Matthew Conrad

May 15, 1986 - Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski
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there are just some kind of songs: carmina in locus

there are just some kind of songs,
that define either a time
or a space...
i much prefer the songs
concerning themselves with
the locus - the dasein -
heidegger's pivot quip - or rather:
"quip"...
of all the philosophy i've read:
i never felt inclined to talk
to anyone - i even sometimes
forget to think - letting the sun
moon and all that grand void of
the zodiac brain-fuck me silly with
hidden vibrations and elevated
hive consciousness of ants...
let's begin then...
billy joel's songs -
new york state of...
mind you piano man does the WD40
job just as well with a rusty chair
that's supposed to twirl the ballerina's
twirl - perfectly suited to night
and winter and snow falling...
almost all the songs...
locus? new york city...
esp. the song piano man...
and me scouting for the ideal hearbeart:
thank god i don't live in new york...
thank god i live on the outskirts of
London... i can see the Wharf and the Canary
and the Sq. Mile and the Shard...
far off into the distance...
as i turn around and walk into Bower
Woods...
i can walk into Havering-atte-Bower
and sit on a bench, drink a beer,
scribble some news of homo uno and
gods and other such carboot sale
junk...
urban romantics...
curfew for the most of us
with a relapse into pockets of void...
blank expression that overshadow
mountains in the space and time
that is fathomed by a cubic minute...
all of space and time: what a 2D complex...
what is the third dimension?
there has to be a third dimension -
we live in a three dimensional "world"
yet we're still looking at the flat earth,
there's still only two instance of the absolute:
time - eternity -
space - the ever expanding
universe...
instance... stasis -
the pause button before you tilt
that glass of whiskey and ginger ale...
and have a cameo buddha moment...
a wry if not a more sly personal grin -
a smile for the invisible mirror...
well... that's about it...
i like songs of the locus...
songs of new york that wish to never
visit... songs like the ones you first
hear in a jazz club in edinburgh
on the open-mic night:
neil young - old man...
that's forever in the wormhole of edinburgh
(for me)...
the clash - london calling...
czesław niemen - sen o warszawie...
any song by the smiths = manchester...
damien marley - welcome to jamrock (kingston)...
but then the temporal songs...
casual sex liberation 60s: jefferson airplane...
white rabbit and somebody to love...
all that, that was and is never coming back...
a space of time -
occupied or rather rented for the time
being... but less a specified continuum
of the lesser contaminated specific...
just like today...
the space just below my nose...
a mistake while giving myself a haircut...
short sides a slightly top...
pseudo-army-crew-cut...
short beard on the sides...
longer for the satyr look...
whizzed up and cut a bit too much of my
moustache... after i recovered:
i apparently looked 20 years young...
i can't remember the last time i've seen my upper
lips...
and all that tobbacco smoke turned my
moustache from strawberry blond
into a tobbacco tinged rotten blond...
thank god i didn't go for the toothbrush
look with a beard...
so i shaved... god... i missed shaving...
a man can miss just pointless things in life...
shaving is one of them...
the blades weren't exactly shaving...
they were kissing each individual hair
for the stubble rub-rub...
plenty of days with a revisisted
sense of sneezing and not having to wash the 'tash...
hardly a sense of self-love...
more... a sensibility required for
a self-gratification -
that's how you become a metaphysical
tourist...
songs in locus - carmina in locus -
space: transcending time -
even if still worth a gram 50 years later...
at least not carmina in tempus: ad hoc...
a feeling of new york bound to
billey joel's new york state of...
minds the sniff of a clone
feeling: expanding the space toward an infinite
time...
just like expanding time to an infinte space
of this universe seems to work...
doesn't it?
all the songs from the 1960s
are so less potent since they do not occupy themselves
with places, signatures of architecture
et al.,
well... this is a hello from Romford,
Essex, England.
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