The muse has finally settled kindly on me, and I believe I may be able to meet deadlines this Monday — not just one, but two. In order to do so, though, I may have to write all night–but that’s not a bad way to spend a night. In the meantime, time to move away from technology for a bit.
Dave Rogers wrote a thoughtful post on fear masquerading as anger:
If you’re an angry driver, you’ll flip someone the bird or ride their bumper or cause an accident. You can tell yourself that those other drivers are assholes, but it’s just fear. If you’re a multi-millionaire, you’ll hire a lawyer to intimidate someone to give you what you want when you want it, so they won’t do something that you can’t control. You’ll tell yourself it’s just business, but it’s really just fear. If you’re a country with an anxiety problem, you’ll attack another country. You’ll tell yourself it’s a matter of national security, but it’s just fear. None of which ever solves the problem. All of which create bigger problems of their own.
Subtle reference to discussions of this week aside, I have gestered angrily at drivers before, usually because the other driver and I have, briefly, sought to occupy the same space at the same time. I can greatly identify with what Dave’s written.
The post also reminds me, for some odd reason, of a song that’s been running through my head all week. It’s a song by Robert Palmer, and though it’s not his most famous, it is known for its use in French car commercials many years ago. However, it’s the words, not the synthesizer that has always appealed to me:
Johnny and Mary
Johnny’s always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, knows he tires easilyJohnny thinks the world would be right, if it would buy, truth from him.
Mary says he changes his mind, more than a woman.
But she made her bed, even when the chance was slim.Johnny says he’s willing to learn, when he decides, he’s a fool.
Johnny say’s he’ll live any where, when he earns time to.
Mary combs her hair, says she should be use to it.Mary always edges her bets, she never knows, what to think.
She says that he still acts, like he’s being discovered.
Scared that he’ll get caught, without a second thought.Johnny feels he’s wasting his breath, trying to talk, sense to her
Mary says he’s lacking a real, sense of proportion
So she combs her hair, knows he tires easily.Johnny’s always running around, trying to find certainty.
He needs all the world to confirm, that he aint lonely
Mary counts walls, says she should be use to it.
Speaking of tunes, Stavros the Wonderchicken writes on the Three Ages of Wonderchicken–18, 28, and 38–as defined in music. Jeff Ward from This Public Address followed up, defining music for his four ages: 18, 28, 38, and 48. Scott, who creates his own music for defining every day of his life, passed on a reminder of the importance of death:
We need to stop pretending that death is an aberration from the norm and realize that death is the norm. Death is a vital part of life.
I’m not sure I can find the music to draw who I am so adeptly. When I think of myself at 18, I draw a blank. Same with 28, 38, and 48. I can tell you what I’m listening to this week, which must draw who I am at the moment:
Sweet Rain by Bill Douglas
Breathe (2am) by Anna Nalick
Here’s to you by Joan Baez
Johnny and Mary by Robert Palmer
Eleanor Rigby my favorite Beatles’ song
Sleep to Dream of her by Dave Matthews
Into the West from Lord of the Rings
Sway by the Perishers
Perhaps I should record my most played music from my iPod weekly, as a diary to remind myself of who I was in, say, March 19th of 2006. When I’m old, older, I can pull them up on the MegaPod of the future and dream of being young again.
I may not be able to identify my younger self musically, but thanks to Ian Dickinson, I do know that in the Which Science Fiction crew do you belong on quiz, I am Moya from Farscape.
Moya (Farscape). You are surrounded by muppets. But that is okay because they are your friends and have shown many times that they can be trusted. Now if only you could stop being bothered about wormholes.</em