Postsecret

As the sun came up, I thought of something funny and ironic and strong that begun with the line "on the plus side..."

I can't remember what the hell it was. I can't even imagine it anymore.

Crumb (1994)

"We return to the land of milk and honey. In our gnarly, battered tour bus we follow the path of the wagon trains. The West Coast calls; sorry East Coast fans - economics. Next time. Been wanting a crack at Coachella for a while and now we have our shot. Then on to South America. Returning to the passion of Mexico, Chile and on to the virgin territories of Brazil and Argentina. Don't miss us, you never know how much more of this we have in us. Here's to connection, unity and the fever of dancing naked under a full moon." - James announced at 18.30 today. They know what they're here for.

Where she leads me I do not know,
Well she leads me where she goes.

But I can't leave her behind.

Icy crystals covered the windows of the car. Nothing but the moon was moving. It was midnight and there was nobody else there and I turned on the radio. The voice came through, loaded with a strange accent, static and airwave salvation.

"And the Lord said, walk down the old ways, stick to the old paths. Look to the old truths. Keep to the old ways, and I will provide rest for your soul. And you want to rest your soul, don't you, dear listener?"

--

- És completamente desprendido e muitas vezes o preço de se opor o contexto (pequeno-burguês, judaico-cristão) é muito alto. Eu passei anos sozinha e às vezes o preço é esse. Há uma enorme solidão na oposição...

--

"I had to change too. Change plans, change ideas. Join the other side, the one with all the caretas. It wasn't just me anymore - I did it for her."

"That's how they catch you, huh?"

"But we all want to be caught."

--

Nowhere Man. It feels like I listened to this song for the very first time yesterday.

Setting foot on the island, I was a bit nervous. Four years ago, first visiting the universities in England felt a bit like this.

I found a single street village built around a tranquil blue bay. Half the town, maybe more, is bars and dive centers. The dialect is Carribean pirate English.

Cat Empire plays everywhere.

Sold.

A thin, sandy layer of dust covers its every street and coats its every colorful, crumbling house. With every passing car it shoots up. With every swinging door it rains down. That is to say, it doesn't do either very often in little, lazy Leon.

The locals, when they move, move like they have nowhere to go. They have seen a lot. The revolution wasn't so long ago.

They still remember it in lost, leftist Leon.

They still remember the struggle, its causes, its consequences. They still remember the sounds of airplanes in the night, the smell of powder and the victory cries. They still remember what it felt like, having hope.

Its their defeat that they try to forget in lovely, lonely Leon.

--