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Sometimes I feel like, I don’t
know.Sometimes I feel like
checking-out,I want to get it
wrong-Can’t always be
strongand
love
it won’t be
long…

-
Ultra-Violet
(Light My Way) by U2 - from Achtung
Baby (1991).I don’t like
this song in particular - but often I find myself
speaking/thinking the opening words of this (terribly
over-produced) tune… today was one of those days. Sometimes I
really
don’t know. Anything. Just find myself doing nothing, saying little, feeling
numb. And
in the style of some mental aristocratic-Russian-housewife of Chekov’s I stare
out of windows on to the tundra (wind swept field outside my
house).There are people (people in
particular - although Flickr does a good job of it) that can snap you out of
mindless melancholia, I like them… people that is - although I’ve said stated
the contrary many times in the past… I’ve also said in the past (when I say
past I mean archive)
that there’s a sweet difference between boredom - the mellow, peace out
lay-around variety - and melancholia - the not
so
sweet but bearably interminable tundra of the mind. I was bored before - I’m
verging on melancholia - I’ve spotted at least 10+ Seagulls in the
past few days and they all have it in for me. I’m not looking for sympathy by
the way - melancholia isn’t depression - ‘The “Depressed”‘ (we’re not talking
about that
lot) should be beaten
anyway…Anyhoo - I’m sure what I’m
lying in is just an extended version of that feeling I get when rocking parties
end, and from being surrounded by emotions and smiles I’m kicked back into the
world of deadlines and desks. (note: I don’t really have too many deadlines -
its a sham).Well, I’ll come up with
something less Poe later- and maybe I won’t use shameful attempts at
alliteration - its StuFest this weekend, and I’m hanging with the In-Crowd…
Then off to Blanes (last week went a bit crazy- so photoshoot was rescheduled).
I’ll try and get a podcast at you (my kind
listener)
by Sunday evening.When Bono sings “…
Love it won’t be long.” I wonder if he’s saying, the love you deserve will come,
or is it love’s intoxity is wearing off. I don’t for a second believe
love can
wear off (Ground Beneath Her Feet tells us love is only love - Rushdie wrote it
though…) but I imagine– forget that I just listened to the damn song and I
realised everything I’ve been explaining is neatly incorporated into the lyrics,
damn
me.Update:
Things got considerably better - it was a grand day and I imagine the weather
(so cloudy… and grey) was to blame for my earlier bemoanings. I was locked
outside my house for 3 hours, but I listened to 5 episodes from “The
Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy” - Radio 4 series… I also met Amy on the
streets, she’s back from Guatemala and seems to have all her limbs intact. I
went round for Emily - she was out - but I believe she’s just bought a new
laptop… with a 15.4″ Widescreen - I wanted to geek-out but no
cigar.