we think we are doing is more important than what we are actually doing. The symbolism of stockings, of a dog collar, of a pizza box, whatever the fantasy it's just variations on a theme. How can anyone judge another person's mind, imagination? How can anyone decide which variations are good and which are bad? No one can decide these things for anyone else, and when people try to they just end up looking ridiculous. Perhaps public humiliation is their kink, they find it by saying ludicrous things about other people's sexuality?
So the gay marriage debate has been fired up here again. Many people are employing terms like "morals" and "standards". I reckon gay people have had it too good too long, why should only straight people have to suffer marriage? Jokes aside, why should anyone decide who can marry based on their own interpretation of which sex bits go with other sex bits? How can that be anything but funny? You can smother me in honey and feed me to sweet toothed lesbians if that ain't funny.
The only rule about sex is to do what feels natural for you and your partner. Anything else is control freakiness of the most ignorant kind. Perhaps the other rule is to wipe the baby oil off your fingers before you turn the Donna Summer record over? Whatever it is that does it for you, don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. When some fool tries to tell you what is right and what is wrong just laugh at them. Imagine them naked and laugh at them.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Joseph Heller On Catch 22.
“There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane he had to fly them. If he flew them he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle.
"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed.
"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed.”
Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
This idea is often misquoted, hope this clears it up.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
"That's some catch, that Catch-22," he observed.
"It's the best there is," Doc Daneeka agreed.”
Joseph Heller, Catch-22.
This idea is often misquoted, hope this clears it up.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Waiting Looks Like Doing Nothing.
So in the last two weeks I've gone from completely unemployed to very nearly employed. From the outside my life probably doesn't look very different, it feels different. Suddenly I have a small stream of income from one online recording and from this blog, two bands lined up and an interesting short film to write a little music for. A fortnight ago I had precisely nothing going on.
Years ago, when my vision started failing, I chased up some career advice from Vision Australia. It was more what the fuck can I do advice than what I'd be best suited for. The lady who talked me through my aptitude test asked me what I was doing for work. I told her I played music, that I loved it but it was financially unreliable. She then gave me the real advice.
"Perhaps you'd be better off just accepting the ups and downs of your chosen work, find ways to be cool with the down patches. Some can do it, some can't, I reckon you can."
Great advice. She was right, I am the sort of person who can take the ride, enjoy the good times, laugh at the bad. Not all the time, but I do O.K. The problem is that other people struggle to accept it, feel pleased with themselves when they judge me. These folks make me laugh, call me lazy when I'm between gigs, say "I'm with the band" when I'm busy.
Sometimes there is nothing you can do, just wait for a break, try not to spend money, hang out with some like minded lunatics who are in the same asylum, drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. There is no useful action to take, just wait. Waiting looks a lot like doing nothing.
So now things are breaking for me. Others will now look at me, treat me differently. I'm still the same guy I was two weeks ago. I can accept the ups and downs.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
Years ago, when my vision started failing, I chased up some career advice from Vision Australia. It was more what the fuck can I do advice than what I'd be best suited for. The lady who talked me through my aptitude test asked me what I was doing for work. I told her I played music, that I loved it but it was financially unreliable. She then gave me the real advice.
"Perhaps you'd be better off just accepting the ups and downs of your chosen work, find ways to be cool with the down patches. Some can do it, some can't, I reckon you can."
Great advice. She was right, I am the sort of person who can take the ride, enjoy the good times, laugh at the bad. Not all the time, but I do O.K. The problem is that other people struggle to accept it, feel pleased with themselves when they judge me. These folks make me laugh, call me lazy when I'm between gigs, say "I'm with the band" when I'm busy.
Sometimes there is nothing you can do, just wait for a break, try not to spend money, hang out with some like minded lunatics who are in the same asylum, drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. There is no useful action to take, just wait. Waiting looks a lot like doing nothing.
So now things are breaking for me. Others will now look at me, treat me differently. I'm still the same guy I was two weeks ago. I can accept the ups and downs.
Parkstreet.
www.kentparkstreetblog.com
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