Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘walkthrough’

There’s a thing about the tram drivers. No one ever saw them pissing. As if they just materialize out of a thin air right there in the drivers’ cabin, and disintegrate back to nothingness at the end of the shift. Unless, that is, if you happened to be leaning on my window sill and staring at the half-ruined ghost building in front of you. Then, and only then, if you just turn your head slightly to the left you might come to realize that tram drivers come equipped with bladder. From time to time you will spot one going in and out of a barrack which says ‘fotostudio’. Pretty flashy place to do your natural duties.

That’s the priviledge of living next to the last tram stop. But there are some others too. For instance, you can miss the tram, and particularly because you need about 35 seconds to reach the station.

Berlin’s treats come in heaps. As I type this, I can see about 15 cms of clear sky with planes landing to Tegel airport. I’m waving the passengers, but no one as of yet rang my doorbell to say thanks. Which brings me to the science of waving.

How it looks like? Simple. You’re standing on the bridge fence on Le pont des arts in Paris, tourists walk next to you and couldn’t give a slightest fuck for your existence. Then you turn your face over the fence and there is a bunch of ecstatic types on a passing vessel, totally into saying ‘hi’ with their limbs. Why do people when they get onto a boat or a bus have this sudden urge to wave around? Once grounded and using their feet they couldn’t care less .

I won’t go further into how they are actually not greeting anyone, but trying to make you notice their exceptional state of being on some transport vehicle. It’s too depressing to be elaborated.

Another treat. In Berlin you can’t find fresh calamari. Although, if you need a 234th version of a sausage they’ll be glad to shove it down your throat. Not such a tragic fact but what do you say on a pre-recorded female voice that will tell you  ‘all change please’ as you reach the last stop? Which basically means if you continue walking or just stay sitting around, you’re kind of breaking the rules.

Saying that, I prefer a metaphysical interpretation. Berlin S-bahn company wants you to really change. To become a better person. Arriving to the last stop of your journey is about the most natural moment to do it, wouldn’t you say?

Finally, Berlin has a blissfully melancholic side too. This guy knows better:

Behind all the paintings that hang nailed to walls
Below all the carpets your feet stepped upon
Among the pages of the books that rest closed
In the air of empty rooms and deserted halls

In the moment just ahead and just before your time
Under the veil, in the blind spot of your view behind
In your eyes when you close them in the night

Beneath the words that tell the story of your life
Between the frames of every motion that you redefine
Under the dust on the moon’s darkest side
In your mind when there’s nothing left to be revived

Between your hand and all the things that it touches
Behind all doors before the turning of the latches
In every song just before you press play
You I’m waiting for.

Read Full Post »

Is life a video game?

Get rid of the enemies, jump the obstacles, collect the prizes, and..if you do really well, you might even get a new life. If you mess up, then well..game over for you.

Analogies between personal histories and game walkthroughs are never-ending, but one is the most striking. It usually takes someone else to hold the controller for a game to be played. The ensuing conclusion is simple. The more someone’s life reflects the logic of a video game, the more likely someone or something else is pushing the buttons.

The song ‘Walkthrough’ follows the way adventure game solutions are usually written. For each scene there is an instruction on how perform it, and production companies are inclined to invent and trademark few special objects which provide some superpower. So, the stupid sword suddenly becomes The Mighty Sword of Xenogan™. To be original means to employ a good copywriter, because there are just too many swords, bazookas, orcs, evil queens, and gigantic crystal spiders that shoot lasers around to be able to discern them anymore.

It makes me think of  famous brands slapping their logo on a mass produced shirt just to provide the magic which is completely lost in the way things are produced in a mass culture. Not surprisingly, in a world of hand-crafted unique production brands were unnecessary and redundant. The object was radiating its identity by itself. Anyway,  I’m drifting away here…

It’s the idea of success and achievement that has an absolute sway on the way that we perceive others and ourselves. Collecting the points, building up the credit, which you can then spend to gain something, to trade, or save it to enhance further chances. And just as it perfectly doesn’t matter how you reached, say, level 6 in a video game once you’re there, success is its own justification in 3D just as much. Once you make it, it effectively shuts everybody else’s memories and mouths. The score redefines all that preceded it.

As for me, I can only sadly admit I jumped too low, aimed too imprecisely, drove too clumsily and generally killed monsters too lazily. Whoever pushed my buttons must be quite frustrated by now. Being a mere stupid character I still dare to pass a suggestion to the hand. Isn’t it time to smash the damn controller?

Lyrics:

Walkthrough

Concentrate and push start
Watch your head, they’re falling down
Splits of Broken Hearts™
Hide behind the wall
Wait till you get missed by shot
Of the Dart of Love™

Go to super-store
Buy the Hands of Justice™
Touch and crack the Saving Straw™
To see the open door
Leading to the Leash of Power™
To the upper floor

Bend behind, move it quick and stretch to side
Duck and jump and spread apart
Lift it up and make it hard
Work it out till you see stars

Now don’t you try to slow down
Watch your step you could stumble on
Stones of Wisdom Gone™
Unzip your water gun
Sprinkle dried out Tree of Knowing™
Chop it, burn and run

Bend behind, move it quick and stretch to side
Duck and jump and spread apart
Lift it up and make it hard
Work it out till you see stars

Suck the Thumb of God™
Play the ball off the Wall of Lies™
And get a brand new life
Ride a Wheel of Luck™
Pray to centrifugal force
You make it the top five.

Bend behind, move it quick and stretch to side
Duck and jump and spread apart
Lift it up and make it hard
Then repeat all from the start
Relax and calm your heart
Face the floor and spread apart
Lift it up and make it hard
Work it out, you’re a born star

Share

Read Full Post »

Precedent books are better than subsequent movies. But what’s the score between precedent movies and subsequent music? ‘Before the Rain’ was written one spring evening long time ago. I was sitting next to my room’s window, fiddling the strings of my old classical guitar and thought I found a cute little tune. I was wrong. It was a great big tune.

I wish I could shoot orders from here, you know, rule the globe, take Mubarak from power, give everyone a lollipop. Being an interstellar dictator wielding absolute power over every single heart, mind and taste bud I would make you watch the movie named ‘Before the Rain’ by one of my galactic decrees. At the end of projection viewers would get a broken umbrella, bloodstained t-shirt, empty pop corn box and a copy of my song ‘Before the Rain’.

Weak love comes in triangles. Powerful love comes in circles. It brings you to beginnings as you run forward. Not in a karmic or repetitive way, not as a try and fail routine. But as an awareness the source is the only place where you want to be. At every stage of progression. You run ahead, but looking back, you’re constantly drawing circles.

The movie I mention was made in 1995. by Macedonian director Milche Manchevski. You will find it on YouTube split into ten or so parts.

As I said, some songs start as dubious crumbs of music. You’re not exactly sure if you like them or not, whether it’s any good. You don’t recognize the face of your new born child. Then they grow and you suddenly realize they turned into a beauty far beyond your creative imagination. Beyond your sperm potential. When I brought this piece of music to my band at the time, I didn’t hold much hopes the song would survive. It took half an hour of a rehearsal and a full-blown sound of drums, bass and guitars that it’s majesty struck me.

The smell of coming rain is one of the few that instantly brings me a fragile, slightly displaced sensation. Although my list of traumatic scents is topped by another – the smell of freshly cut grass. It followed me in my first days of kindergarten, the place which I absolutely hated and never got used to. Today, if I come across it in the air, there is just immediate hit of deep uneasiness, as if I’m swallowed by a monstrous green whale and taken to the Mariana Trench.

Anyway, I hate umbrellas. The only time you can see me having one is when I perform a carrying service for the female kind – mothers, girlfriends, friends. Women prefer rain in songs. It keeps the hair intact.

Lyrics:

Some voice has told me
«you will walk on but never come
Dream on there’s still a way»

I sing drowned in its echo
Tryin to remember what’s my song
And my tune just went wrong

Oh left alone while time is moving on
I don’t know that way
I’m here and scent of rain is coming down
And my shirt I gave away

May love become our fate
Melting the ice of hate
Drowning all cities and lands

And though all’s not the same
Life is the single cutting pain
When they begin to blend

Share

Read Full Post »

Thinking again about this song.

It was 2008. I officially put on my sneakers and started running in other peoples’ ears. But, I cheated. What I was actually doing was swimming.

Now, there are no horizon lines and sunsets in the swimming pool, which makes it pretty poor thing for metaphorical exploitation.

Nevertheless, maybe I should’ve changed the 1st verse to something like:

“I’m swimming, swimming

while guy next to me moves his legs

like giraffe on eggs”

Anyway, I have a tiny request. Some of you are probably jogging from time to time, and I’d die to know how this song fits your exercise, your passing scenery, your heartbeat. Does it make you want to stop, run faster, skip to the next track?

As for me, I lost 20 kilos since I recorded this one. Some music makes you fat, some makes you thin, I wonder in which class my work falls into. They sometimes say it’s too heavy – not a good sign. I don’t want anyone to gain a few extra tons just by putting headphones on.

I’m Running has several other moments as well. There is a mention of torture techniques like shoo-fly and iron maiden. The first one is commonly known as waterboarding and it got worldwide press coverage with Guantanamo bay detention camp. Bush administration didn’t believe it was a form of torture and they made it legal.

Description of the process (quote from 19th century): “There was the ‘shoo-fly,’ an instrument so arranged that the victim could be placed with his feet in the stocks, his arms pinioned and his head fastened so that he could not move it. Then some one would take the hose and turn the water full upon the prisoner’s face. This was kept up until the victim was partly strangled to death. Imagine a man receiving a stream of water from an inch nozzle full in the face without the power of changing his position; then think of that stream being ice-cold water, and you can form an idea.”

Wikipedia on Iron Maiden: “An iron maiden (German: Eiserne Jungfrau) is a torture device, consisting of an iron cabinet, with a hinged front, sufficiently tall to enclose a human being. It usually has a small closable opening so that the torturer can interrogate the victim and torture or kill a person by piercing the body with sharp objects (such as knives, spikes or nails), while he or she is forced to remain standing.”

There is a serious advantage of swimming over running. You can’t miss a turn. I should’ve known before.

Lyrics:

I’m Running

I’m running, running
While sun on horizon sends its rays onto my way

I’m breathing, breathing
But life escapes me like the air I exhale

I’m watching you, watching you
Though my view tells me it fails to describe your face

Yearning while burning while coming apart
While looking for what I cannot really find
I run, I run, but I’m still behind
Someone whose footprints fit mine

I’m talking, talking
But rivers of words will never wet the soil they’re rising at

Never stopping, never stopping
While sun on horizon beams its rays onto my way

And all that tools of torture coming by, iron maiden, shoo-fly
Will make it great a play

Yearning while burning while coming apart
While looking for what I cannot really find
I run, I run, but I’m still behind
Someone whose footprints fit mine

Run, run, run to me
And all your dreams will be

See, see, see the sky
Fall down from on high

May all the turns I’ve missed
All goals I’ve never seized
Dissolve in your arms.

Share

Read Full Post »

You is I. We are not equal.

I don’t believe in equality of sexes. I can’t stand the idea of respect between lovers. I find the concept of roles disgusting. There is no democracy, negotiation, exchange of goods, compromise, middle way, balance of interests, symbiosis in the core encounter between a man and a woman in love. There shouldn’t be.

I believe in two movements: surrender and overtaking. Keywords: pervading, self-canceling, taking over, submitting, vibrating, shaking, freezing and burning at the center of gravitational pull that makes you a victim and a victor at the same time. You’re always less and always more, unable to locate, name and discuss what is that force that fuse you to a particular other in a way that surpasses any practical and reasonable goal. It’s self-destructive, suicidal, it’s makes you alive and builds a frame in which you know you’re eternal. In which you can die without a second thought.

Erase this dimension and you end up in a comfortable cohabitation, where lovers become roommates, where impossible becomes nice, where danger becomes comfort, where vision becomes conversation, where ecstasy becomes exchange, where drive becomes compatibility.

‘You is I’ is about merciless eradication of oneself, of the other. Doesn’t really matter. It’s the identity where one always loses to the other. Where one’s ground and desire exists completely in the way the other moves. Where both are enslaved to the memory and the promise of the otherworldly touch. Like in Eucharist where god is chewed, sucked and swallowed. Where teeth and tongue meet a shot of grace. It’s the blindness that’s clairvoyant, the loneliness that is fused, the loss that feels like being finally found. Even if your next church will be psychiatric ward.

What can you do with such a starting point? Maybe all, maybe nothing. But surely nothing in between. Can you build on it? Doesn’t matter. Practically, it can be heaven or hell. Probably both.

But you can definitely – Be. And become. Keeping yourself on the sharp cutting edge, in the eye of the storm, in the reality which doesn’t give you time-out to check what’s in the fridge or in the news. There is no prior place. It’s the zero point to which everything else collapses, and without which everything else becomes exactly that: ‘everything else’.

 

This is how it all sounds:

Lyrics:

You Is I

Give
Give me all you know
All that you have been
All you’re looking for

And watch me
How I wipe them out
Stars on your secret
Your memories in time

Now
Wave your arms and fall
Voiceless and resolved
Beneath your passion’s call

And now
I will take it all
Every hair and drop
Your innards and your bones

Your end
On my lips is drawing nigh
You disappear
In mantra of my sweetest sigh
You are gone
You is I

Give
Give me all and now
May your sun become a spark
And dissolve into the dark

Don’t ask for
Heaven through this touch
Signs in words you hear
Salvation through this sacrifice

Your end has come
And your dreams are dispelled
You disappear
And there’s no one to bid you farewell
All you are
In ashes is blown to the sky
You are none
You is I

Share

Read Full Post »

Do you ever run on a treadmill? I wrote a great soundtrack to it. If hamsters were a serious music audience, they’d probably choose this as their anthem.

„I’m Running“ is a celebration of a horizon and a wall. Of a once in a lifetime and of a repetition. I guess there is a contradiction at the core of the human movement, as opposed to all we learned in physics. If you move too much, the surrounding scenery collapses. You break things around you. If you stand still, the rhythm of events, the time itself, crushes you to oblivion.

Again, chasing the dream, the unbearably attractive unreachable something, ends up in a very destruction of the space that made it appear in the first place. Than again, when you stop and wait, when you relax and let the things flow in their own way, at their own pace, it doesn’t take long to disappear into background and fuse with fleeting trivialities.

Is there a way between? I believe so. But as with any narrow surface, the mastery of balance is crucial. The walk on line can never be fast. Every step needs care and attention, in a very counter-intuitive way. By fixing the horizon. The moment you start observing your feet you’re gone. Maybe you won’t get far, you probably won’t, but wherever you get it will be a victory and a bliss.

In all the noise about following your dreams – mostly produced by a celebrity blabber, by the ones who didn’t follow them more than others, but had them shoved down their throat by the entertainment machine – few things about their nature pass unnoticed. We can’t control what we’re dreaming of. We can’t be sure what their meaning is. We never know how they end. They never ever cross the confinement of one’s own pillow. One’s own comfort. It’s still miles easier to bleed for your dreams than to bleed for anything or anyone else. As for me, I was a terribly diligent martyr. There’s a pool of red stuff around me. And, my God, have I suffered for my oneiric self salvation!

Actually, we do know how dreams end. It’s called slow, confused, disoriented morning. A time to brush your teeth, wash your eyes and greet the light. Morning became my favorite part of the day. You enter the bathroom and the solitude of dreams gets replaced by traces of the one who was there before you. Awoken, alive, ahead of you.

I want to dream about the eyelash on the brim of the lavabo.

 

I’m Running

I’m running, running
While sun on horizon sends its rays onto my way

I’m breathing, breathing
But life escapes me like the air I exhale

I’m watching you, watching you
Though my view tells me it fails to describe your face

Yearning while burning while coming apart
While looking for what I cannot really find
I run, I run, but I’m still behind
Someone whose footprints fit mine

I’m talking, talking
But rivers of words will never wet the soil they’re rising at

Never stopping, never stopping
While sun on horizon beams its rays onto my way

And all that tools of torture coming by, iron maiden, shoo-fly
Will make it great a play

Yearning while burning while coming apart
While looking for what I cannot really find
I run, I run, but I’m still behind
Someone whose footprints fit mine

Run, run, run to me
And all your dreams will be

See, see, see the sky
Fall down from on high

May all the turns I’ve missed
All goals I’ve never seized
Dissolve in your arms.

Share

Read Full Post »

Walkthrough memories: Lovers

Call me dark, tragic, whatever, but there is no love without death. Remove the horizon of dying, horizon of end, horizon of once and never again and you can be sure you buried every possibility to love. I don’t know what love is. But I see wrinkles around her eyes, hair falling on her shoulders, I stare at the knuckles on her hand, feel her ribs under my fingertips, the ways skin stretches and folds as I pass my lips over it, the shape of her skull and suddenly I realize how she happens, how she appears in just one angle – the eternity that will never come again. The moment, the molecules, the voice which you can never grasp, grab, preserve, return to, and at the same time they carry something so immense and neverending. Isn’t it what dying is about? The point in time and space where time and space collapse, the joint which disjoints, the now which is forever and never. If we were immortal we wouldn’t love.

I wrote ‘Lovers’ many moons ago, wanting to approach the reality of love starting from the instinct I just described. But it’s much more – and much less – than a love song. I intersected it with the ways I was failing at it, the ways I was forgetting, the ways she was.

Not a sensation, not an emotion, not a decision or a choice. Love is, before all, a state of mind. A continuous, permanent perception.  The ability to see the other thrown into a void of ephemeral, passing mystery of who she is, of who I am, and never in any other way. Doesn’t matter if she’s buying new shoes, licking icecream or making love to you. She is peeling a peanut or taking a piss and it has unreachable, reverential proportions. Beauty of which never dies, but grows as we dare to die.

Lyrics:

Lovers

Baby I’m coming to you
To your love that never knew
It’s dying we are living through
All is built to be pulled down
And I know in the last round
I’ll fall for my tricks too

Baby I’m coming to you
But I’m long stuck in a queue
To have it more and have it all
And I hunted your face
And I shot you in place
You made no sound, I left you sprawled

There’s a whisper in the noise
I can’t leave it be
I practice slavery of the choice
It feels so free

What to do my pretty one
When all the love of years begone
Knows just shit of who am I
And on it crucified
And in the search for sky
It’s my tears I’m blinded by

I tried to break through velvet nights
Through the skin, beyond the sight
Tear the patchwork, understand
But none did ever stay
Who’d die to tread a way
From your sheets to promised land

There’s a whisper in the noise
I can’t leave it be
I practice slavery of the choice
It feels, it tastes so free

Words that pass and words so cool
Are just re-living me
Shiny, loud, they ridicule
They chew and spit me.

Share

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »