She lives and works from her laptop on a little paradise island in the Philippines. She's a writer, graphic artist, and mountaineer. During rainy days she loves to sleep and oversleep and dream and daydream and then write. More »
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Comments are back, netfreaks. I know you guys have all deserted poor old me. Now I'm all left crippled to rot and die on my own. Hazz, so sad.XP
It comes in a torrent of hypersensitivity. Every time I survive another heavy binge, I never get a hangover the following day. Instead I get a heightened sensory perception, whatever the fuck that is. In the three seconds of ravenously gulping a glass of water, the liquid flowing down my throat into my small intestines and large intestines to be distributed to the rest of my withered dehydrated body--it wasn't just water. In those three seconds the water entering my mouth was the blood of mother earth, the element comprising 70% of my body, the destructive force of calamities, the universal basis of life, and a deluge of other things I fail to recall at the moment. In that fleeting moment, water was glass liquefied to its thinnest level, clean, transparent, pure, amorphous, perfect. But despite all the benefits it provides, it has one fatal flaw: it cannot hold itself. It depends on other things to take form of its own, in this case, a container.
That's enlightening rhetoric nonsense in a glass of water, case point.
This "HSP" piffle doesn't happen just once; it happens throughout the course of the day. I get bombarded with tripe sensory input that I had to lock up in my room, turn off the lights, and curl up on my bed eyes closed with my palms clasped to my ears. Even as I try to think of nothing, every sound struck me as noise emanating from a megaphone: the whirring of the electric fan, birds bickering out my window, footsteps down the hallway, SpongeBob's laughter blasting from the TV. It didn't take long before I loaded Portishead and Massive Attack on Winamp, but I found their drums and cymbals reduced to strident outbursts of noise competing to fill in the silence.
Desperate, I plugged into a recently downloaded album, the violin virtuoso Joshua Bell's Romance of the Violin, and played Chopin's Nocturne. What happened next, words fail to describe. Joshua Bell's violin had a certain thrall that snaked into my ears and pushed the tears out my eyes.
I wept over a piece of classical music, is fucking what.
Joshua Bell is an American Grammy Award-winning violinist whose instrument, a 300-year-old Stradivarius violin called the Gibson ex Huberman, is the classical world's masterpiece during its "Golden Age", now costing around four million dollars. The violin's history was even made into a movie, The Red Violin (Watch online: part 1 & par 2.), spanning three centuries and five locations around the world (Cremona, Vienna, Oxford, Shanghai, and Montreal). To its owners, the violin causes anger, betrayal, bloodshed, crimes of passion; and everyone who listens to it is put into a trance of unutterable wonder. What I really liked about the movie though is its explicit sex scenes.XP Particularly that with a violin involved in the sexual act. Harhar.XD
Bell is a man whose talent commands $1000 per minute. Simply, a powerful man fiddling a powerful musical instrument produces the most powerful music. It's the kind of music that fires an arrow at the bull's eye of human susceptibility.
In an experiment, this violinist wore nondescript clothes and positioned himself at the entrance of a train station at the rush hour in the morning, and played six classical pieces for the next forty-three minutes. In this workaday setting, did beauty transcend? Did people pause to listen or did they not even notice?
Apparently I can't install Photofuckingshop (well, I can, but the screen is cramped and the docks work like shit) which requires a vertical resolution of 768 instead of just 576. Boohoo for HP Mini. So can't create a new web template which I'm incredibly adept at.XP Meanwhile I'm poring over the tutorial pages of GIMP, an open source degraded version of Photoshop.
Still woozy at the moment, alcohol worming up my brain. Can't. Think. Straight.
Word Up
F07.05.09 - 02:22
G07.05.09 - 22:22
Lyn13.05.09 - 06:06