Thursday, September 27, 2012

Little Do They Know, That I Hear Their Choice Of Life.

Today was the first proper hot day of Spring.  It was only 27 degrees, but the sun and wind were warm.  I rode my bike for four hours, popped into the shop to say hi and drop off the guys some tofu rolls, and worked on my tan lines.

The summer heat represents a mixed bag for me at this point.  On the one hand, I'm very happy that I can turn my back on what was probably one of my unhappiest winters ever.  On the other, I'm also a bit sad that the time has gone.  While unhappy, it was certainly an interesting, frenetic, heart wrenching and ultimately vivid few months.  That shit doesn't go away.

Meanwhile my mate Shamus continues to live his dream up in the northern American forests, the photos on various facebook pages, suggesting that, like me, Shamus won't be forgetting the past few months any time soon.

Right now I'm sitting down, testing out the play list for the Sydney trip I'm going on tomorrow.  Apparently I'm racing bikes but, really, I'm just gonna hang out with chums and get blind drunk in the sun.  Know Your Enemy is playing right now.  I stayed away from the more introspective music, the key here being Party, rather than Doom.  There's a lot of thrash and death here, of the more up-beat, fast played variety.  There's also some Ladyhawke, No Doubt, Veronicas, Rihanna and even some Shakira.  When put on shuffle, this play list is going to be pretty great, but also fairly representative of my general state of mind.  My love affair with all things hard and heavy has never wavered, but my obsession with pop and top 40 is quickly gaining momentum, to the point where all semblance of irony is gone, replaced with wild eyed, tongue out of mouth, enthusiasm.

Summer and winter represent the divide in my personality.  One half wants to dance to Beyonce all night.  The other wants to sit under the leaden sky and cry.  I've never managed to reconcile the two, but I do know that, once the temperature starts to fall around mid-march, I'll put an Ash Borer record on, and everything will seem that little bit more grey.  

Now Rihanna is playing, and everything I've written seems absurd.


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