Dah jadi satu perkara biasa, kan? Nak buat apa.
With such reminiscence of unpleasant facts, the end year is currently the thing everyone looks to for consolation.
And like a machismo, sex-hungry soulmate it disappoints.
I'm not sure what I look to nowadays, for an emotional refuge that is.
I remembered feeling suppressed.
And I remembered the catharsis that came with it's dissipation.
As the holidays bunk over in existence, a cliche of getting inebriated at night and having a blast but regretting it the next day, I soon feel like my life is on a day-to-day basis.
Even plans that were made for the future, only seemed like a self-satisfactory attempt of fulfilling an otherwise incoherent passerby called Present.
It's great how things, when you don't plan them, just to seem fall apart.
And you feel like it had everything to do with you.
4 years ago, I never would've thought that there would be any thing coming back to life, nudging me, reminding me, that will all of these memories packed in the closet..
When you're on a turn-point, it's all going to fall apart.
Meeting long lost affinities.
Flicking through albums of places.
Places my feet has never reminded me yet, that I've ever stepped on the godforsaken ground.
Forgetting is a blessing.
Because when you remember, it feels like a new house bought on mortgage.
It's never actually yours.
There are times when the inside of my head just seem to melt in the form of sweat.
Baik di tandas, mahupun di litar lumba lari.
Creativity outputs has just oscillated between random punk outbursts or golden baritone ode to lackadaisical endeavors.
I used to think that I've had random depressions below sea level because I was uninspired.
But now that I'm actually in the vicinity of whims, I'm still feeling deprived.
Which is good.
Because now I feel like a drunk Karen O on a drug called Epiphany
Yes that had to be this blog's first ever graphic imagery."For a fucked son, you suck"
Who else on earth can get away with lyrics like that, but her?
You see, I'm turning 17. And it's pretty obvious when you put it in perspective.
I've lost all of the feeling that comes with nonchalance.
i.e. the lack of feeling
Every second I pretend not to care becomes a second that I wish I did.
As the new weaves it's web around me,
And the old becomes spiders of greed.
Now back to business.
Who On Earth Chose THIS:
(No not you Jon Foreman, the song you're covering)
AS THE SONG OF THE BLESSED NOUGHTIES MAN.
As the comment of an honest music lover goes
"THIS IS THE BEST SOUND OF THE 2000's? The 2000's suck"
Actually I'm not one to get frustrated about this, NME has always had a sense of humor.
I mean, despite the awful choice for the Best Track of the Decade.
They certainly pulled it off with their Album of the Decade list.
(Jules has a certain sense of humor really)And you can't have a better of sense of judgment than Nik Aziz choosing Raihan as the album of the century.
(Allah yang satu, Raihan album nombor satu, apa-apa jelah. Janji bukan 1 Malaysia sudah)
(Ohhhh yeah. Men In Black)Masyaallah.
Anyways, so go figure? The Strokes? A band named after a pre-act of foreplay?
No surprise really, without the Strokes, a lot of bands nowadays won't even exist. When the musical world was desolate with zeitgeist. Enough only to make a few preteen girls and prepubescent boys go excited.
When post-grunge and Linkin Park was the only (sad) thing Mr. Rock had.
(See? Desolate)And then frizzy-haired men play with their garage toys just subconsciously wishing the world would change.
These toys become musical instruments.
And the frizzy haired men become geniuses.
The man as the O became the originator of the Noughties revivalism of ______ generations.In fact, Julian Casablancas did it much better than Johnny Rotten or Ramones when it came to establishing punk.
The drumline of Hard To Explain became the launchpad for other garage residents to go "It's OUR TIME TO BE HATED"
Lines such as "Don't stop me now if I'm going too fast" and "My feelings are more important than yours" speak for the streets.
And that's appropriate, cause the streets is where revolutions are instigated.
(I'm pregnant!)Not from teenage prepubescents who think boobs are awesome.
(WHAT IN CARNATIONS THIS THING IS A FREAKING MIRROR)Country music lovers.
(Mmmm...Britney Spears here we come)Or even fans of dancing slurry mongoloids.
You can see how much music has changed. Mo-top, suited up, John Paul George and Ringo replaced by denim-cladded, electricifying-bland dos of Valensi, Fab, Jules, Nikolai and Albert Hammond Jr.
'The Strokes didn't invade America though, they invaded the world.
Proof?
The jangly rhythmic influenza of Valensi and Albert Hammond Jr spreads all the way to OUR MOTHERLAND MAN.And to add to that, what is up with that drawl? Reminds you of Jules outright "I-can-sing-in-whatever-drowsy-tone-I-Jim-Morrison-*yawn*" vocals huh?
Here's a comparison if u're interested.
And as they say "The End Has No End", so we'll just wait for whatever the creative infinities will think up of in the next ten years.
My three initials is NME, and yours is KBS or MTV
Either way, let's all get along before the world pays it's credit to Emmerich.
I'm actually proud that I watched 2012.The epic symbolism despite the overindulgence of special effects.
It's the same reason why people watch Transformers
The fact that somehow in someway, everything is relevant to Megan Fox.
[Picture of Fox not available due to the lack of blandness and anti-climactic pictures of her]
[God was just bragging][Stupid Christian fad line]
And thus the forever-seeming days of dusty lodges has actually ended.
The same old rugby field scenery I grew to love.
The wide expanse of nothingness everyone seems to ignore,
Thus they never look above.
Alam Shah was a fucking riot.
And just as I came to realise that I have only one year left of studying there.
It became truth, to know that going there seemed like an actualisation of all of my artistic dreams.
Of desperate, harsh and loud hoi polloi beneath star-lit fields of ever gray.
Too bad I don't take pictures.
Anyways, apologies for being such a musical journalist today.
To compensate here's a rainy storm poetry of bland ecstasy.
As the wind turn wins,
Into London lonely hearts,
Oh the warmth in the ice,
Swept me into your arms,
Was it love,
Or fear of the cold,
That led us through the night,
For every mist,
Your beauty trump my pride.
And my hat told my dart,
Let love go,
And my pond told my band,
This time no,
This time no.
We'll be washed and married one day,
My God,
And the tide we were given,
Will be left for the birds,
The flesh that lived and loved,
Will be eaten by sand,
So let the memories,
Be good for those who stain.
And my pen told my card,
Let love go,
And my card told my pen,
This I know,
Yes my hand told my heart,
This time no.
And the shame that left me off,
For the world that I once love,
Was the same that send me into your house,
Holding pastel, holding guns,
When you are lost,
And I am gone,
And no hope,
No hope will ever come.
But if your strife,
Strikes out your sleep,
Remember swings,
In soulful leaves,
You'll be happy,
And wholesome again,
When the city sinks,
Inside the sand.
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my hand,
This I know,
And my hand told my heart,
Let love grow,
And my heart told my head,
This time no,
This time no.
And Mary had a dream about sails again,
Of copper trees and copper friends,
And the evil laugh they come too soon,
For Mary comes before noon.
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