I stood unwound beneath the skies

I’m reading Milan Kundera’s Immortality. It’s translated from Czech, and I love the voice that gives it. Over the weekend some Americans, who call Virginia where they come from but live in Poland, came to stay. Eric (whose job is all about GM stuff. I mean, I don’t have a problem about this but apparently the stuff he does can be pretty controversial. You can read all about him here: http://poland.usembassy.gov/poland/agric/eric-a.-wenbergs-biography), the dad, and his two girls, Dakota and Tarren (not sure on the spelling of their names). Eric mentioned that Czechs often have quite a dry sense of humour, which fits into how this book reads. The mom of the family had to stay in Poland because she’s in charge of loads of USA stuff there. As in, she’s kind of important. I’m just glad she wasn’t on that plane, but Eric, who also works for the USA there, mentioned that a good friend of his lost fifteen friends on it.

Fifteen friends in one go. Destroyed, in one swoop.

I may be destroying someone. That someone could well be me. Or it could be you.

I’m not entirely sure if this is a problem or not. Because I have that feeling so often and it’s kind of necessary to my existence. Or it might not be. I don’t know why there’s a bottle of champagne blocking my view of the computer screen. Or why I’m consumed with jealousy over the geography teacher who lives next door and is blonde and has a gorgeous husband. Or why I can’t write blonde characters. I haven’t written a character as being blonde and realistic since year eight. Maybe I write too much. Or too little.

I want someone to read Goethe to me in German.

‘The purpose of the poetry is not to dazzle us with an astonishing thought, but to make one moment of existence unforgettable and worthy of unbearable nostalgia.’ That’s what Kundera says about Goethe. I guess that’s what I look for in life, moments like that. I remember whilst clubbing once a photographer took a picture of my friend and I, and I brought it off her, telling my friend that ‘that was one moment I wouldn’t mind remembering’. It was an awesome night. Kind of innocent, if that’s possible whilst clubbing in Bournemouth.

I went and sat out on the ledge today, which is a metal sheet which sticks out below my window. As the wall behind it is black it gets pretty hot when the sun shines. It had only just stopped raining but the water was almost all evaporated as the sun was shining. It smelt fresh and clean but didn’t look it.

I thought about how mentholated cigarettes are depraved.

I thought about how I won’t know what to say.

Which leads me neatly into the song of today, Ani Difranco’s ‘untouchable face’ or, as my ipod calls it, ‘fuck you’. The lyrics are perfect for the music.

‘think i'm going for a walk now
i feel a little unsteady
i don't want nobody to follow me
'cept maybe you
i could make you happy you know
if you weren't already
i could do a lot of things
and i do’

and then this bit:

‘you'll look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away
and i won't know what to do
and i won't know what to say’

I’ve felt like that so many times. And also her song, ‘Gravel’ would be another to be utterly recommended. Ani Difranco’s so angry and yet so loving at the same time. I mean, such pitches of emotion – I guess that’s where most of my creativity comes from, when I do one of those explosions of self across my little black moleskine book, that’s what these remind me of. Except these ring more true, they’re kind of simpler, not caught up in the multiple echoes of the rest of my life which mean I can’t feel one thing at a time any more. I guess that’s why I like her. I don’t really feel like either of these songs though. They’re just ones which seem like they ought to fit into my life.

What I actually feel like is Bob Dylan. I hadn’t felt like him for a while, I guess it’s because I’ve actually had almost three days not being surrounded by school and totally skiving all work, and my mind has finally relapsed into its proper shape, into which some good old Bob fits perfectly.

So I’m now listening to ‘Can’t help falling in love’, and next up is ‘You ain’t going nowhere’. Lovely bit of harmonica, and lyrics which make me swoon. My favourite Bob lyrics right now are the ‘Lay down your weary tune’ ones, the purity of description and so on and so forth is amazing. I guess there comes a time when I can only turn my face to the wall and blank out the world with some plinky plonky guitar.

I will leave you with these images:

‘I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws
The cryin’ rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause
Lay down your weary tune, lay down
Lay down the song you strum
And rest yourself ’neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new love’s breast
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best
I gazed down in the river’s mirror
And watched its winding strum
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum’