Been pretty negative in the ol' blogging department lately. Oh well. If the purpose of this whole thing is to mirror real life via the interweb in the first place, than why not? Whether or not you write well, write bravely, as Will Stout said. I'm not brave by any means, but I'ma try be honest.
Not that that will take any effort today; I'm in a pretty peaceable mood. Wasted the day, mind you, which is a bit of a downer, considering I don't know how many of them I have left. Hopefully many of course, but you just don't know, do you? Someone said the word's 'half your life' yesterday in school, and my noggin went 'Crikey! I could already have lived that!' Not in an unhappy, I'm-going-to-die-I-regret-everything way, just a general startled realisation that the future is completely unknown to me. You may think it pretty dim that I've never understood that until recently, but you're neglecting an ironic fact- there's a vast gulf between 'knowing' something, and 'understanding' it.
Anyway.
Listening to lots of great music at the moment. John Frusciante is gently making me swoon through the speakers as I type, his album Curtains being a pretty flawless example of acoustic honesty. He's a quite remarkable creature, is the Red Hot Chilli Peppers guitar wizard, capable of turning his hand to any style of music and still sounding like himself. Case in point the amazing contrast between his most recent album The Empyrean and Curtains- one a psychedelic extravaganza, the other a tender acoustic record, as pure as snow. Both wonderful.
I'ma talk about other music in another blog, been going through a huge Red House Painters/Sun Kil Moon phase. Seems an injustice that after so long listening to them, Frusciante happened to be in my head at blog-o-clock. Oh well- I'm sure they'll get over it.
Til next time folks,
S.xxx
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