Saturday, 31 July 2010

METALLICA: “Turn The Page”

He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling. The air in the room is heavy, yet invisible as weight generally is. The blinds darken the room; the summer sun plays outside. He’ll be dozing off soon.

There’s a book on the night table, with a bookmark keeping two seemingly random pages apart. It divides the pages before and after in two plots of land, like a flag planted by the reader to mark the border of the grounds he has conquered already. But anything can happen outside the territory that lies between the front and back cover. A book has no will. The reader has all power. He can resume a story at any time convenient to him. He can let the characters wait, like a guest coming late on purpose to underline his own importance. The reader can chose to abort his reading, and forever remain ignorant about the rest of the story. The plot has unfolded anyway. It does not need the reader’s help to exist. A book can remain unread forever, for many books are purchased impulsively, by people who will never find the time to read them. Books collect dust on bookshelves, better than any vacuum cleaner ever can. They may gradually turn yellow, like a piece of laundry that hung in the sun for all too many times. The reader can pass the book to a friend, and share what he has read, for whatever reason that may be. The book can become a gift, for the giver to give and the receiver to receive. Books are lent to acquaintances and never returned to the original owner. The results of statistical research about this phenomenon would be so shocking, that no one even dares to start the counting. Numerous books end up as abandoned children roaming across the world. They may find a safe harbour in libraries, if they are lucky. They are put into carton boxes when people move to another place, but risk to remain unpacked forever. Sometimes they don’t even make it, when they end up on the pavement waiting for the recycling company to collect them as ordinary waste paper. Books are touched by different hands, they have their own smell. They are torn, burnt, printed, copied, scanned. They are talked about, translated, discussed in reading groups. They follow their readers on holidays to exotic countries. They take planes, buses, trains. They listen to the tweeting of birds on a bench in the park. They have a life on their own, just as the lives they capture within.

He wakes up with the sound of cheerful children voices outside; a plastic ball bounces on the cobble stones. He turns on his side, pushes himself up and steps out of the bed. His bare feet touch the ebony parquet floor. He reaches for the switch of the lamp on the night table; a book drops. A bookmark falls out.

Thursday, 29 July 2010

MOLOKO: "The Time Is Now"

Nunc ipsum gaudere tempus est.

Friday, 23 July 2010

Monday, 19 July 2010

SEAN PAUL: "Temperature"

If history were to repeat itself, then we would be able to predict the future, which obviously we don’t. The present measures time like a thermometer measures temperature: it reflects the past but it reveals nothing about the future.

Sunday, 18 July 2010

PETER GABRIEL: "Love To Be Loved"

To love or not to love, is not a choice. It's a given. It's a gift.
To love and to be loved, is a choice. It's a gift.

KATE RUSBY: "Wandering Soul"

It’s all in the eyes. Our heritage from previous lives. The soul we accumulate upon in our current one. Life as one painting that covers another. The places we have been, the words we have read. Do you fit where you are born, or are you a passer-by, who looks through the train window on the way to somewhere else? Are our souls rooted, or are they dwellers? Perhaps they stopped roaming, when humans adopted a sedentary lifestyle and turned from nomads into farmers. There’s restlessness in every journey, the expectation to find something different, something even better. We look for the good, for the pleasant, and keep our eyes half-closed, half-open, as bird watchers looking over the mangrove in the direction of the sun. Each discovery is a thrill, but it takes courage and patience to keep the faith in between those moments of sheer happiness. A little multi-coloured bird, a book turned reality, the beauty of which no mysterious Latin name can ever replace. It’s all in the eyes.

Friday, 16 July 2010

Tuesday, 13 July 2010

孫燕姿 : 逃亡 (STEFANIE SUN: "Escape")

Boredom is a powerful predator. If you move, you are not an easy target for your own whims and unpredictability. You have to open the blinds to look through the window. Learn, and you will conquer not only knowledge, but also yourself. There’s land for each of us to plant our flag. We can all be king and queen of our own kingdom; rulers reign on vision, strategy, tactics and luck. Go forward. Don’t be intimidated by the strength of numbers, pick your battle and succeed. It’s a long march, but victory is sweet. Reality is a fairytale about to be written. Pick an interest, and it will yield unexpected interest on your investment in yourself.

Sunday, 11 July 2010


Get me the answers. Then I will think about the questions. Bring it on, get it over and done with. Toast on any thing, and many things. A new sun awakes. Well, it’s the same sun like ever before. But it shines differently, or perhaps it’s you who didn’t notice it before. Things changed, like they always do. And yet, you know it’s…you.

And all of sudden, it’s there again. The thought you thought of banishing. It creeps in, like a cockroach crawling in a dark attic. The answer is there, but the question must remain unspoken.

Monday, 5 July 2010

FRANCE GALL: "Évidemment"

Les jours commencent, finissent. Ils s’ouvrent comme le brouillard dans la matinée. Dans l’inconnu, se trouve la reconnaissance. Et après, le soleil se lève. Évidemment.

Friday, 2 July 2010

YIRUMA: "Time Forgets"

Time may forget, but time is never forgotten.