So, I’ve written about this before, kinda.

Anyway, I’m writing, because I’ve got something to write about, and it’s not misery-centric, and it mightbe interesting, and my stats have plummeted, and I’ve stopped paying attention. This gives me motivation to do something, and it really was an interesting conversation. Broad generalisations ahoy, apologies if it’s all badly formulated. I haven’t written anything in a long while.

Very drunken chat with one of my exes last night. Essentially just trying to work out how sexuality works for people like us.

The conclusion was fairly interesting. Essentially, it seems that we both have something in common, but are railroaded by society. Hardly ground breaking but worth thinking about.

Basically, Carpsichord is gay, but also bi. She fancies guys (went out with me for a year or two) and is currently kinda involved with one, whilst pulling others.

But she definitely identifies as gay, and is looking for ladies.

The problem is that she doesn’t outwardly define herself by her sexuality. She doesn’t readily identify with the lesbian scene and doesn’t feel the need to constantly state who she is. In a heteronormative world like ours, this makes things difficult. She has to define herself as outside the ‘norm’ in order to not fall into simple patterns.

Assumptions are made, and accompanied with the fact that she does like guys too, she ends up having more things with guys than girls.

Now, I have a similar problem. I’m pretty certainly straight, but I am very open to, and somewhat pursuant of ‘gay experiences’. But because the norm runs a certain way, the situation never arises. It isn’t clear to people where I swing, so people make assumptions, and I end up with no gay history, and plenty of straight history.

Sure, it’s not exactly killing me, but its interesting to look at how identity, sexuality and societal expectations are interacting here.

It seems that you often have to create a certain identity in order to signify to society what you are looking for. Without that shift into a societally decided ‘acceptable’ identity it becomes nearly impossible to explore your sexuality the way you may choose.

So we are set on certain courses, and it’s hard to break out of these.

It’s not ground breaking stuff, but it’s something that we need to think about, because it’s the basis of most hegemonic oppression. Expectations. Rebellion runs along certain tracks, and without following those, we are not recognised as what we feel we are.

Does anyone here feel like they present themselves consistently as who they actually are? How often do you feel you are being asked to act a certain way in order to have a chance of expressing yourself?

Is it a form of behavioural censorship?

I tend to think so.

Is this why I don’t feel myself so often? Am I really not being myself most of the time?

I’m used to the idea that I perform a certain way to hide myself (low self esteem is easily covered with false bravado, I tend to think it’s the real reason why most overconfident arseholes are the way they are, it’s certainly why I can be like that), but to also have to deal with the fact that I’m constantly seesawing between self actualisation and my perception of societies expectation. Tug of war in fact, not a see saw.

I guess I already knew that. A lot. It’s something I try to challenge, to an extent, it is the root of a lot of my gender abolition politics and somewhat genderqueer identity. I believe that by breaking expectations regularly, we make ourselves free-er. Both personally, and for other people.

Hopefully.

Just did some washing up and had to give up halfway through because I got too sad.

What is it about the mundane everyday tasks that occasionally just bring home the meaninglessness of everything.

Suddenly I felt trapped and surrounded by a hundred million things wrong with my life. A thousand happinesses that I’ve missed out on and will never have.

I feel so lonely and lost and sad. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.

I think I’ve pushed myself to hard this weekend, even though yesterday I practically did nothing. My system is rebelling, and it’s picking Sunday evening because it knows I’ve got little or nothing to look forward to. Week of work lies ahead, and unless I’m positive I can’t make this work work. This is my problem. With hard work and forward positive thinking, I can emphasise the parts of my post I want to do, make an exciting and interesting difference, and briskly rush through the things I don’t like.

But if I go in down, then I stay down, I do nothing and I waste the day on pointless thoughts and meaningless drivel.

Just like my days off.

My guts feel Gordian and swollen. My face feels flat and stony. It takes every remaining ounce of energy just to stop myself from crumpling inwards.

And I feel like I can’t talk to the people I talk to in this situation. One’s part of the problem, another has her own problems, and I need to be there for them instead, another’s busy, and wrapped up with her problem that may not be a problem but it means I can’t find an opportunity to talk properly.

I can’t relate to people right now.

My instinct is to hide away, but I need to do the opposite. All I can think of to do is drown myself in pop culture, music, videos or whatever. But I can’t. I can’t engage.

It’s like the gear in my brain that interacts with the rest of the world, the huge engine that we’re all part of, has popped out of place, or got ground down. My teeth won’t interlock with anything, and I’m left freewheeling. Any attempt to resume contact will just result in sparks flying and more people getting ground down.

So I’m lost.

So, aside from an excuse to put on a miniskirt and a sequin garter (thanks rowan) and develop a majestic hangover (majestic seemed to be the word of the day, apparently) I actually spent alot of the day enoying the sun and getting inspired. Spent a lot of time that I should have been working researching Mayan mythology and the concept of the Axis Mundi and the Omphalos.

Interesting stuff, all told.

And I just found a par of green trousers with blue whales on them.
Score.

I’m to hungover to actually go into detail, but basically my main issue is trying to work out whether this inspiration should be let out in a new project (which may not hapen till nanowrimo in november) or, as my instinct tells me, is actualy an excuse for a massive rewrite of Dysmorphia, last years nano project.

The idea of the protagonist realising that he/she’s destined to become the conjoinment of Earth and Heaven (possibly including the line ‘So they expect me to spend my time climbing a ladder or sitting under a tree. Fuck them.’)

We’ll see.

But still, I’m gonna start referring to my belly button as the Omphalos, and considering the significance of such a statement.

Am I the conjoinment of the Earth and Heaven?

Possibly.

It is.

Shouldn’t be writing but the urge is grabbing me. I think I’m just trying to put off making the bed. It’s a task I hate, despite the rewards. Clean sheets, cosy wrap, and that neatness of building a nest and fitting into it right. Made for you (Beach Boys).

Still enjoying the new Why? (Alopecia) and getting increasingly bothered by everyone’s reviews of it. NOt that anyone was negative, just that everybody’s describing it as a progression further into indie and specifically more like Pavement.

Now, to my ear, it’s nothing like Pavement and it’s less indie than the last, by a large margin. There’s probably slightly more singing here. But there’s still a punchiness in the lyrics, an obsession with the rhyme.

It’s a dramatic album. Perhaps a little indulgent (I imagine if I had the album as an emotional adolescent it would quickly become full of analogies for my life….wait a second. I’m still exactly like that. All the fucking time, every song I hear becomes a new aspect of my personality…I’m so predictable and childish…so yaboo to you).

Anyway, I’ve already said this more succinctly, and I don’t want to go into album review mode, because nobody listens to me when I do that.

So come back, sit down, and lets get something off my chest. Or more precisely, lets get a stick, jam it in my head, swirl it around a bit (stick or head, it doesn’t matter much, as long as there’s swirling) and see what floats to the top).

Unsurprisingly, it’s the proverbial ‘woman trouble‘.

Well, not really, because that implies that women are the trouble, rather than my head. The swirly mess that it is.

See, I’ve just come out of this lovely, connected and emotionally satisfying relationship. The only problem was that it ended, though I’m starting to see how that was the right thing to do. It’s good to be mature about this, but at the same time, it’s left me at a limb of some kind.

Let’s get down to brass tacks here. I’m horny as fuck.

It’s not a good state to be in. It screws my brain a little, making me act a little bit more like that horrible predatory masculine stereotype that I try so fiercely to avoid. I don’t like it. I don’t like that I’m thinking about sex when I’m talking to people. I don’t like that I go out dancing and end up being unable to have a good time because all I can think of is the fact that I’m randy and ending up unsatisfied.

It’s problematic. It stops me from being able to meet new people and form new relationships, because I approach them, on some level, with an agenda.

It doesn’t affect my actual behaviour much (I’m pretty good at filtering out my own bullshit so that I treat people like people, making plenty of friends along the way, which is lovely), but that hint of intent, and that stuff going through my mind, means that I’m stressed.

And the real issue is, I don’t think I’m looking for what I’m looking for.

Okay, that doesn’t make sense, but it’s hard to break down.

Essentially, I’ve just come out of the exact relationship I want. Open, honest, emotional, connect, communicative, deep, rich but not too heavy, not too much in terms of reliance, either way. Independent and thoughtful.

I don’t think I’m in a head state where I’m going to be able to get into that again. Not for a while anyway. Anything that was to start now would have too much baggage in the middle of it.

Simple answer: stop trying to get into another relationship then.

Complicated (and stupid) problem: But I’m horny.

Doesn’t sound complicated, but to me it is. First of all it puts into question my ability to live a feminist compatible lifestyle. It instantly means that on some level I’m taking part in objectification, patriarchy, and I’m tacitly approving (more than usual that is, when I forget to challenge it every fucking moment). It means I’m committing mental gender violence.

It also leads me to the scary possibility that I only take part in relationships because I feel it justifies my lustfulness. Say hello to patriarchy, privilege and everything else I’m trying to find ways to subvert.

Secondly, I can’t switch it off. I can stop myself acting on it, but I can’t switch it off. I can’t just tell it to stop. I can..ahem….sort it out in the short term, but that just seems to perpetuate it. Keep it coming. Keep feeding it with more fantasy and what not. It’s a hungry beast (this is getting horribly graphic) and I don’t feel in control of it.

Thirdly, I feel totally programmed to want to be pursuing relationships. I crave that particular type of companionship so much. I end up more unstable and miserable without it. Even though I’m surrounded by wonderful, close and beautiful friends. I’m so fucking lucky, and I still spend all my time complaining about the one thing I don’t have, building it into the one thing I feel like I actually need.

Do I?

No.

Of course not. But I’ve spent my whole life teaching myself that I do (through my addiction to Romcoms, I imagine), so now I’m stuck here. Striving and pushing for totally opposite things. Aware of how silly I look but unable to fight it.

It’s complicated. I’m complicated. We all are.

It’s just that I get it out and wave it around in front of people more often.

I’m going to leave it at that.

I feel like this weekend was mostly about stepping backwards.

Lots of heavy silly unneccesary drinking. Lots of negative mind states.

And now I feel like shit. Throat is dying. That feeling is slowly spreading outwards to my head and the rest of my body.

This isn’t the hangover, this is something else. I’ve caught something, and it’s not doing me good.

My brain feels less able to get ready for work, I feel unable to achieve right now.

On the cultural front, I feel positive about the new Four Tet, Why? and Mugison albums. I’ve played the new Penny Arcade game and got slightly further in the (behind the times) GTA San Andreas binge of the last two weeks.

In short, I have nothing to say. Things are falling apart, but not fallen apart yet. I feel like I’m on the brink of something bad, and I’m knowingly stepping backwards into it.

I don’t know what I’m cowering away from but I can’t help myself.

I’m going to fall off.

On the up side, the new Four tet album is a bit like having a bath and sounds nothing like four tet. The new Mugison album is rocky and bluesy and nothing like Mugison. The new Why? album is epic, sprawling, broad, messy, thrilling and nothing like the reviews gave it credit for. Less indie pop than the last one, more boistrously structured than the first one.

It’s all good. It’s all good.

‘cept I’m not.

Woke up streaming with tears. I’d been crying in the dream.

It was a strange dream. A set of squatted underground catacombs with a castle and a narrow boat. I ran to save someone who’d killed themselves, but they were okay. They were still there, in tears. I helped her up and bought her back to the group. She’d realised it was okay, it was good.

Then I heard music from the castle (actually a music school).

It was Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum by Debussy. Rich, lustrous and heaving with emotion.

And for me. It’s always going to be Will’s song.

For those that don’t know, Will was an incredibly close friend of mine who died in a car crash when we were 19. I loved him dearly and I always will.

Anyway, it was a perfect performance (heavier and thicker than usual, I can’t really explain). Really loud and deep and full.

Everyone in the building roared with cheers and applause. It was perfect.

Will was always a perfectionist, and never felt that anything was perfect no matter how many people loved it. His music was always incredible, his gift to me is thousands of memories of pieces of music. I love a lot of the things I love because of him. He broadened and opened me. And part of my humour belongs to him.

Anyway, he came down to try and get me to come sing with him. I think that was what he wanted. But he wanted me to come with him.

I was face down on the cold, damp stone floor. And my eyes started streaming.

I realised something was out of place, but I was also happier than I could imagine. One friend saved from the edge, and another who I could go sing with.

I can’t really sing that well, but I enjoy it more than anything. Will understood that, and always let me join in. We did killer duets. I felt blessed everytime. He was so good I always sounded better because of it.

So in the dream, it was happiness that made me cry. Everything was right and perfect somehow.

But I woke up. I was still crying, and in that instant I remembered everything.

I’ll miss you forever Will. I love you endlessly.

Lots of love, not just for Will, but for everyone who’s lost someone incredible.

It’ll hurt everyday. Then it won’t hurt everyday, because you’ll forget for periods. Then it’ll hurt more.

But they’ll always be with you. And you’ll always have them with you.

Will touched so much of my life. I wouldn’t be who I am without him in my life. So he’s here with me. Everytime I sing, or hit a piano, or a drum, or a guitar. Every noise I make is partly him.

Thanks dude.

Erm…

I think I’ve ruined this before I’ve started. But this is what happens when I think about something.

I ruin it. (Midas touch in reverse? Fuck 65, don’t you know).

And now I’m distracted.

Anyway, the point is you should go here and listen to this. Free downloads, only three songs, so not a big commitment like that last one.

Anyway, I’d recommend you listen to Josephine first. If you don’t crap yourself with some strange mix of love, loss, fear and joy, then you can have your money back. That’s a promise.

Nobody understands me.

Erm, I’m certainly a little freaked out by the almost entirely positive take on this particular news item.

I mean, think about it. Aren’t there just a few drawbacks to an easily accessible spray that will make people trust people even after they start doing things wrong.

I mean, come on. I’m all for trust and naivete, but…y’know. They aren’t good survival tactics, and people get hurt all the time as it is. If someone is suddenly able to control the amount I trust the people around me, then. Well…I’m not happy about it.

Be they rapist or mind controlling government. My ability to mistrust should never be compromised (nor anyone else’s for that matter).

In other news. T’ai Chi briefly made everything better last night. Like…everything. I’ve never been so improved by a session, it really is incredible. Two runs through the whole form (even though I only know about a third of it) a big load of standing practice and some majestic failure at pushing hands.

Even with failures it lifted my body, opened me up and helped me let go of a lot of the shit that’s been weighing me down. I’m going to do more now before work in the hope that makes everything better again.

Dream this morning was a completely nonsensical continuation of the plot of Lost (not the first time…and for the record, Lost is soooo awesome at the moment, those of you who ditched it during the boring middle patch of season 2, you made a very big mistake, perseverance has been greatly rewarded).

Anyway, an elaborate plot to bring down a future world government, running away on foot from air detonated nuclear bombs (only little ones mind). Cars to hide in and a whole host of stars surrounding me. I remember something about a flashback to a childhood incident that set up all the tensions going on, and made me suddenly regret my part in the whole plot to annihilate the world.

Don’t know what that’s about.

Very bizarre.

Here’s a surprise for everyone, some actual content.

I’m nearing the end of my first full length listen through of this, so it’s probably too early to make any kind of definitive end statement on this, but I’m enjoying it a lot. And it’s free, so you should listen to it. Because free stuff always represents good value for money.

And what the hell…at least I’m not moping (well…I am…but I’m trying to ignore it).

First up. Where can you get it.

Here.

Well done.

Anyhow.

Basically, what we’ve got here is a solid and occasionally deep album. The person (now lost in the midst of the past…I was surfing while moping…I wasn’t paying attention, sorry) who first pointed it out to me (somewhere on the internet) said it was the most coherent work since Downward Spiral. I think it definitely shares something with that. Which is basically my way of saying that this is nowhere near The Fragile…but it’s still good.

A noise-scape intro leads into a sequence of punchy industrial pneumatics. All bounce, all strut. Lyrics a tad trite, but the delivery of them is spot on. Trent’s still got that great lust to his voice. Really magnetically honest. I like that throat.

The intro to 1,000,000 sounds like so many other songs that it’s almost unbelievable. Really, I can’t even count half of them…but it’s familiar. (The drum beat is Lump by Presidents of the USA, can’t remember the rest without trawling my mp3 collection…possibly some Beck). Anyway, it’s a solid tune. The beat is good, and the guitar work has that depth, and it eventually starts sounding like it might actually be a Nine Inch Nails song just after you’ve started enjoying it honestly.

Perhaps I read to much into these things.

If anything, the issue is that the first three proper tracks aren’t distinct enough. Different modulations of similar drum beats (the beats are different, the production is identical). Similar structure, different tempos.

It’s a good song, but that doesn’t mean we need to hear it thrice.

Even if you sneak a little bit of that NIN reverb piano.

Actually, maybe it is good enough to hear thrice. I’m still enjoying it, after all.

Now, Echoplex gets going and I feel like I’m in unfamiliar territory. This is really me. The drumbeat is so electro pisstake that I’m in love. The guitar comes in all sexy, and so does Trent. Stripped down. The lushness is gone. Limited development. That piano again (just hinted at in the background). It’s almost like a he’s taking a little poke at New Order to see what happens. But it’s definitely Reznor.

I’m trying to move onto the next track, but I can’t stop this one yet. Troublesome. Must be good.

It’s the jaunt. It’s got a vaguely Countrified jaunt. It’s exciting. Simple and exciting. It’s not moving, like some of the best stuff in the back catalogue (the fragile again). But it’s fun. It’s good, it’s fresh.

Head down for some more swagger. Sounds like the others again. With a good stolen drum beat (the one Dizzee Rascal nicked for that song I always get stuck in my head…y’know…that one)broken up with a big descending bass synth, low enough to be barely there but also right in your gut. Punchy vocal. Solid. This one could grow on me quite easily.

The we get the sad piano/vocal track. Which sounds great and atmospheric until he makes one of the most boringly predictable chord sequences ever underneath it and I almost start giggling. You gotta work harder than that in a world that’s already had Hurt by you and, more excitingly, Videotape by Radiohead.

The chorus gets a bit better for a while when it adds an awkward little minor disonnant, but then goes back to that major predictable.

I need to brush up on my music theory before I can accurately be this mean, but I’m lazy, and I’m also right…deep down, I know I’m right.

Thankfully he does the right thing and rides out of it into something that I’m really interested.

Loud, slow, noises. Corona Radiata. Pretentious title should give it away really, but it’s damn fine. Reallllllly slow low build up. Starts pounding at your speakers with this thick rich tone. But only after a coupla minutes. It’s a good ‘un.

Four minutes in and you get a simple, crushing, panning rhythm. Then the thick richness comes back in. This time with more layers, more things wrapping around each other. A sense of drama is appropriately instilled.

Good. Long. Interesting. Unusual. Most of you’ll hate it. Maybe.

The four of us are dying. Good name for a track. And it carries on the vibe with what is effectively a bass led minimal techno number. But the bass is guitar and the beat is distorted enough and the melody (guitar again) is engaging. The production here is spot on. Very, very fragile. Good. Really good. Especially straight after that last one has set the scene. Not a lot I can say.

It slams right into the next one. Which is punchy, offbeat, fast and even has some cheeky little background vocals going ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’.

In other words, I like it.

And the whole thing ends rather abruptly.

Anyway, it’s good. It’s not crazy good, but it’s very tight. It lacks depth at times, but where it’s got it, it’s got it. Fans won’t be disappointed, and newbies might just be quite intrigued by the variety of tones here. He’s still got a masterful sense of the rhythm required to excite a listener. He knows how to use guitars very well to make both crunching noises and melodies, and when he can be bothered, he builds a very good structure. He’s also perhaps the kind of musical vocabulary that makes it hard not to sound self parodying sometimes. He’s clearly trying to draw in quite a few different beats and ideas, but in trying to make it sound like NIN, ends up making some of it too samey.

On the other hand. It’s all really quite good.

I’d say, next time, he needs to get out of his comfort zone more. But I’m not sure quite where that would take him.

Anyway, as always, I’ve gotta go now, I’ve been rambling too long.

Lots of love.

I’m run down. Tired and lacking in energy.

Just when things were looking a little bit up at work, and I could’ve done with a break to let that idea settle, I went all festival for the weekend, which was mostly fun, but involved some serious emotional drainage. The sea witch was there and I was mooning (is that the right word) and missing. Significex was there trying to deal with a load of huge issues she’s had over the years, sexual violence and friendships colliding in big messy heaps.

It was really good to talk to her about it, even though it’s really horrible to remember these things are going on all the time. People forgive a guy when they know what he’s done. Someone is silenced by the need to keep things friendly and not split up groups.

It’s almost like manners outweigh the most extreme type of assault.

Male privilege really screws up the world. Because it means someone can forget what they’ve done. Out of manners nobody brings it up and it’s therefore, tacitly, approved.

Anyway, that’s not the mess I wanted to talk about. I’m just trying to set up the fact that I’m wrung out and stressed emotionally at the moment. Lots of tears and silence and difficulty communicating. Hence lots of quietness around here. And the titular difficulty waking up.

Anyway, the violent dreams. I’ve had two in the last week and a bit. I’ll try and describe some of the main features of the mroe recent one, as they’ve both had a common theme, but the first one might be a bit much for some.

I can’t really remember the context, but I was part of a security team for a club night going on in what seemed to be a complex of university buildings. There were people trying to storm it in vans and lots of weird conflicts between people.

The central point though, the focus of the whole thing, was me falling off of a high wall, and smashing down on my right shoulder.

I got back up, not in too much pain, but as I continued to argue with somebody, I realised something was wrong, and looked down at my side to see a huge tear in my skin, with a bone sticking out of it, slowly pushing further. The view was (natch) unsettling. So I pulled on the bone and held it in my hand.

For the rest of the dream I was trying to find someone/something that would be able to put me back together again. Riding down a coastal road and ending up in a strange bar trying to ask for help from unwelcoming strangers. All the while with more and more bones falling out of my side. The key was trying to keep them all together. My entire shoulder blade came out at one point, so I was just carrying loads of bit of blood drenched self around with me, trying to persuade people to put me back together.

The weird thing was, and perhaps this is just the dulled feeling of dreams, it never hurt, it never seemed much of a problem, it barely even damaged my use of that arm and side. It was just spewing bones and becoming more baggy.

So yeah, we look at this at the same time as the dream last week (similar theme, more *ahem* sensitive body part being removed) and it’s quite clear what’s on my mind.

I’m broken. I feel like part of me is missing and needs fixing. I’m running around trying to work out how to fix myself, whilst trying to hold myself together, at which I’m barely succeeding. It’s not so much the pain, as the fact that I don’t know how to fix it, who can fix it. And I’ve got to try and keep a hold of myself. All the things that make up me, while I go through this.

I’m worried that I’ll make it, but I’ll make it by losing bits of myself. Not being me any more.

I find I have less and less time where I’m actually being me.

So I keep on dreaming of these violent destructions and distortions of my self, perhaps just to remind me.

It’s quite unsettling, but these days, what isn’t.

And I’m still in bed, and I should be leaving for work.

Better go.