142: I like music, but I like sleep too. Which is better? Only one way to find out....

God, music is weird as raw bloody hell.  If you don’t believe me listen to Empty Hearth by The Body off their like totally far out album All the Waters of the Earth shall turn to Blood.  I really don’t know what the fuck this is: black metal, or sludge; sample-based electronic; dark ambient, or isolationism; a pure condensed feedback loop between emotional torture and physical anguish?  I found this monstrosity on We Fucking Love Music (WFLM), possibly my favourite of the muso-blogs.  Down load it from mediafire here.  Thanks to some bloke I don’t know for uploading this; his name apparently is ‘ill!’  I’m taking more time to create hyperlinks than I am writing...

Enough of that awful racket – half an hour of aural waterboarding is enough to lower the spirits of all but the chipperest, most honest clown.  I think I shall return to my Classical training, and since WFLM has thrown it my way I’ll listen to Arnold Schönberg’s Verklärte Nacht (download here).  Not quite as conducive to writing as Beethoven, but certainly preferable to All that Bloody Earthling Water or whatever it’s called.  Tonal sections move into increasing chromaticism to the point where the result is verging on atonality.  As the chromaticism increases so does my confusion, and my manic tension levels.  My ability to concentrate on writing decreases in inverse proportion to the musicians increasing concentration requirements for the upwardly spiralling complexity of the piece, and chomp chomp, this sentence is a mouthful.

Glasgow, wakiki, Coonan, green and brown.

Please ignore that last bit; I wrote it down only so that I don’t forget it.  You see, those six meaningless wordsounds were just uttered to me in earnest tones by my sleeping girlfriend.  I like to make a note of what she says on the occasion that she spouts a surrealist word of somnambular speech.  My personal favourite was, whilst clutching a plush toy octopus, “I cuddly octus”.  Aww how cute, n all that.  Yes anyway, please also ignore the entire content of this paragraph.  My lapse into personal exposition and cutesy couple-habits is not to be permitted.

The time is just coming up to 2:00am on Sunday 12^th December and here’s Kevin Bradshaw with the news in your area.  Go to sleep.  We interrupt normal service to bring you this disappointing blog, breaking a run of not half bad posts.  If this is the first thing you ever read by me, stop rewind reverse, wipe your memory, and just fuck off or shut up, whichever is easiest.  I think it’s time I stopped writing.  Schoenberg is OK, but not as awesome as Beethoven. Fin.