Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Hey, my face is up here!

My darling, I love you, and you know that my love is true. But something has come between us… that new phone just isn’t you.

You don’t need to be Richard Dawkins to know that you didn’t evolve an opposable appendage so that you can thumb-fuck the shit out of your choice of smart phone while I’m trying to talk to you. Or when I’m trying to impress you with the social commentary delivered in the newest South Park episode. Or while we’re meandering around campus together, or while we’re sitting at a bar.

I like to think of myself as a “whatever makes you happy” kind of guy, but this sentiment is difficult to extend when you’re indirectly (but audaciously) letting me know that what I have to offer is of less importance than your twenty character reply to a message which is (statistically) highly unlikely to have any meaning whatsoever. Let’s be honest.

This is what gets me. Most BBM/What’sApp/MXit conversations are drearily carried out purely in worship of the fact that they don’t cost anything. But when did meaningless, mediocre, pitiful conversations become worthy of their tediousness just because they are free? If I really don’t care what you’re getting up to on Sunday afternoon but I happen to find you online, I’m not going to ask you whether you’re watching the Simpsons or jacking it to Johnny Depp in Chocolat, because it’s not free. It costs time, and more importantly attention, which could have been (more wisely) spent absorbing and immersing yourself in your immediate environment rather than being asked and having to answer a question like “So what are you doing?”, with your thumbs.  

So put it down, at least until you’re alone. Or use in appropriate moderation. You’re missing out on emotions conveyed through the eyes in a real conversation necessitated by the presence of familiar human contact, at the expense of colons and brackets in a conversation you would never have deemed necessary had it not been “free” and readily available. Fair trade?

Monday, 20 February 2012

I Am the Dreamer

Time for a good ol’ fashioned Tassenberg fuelled rant.

The times they are a changin’, a wise man once said. This is an undeniable fact of life, both ancient and contemporary, ubiquitous. It’s how you deal with change that is important though, and dealing with change has to start somewhere. My suggestion is, to start dealing with change by not giving too much of a fuck.

Christians call it serenity. I hate to admit that some of the shit they come up with applies to, well, things that actually exist, but I like this concept. Lord, give me the power to change what I can, and the serenity to accept what I cannot. Or as I like to put it, do what you can to make a difference, but only when it's not too much effort. 

Based on a system of utility, any attempts at acting benevolently or altruistically should only be endeavoured if the potential good that they could do outweigh the personal effort involved. The rest of the time should be spent getting the fuck on with it and making as little problems for others while experiencing the most amount of sensual pleasure possible for yourself. At the end of the day money is worth more than caring, and caring is worth less than shit, except for care given where care is due. Everyone grows out of their teenage angst-need-to-fit-in sometime or later, paths divulge, relationships grow weary and reunions are less sweet than they used to be. Such is life, the end of one era brings about the dawning of the next. 

Let's make this next one one hell of a party.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Darkest Hour


(Ok, so I've had this album in my car for about two and a half weeks now, and I'm still listening to it every single day. I often do this "Let's kill the fuck out of this CD by listening to it, and it onlyall the time " thing though, as others I'm sure will gladly bear witness, so maybe it's not that special, but for now I'm firmly set in my belief that it is absolutely amazing. Also (to contextualise the the knob-shining to come) I am quite the Darkest Hour fan, so if you're looking for an unbiased opinion, look elsewhere...)


                                                                    2011, Victory Records

"The Human Romance" is the seventh studio album by these pioneers of melodic heavy music, and it has grasped me firmly by my metaphorical musical balls ever since it laid into my ear pussy with its thrashy riffs,the constant driving force of the double bass pedal and the exquisite harmonies. Seriously. This band has been going for ages as this album reveals with it's maturity and sophisticated poignancy that I have, as of yet, failed to come across in any other (if it must be said) "metal" band. They effortlessly juxtapose aggression with calmness, beauty with cacophony and brutality with empathy, leaving you asking, mouth gaping, how?! It might have something to do with their choice of scales, or the small but technically brilliant musical intricacies that they incorporate into their sound, but I am quite certain that even old Mozart, had he once been at a party, had a few drinks, and somehow heard the bridge in "Purgatory" over the gramophone, would have been like, "Wow, those guys shred! And its beautiful!!". Even my mom likes some of the parts, and she thinks heavy metal is the sound Satan makes when he gets out of bed on the wrong side in the morning... surely that counts for something.

Also, I hate it when bands try on purpose to "progress", because they are proper musicians with one good album out and now they need to "develop their style". Over-zealous assholes. Don't get me wrong, the sound has changed, but the first thing I said when the album kicked in was "Yep, that's Darkest Hour." These guys still party, at least used to smoke weed (not sure if they still do), and tour the shit out of the world because they genuinely love music and playing it for people, which I can respect in the current climate of greedy musical corporate dick-suckingness. Their style has remained true to its roots, roots from seeds that they planted themselves when they perfected the art of alternately picked harmonised riffs, and so their transformation has been less of a progression than just a slow, steady march, gathering momentum and finally culminating in this, so far for me personally, the pinnacle of their artistic achievement.

I give it, drum-roll..........Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp.
189. Out of 203.


Click here to visit the Darkest Hour Myspace page
Click here to visit the Darkest Hour Facebook Page

Sunday, 20 March 2011

Cosmic Comedowns


Introspection. It always happens the morning after a binge. I suppose it is fairly obvious that waking up and discovering the bloody bandage on your hand and remembering, “Oh yeah, that happened”, (long even before remembering, or being reminded of, kissing the ugly girl, declaring your undying love for that pretty girl or falling down drunk in the middle of the street), is cause for a drastic re-evaluation of your existence. I’m talking big picture, cosmic shit.

In retrospect, things could have ended a lot worse, but I guess my guardian angel was working overtime while my responsibility gnome was tripping on MDMA with me... Still, however, some things in life cannot be fixed by a frantic drunken drive to the hospital, one very judgmental general practitioner and a, ??!! , “condom finger bandage”. Such things include, but are not limited to:
  • Existential crises
  • Comedowns
  • Shitty friends
  • Stupidity
And as a final addition to that list, the situation I currently find myself in: bored as shit, disdainful and in pain. But wait, shall I console myself? Sure!

Maybe all’s well that ends well. Maybe inherently I am smart enough to cope with and go about life in a rational manner, and it's all actually just the drugs' fault. Maybe I've had some of the best times of my life on drugs, but then again, I can’t really remember. Some philosopher reckoned that the extent to which any person can experience pleasure is limited by the amount of pain they have experienced in the past, and I think there is some truth in that. Balance. Perhaps by the same token, the better the party, the harder the emotional comedown. Seems logical. Balance. The Universe takes care of itself, impassive towards the discord of our reality, and I realise this most while battling hangovers/comedowns (my most prevalent moments of weakness), paradoxically  by nursing them tenderly with a joint, breakfast and company. This realisation then usually proceeds to melt into something like a “Total Perspective Vortex” once the seemingly more severe monotony of everyday life is rediscovered, leaving one with a feeling of pointlessness and futility.

But all be it humbling it is a good feeling, because even though there is no meaning to life, and I’m not even a spec on 4.6 billion years of history, it is exactly because it’s all so unfathomably big that it’s amazing to just be a part of it. A tiniest of parts, my little world, in which I get to witness, in awe, the grandeur of the universe that so statistically improbably gave birth to the consciousness which now drips onto this page.

So fuck it, relax, and remember (in the words of the Almighty), it’s just a ride.