Mental Constipation

someone translated my blog to japanese today, Google tells me. Interesting.

dislocated disjointed disenfranchised disillusioned disinterested

Once again I am struck by the vile, complex machinations of fate. This time, the so-called coincidence involves the song Ladies’ Night: Three days ago I was kind of watching The Wedding Singer, and in the scene where Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore are trying out wedding bands, that fat guy who always plays evil people sings in typically raucous fashion. The song? Ladie’s Night. The day after, I walk into the common room, where someone starts singing. The song? Ladie’s Night. Yesterday, I was listening to the radio, and the two hosts of the music show Sexy are talking about their planned program for Friday. What are they calling it? Ladie’s Night!
And there you go. Apparently, nothing is coincidental in my world.

Here we are then, 2010. Coffee-fuelled writing and Briefcase Full of Blues in the background – seems about right. Mirroring last year’s prozac-y motivational optimism, here’s a more cautious hope for this year (the previous one having been both the best and worst year so far). No New Year’s Resolutions this year, though I still love those clichés. Nope, all I want this year is to remember to sit down and write something now and then. No cryptic BS about my personal life, just small writing exercises with a start and a finish. New decade, new beginning – time to leave that stuff behind (though there’s one thing – one person, to be perfectly clear, that can have me running back if she says the right word. I’m afraid hell will freeze over before that time, though, and I’ve got a life to live.)

Facing down the harsh realities of life with jet black coffee and reckless cynicism,
-Ole

EDIT: If you have seen this, you know what I’m talking about; if you haven’t, no one else needs to.

I’ve moved out! My home is now a tiny bedsit; one out of 34 “temporary mobile housing units” positioned in the industrial part of town. It’s actually right next to the infamous celluloid factory which regularly spews out the week-old-cabbage smell for which the city is known. The city in question, of course, is Moss, a coastal town in the county of Eastfold. Like all of these Eastfoldian cities, it is like a miniature of a real city, where pretty much everything can be found but on a much smaller scale. A quick stroll around town yesterday revealed to me a number of curiosities:

The city’s serene docklands, complete with rusty, decommissioned ships and couples out for a walk gazing quietly into the sunset, only interrupted by the murmur of machinery from across the bay.

A seedy-looking Asian place called Saigon Café, closed for the evening, where the owner sat on a chair in the middle of the room, head in hands.

An old, faded commercial on a brick wall.

Some place called The Prosthetics Laboratory!

A triangle-shaped building with curved edges built at an intersection.

Incredible details on an old building’s facade – a carved elephant which would be almost life-like, if it weren’t so small.

In fact, that sculputre is a good metaphor for the city as a whole. Everything here could be so urban and beautiful, if the builders wouldn’t have to limit themselves to four or five stories. Maybe then everything wouldn’t feel so diminutive. Still, it’s a vast improvement, and I’m happy just being able to open my window and hear the dogs baying, seagulls screeching and the factory droning on just a stone’s throw away.

Subway ramblings from today:

Strong desire to write. People are looking. Pretending to write notes about subway. Hemingway is in my head, as I’m currently reading A Moveable Feast, and I have to write him out. Will compose list of adjectives. Callous. Illusory. Unsavory. Rule of repetition is three, five, seven.
Really, I have to expand my sentences. Old Ernest is compelling me to break the rules of grammar. Many sentences – truisms all  flew through my head as I was walking through the subway station. Here are a few:

• Asian people’s faces have such a capacity for sorrow.
• Though the man’s outfit was blatantly generic, there was something entirely novel about it.
• As the subwaycar pulls out of the station, there is an eye-to-eye confrontation between the passengers on it and the waiting passengers outside.
• The man was so curious, he was peeking over his shoulder even before he sat down next to me.
• Walking briskly towards me was a bald-headed man wearing a bright green summer shirt and a pair of way-too-shorts.

I made a tumblr-account! Finally decided to start posting today, it will have pictures mainly, while I’ll keep on rambling here (see what I did there?).

as the title says, I can be found at www.keeponrambling.tumblr.com

Closing your eyes to the sun makes the whole world blue.

I think

Pink Floyd is better with Syd Barrett.
AC/DC is better with Bon Scott.
Joy Division is better than New Order.

does this make me an asinine purist?