Tag Archive: postaday2011


Where do you find strength?

Where do you find strength?.

In the depths that I created.

In vain, echoes fade.

I have absolutely no idea about where and how I find strength.

Wait. This question is vague.
Which strength?

There is no such thing as one and universal strength embodying all aspects of life, and by extension, being a resource shared by all human beings.

Or is it?

For the time being, I can tell you that any kind of strength I use is… A dream. An illusion. A will and determination that lives more and more as I vanish into sleep, induced by the noise of life’s mysteries.

What will you try to do everyday next year?.

Simple: I will try everyday (and hopefully succeed) not thinking about how 2011 had been an awful waste (of time, of energy, of money, etc), how I felt like a slave to the powers-that-be, and how much wounds are still open and causing atrocious pain.

Enough?

I don’t understand all that fuss about ending a year and starting another. Marketing screams. People hear.

The Past is there forever, the Future is there forever.

The Now (or the Present, should you prefer it named so) is constantly collapsing, ceasing to be. This is even what it’s meant to be. An eyeblink, a moment.

Why trying to turn wind into stone?

There is a mix of melancholy and euphoria in celebrating this passage. Get over it.

2011 is, in matters of structure, no different than 2012.

Unless you can prove me that I didn’t notice that 2012’s weeks will have 8 days, and each day 25 hours…

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Sorry, I couldn’t resist. I really have unholy hours to wake up!

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Between

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Photo credits: Alex Bengtsson 2011©

This photo was rotated by design. Life isn’t linear! It is not vertical or horizontal, like time.

[Edit: this is a bridge between Denmark and Sweden.]

Would you rather… (part 2)

Would you rather… (part 2).

“Time plasticity” is something I use everyday. Musicians know it as rubato

Playing solo allows me to be in the “Time plasticity zone”: I can stretch and I can squeeze time as much as I want, thanks to “tools” like bows.

I love bowed instruments, even though I’m now a synthesist who began as a drummer and sound engineer.

Bows are flexible to a point beyond abstraction. What can be done with them is mind-boggling.

Listen to the likes of Andrew Manze, Jordi Savall and Wieland Kuijken… Without forgetting Yo-Yo Ma.

Those guys can make you feel like an hour was a minute, and the opposite.

As a sound engineer, thanks to ProTools… I can already stretch or squeeze time.

As a drummer, I can stack different perceptions of time. Polyrhythms anyone? Polymeters? Meshuggah?

Yet.
And a big yet…

This is either being lost in a zone or tweaking knobs.
Nothing to do with speeding up or slowing down time in the “real life”.

I always wanted 48-hours long days and 8-day weeks. Never the opposite.

I’d better get rid of something or someone than to play with time. Skipping a heartbeat? No fuckin’ way.

Even if I could play with time’s plasticity and resilience, what about people around, do they live at the same speed?

Frankly, can you imagine people each going at their own pace, some stretching time while others slow it down?

Bottom line is: what matters is not how much time we get, it’s about the intensity of the time we’re allowed.

It is about emotion, not minutes.
Focus on the first. Anyway (according to St. Augustine and to yours truly, the present is what tends to cease to be) you don’t have any choice, however you can still dream.

Dreams are stolen time.

Facebook and TV are wasted time.

Would you rather…

Would you rather….

No amount of money could afford absolute power, health, knowledge, love, and countless other coveted things.

However, 50 years more living and doing my own thing (that is, learning and loving) seems great, comparing to bucks.

Bucks… It’s insane to cut trees to make such kind of paper.

That’s all for tonight. I just wanted to write, uh, something. You know I love writing, yeah?

I don’t always do it, but when I do…

There’s no return once I enter “The Zone”.

What is unique in my case is that the music I listen to when writing is as useful to me as a (humble) writer and as a musician. Perhaps even more as a musician.

I have the feeling that my writing and the music I listen to while writing produce a third entity: My own music.

I always make sure that there are lyrics, preferably in another language than the one in which I type. Also, I need complex, substance-rich music.

Simple sloppy chord strumming is not at all acceptable. It’s indigent.

A clear and real-world example would be… Meshuggah or Opeth as both have a really high level of abstraction and intricacy. The only “drawback” is that their lyrics are in english (some swedish ones for Opeth, though).

I’d rather have some fully instrumental stuff then… Like ISIS or ITTCT (If These Trees Could Talk.

Men när jag bloggar på svenska/danska/norska/isländska eller franska passar det jättebra.

Det har varit ett tag sedan jag bloggade på svenska här, fy fan!

Är inte helt sikker att det finns ingen skrivefeiler.

So, here it is, how I get into the Zone. What is incredible is that my Zone is kind of ubiquitous (in my life).

If I head on to write a blog post, I end up with a song, a drawing, a new cake recipe and… You get the idea.

Music as a trigger uses 25+ years of brain wires, and even creates new ones.

There’s magic in this.

Clenching The Fists Of Dissent

I took two short naps today. In each one, I was witnessing and living my own life, and I had absolute power over what happens in the dream.

This is not uncommon to me, and not uncommon in general. Lucid dreams have been around for as long as we have a neocortex…

What’s special about those repeated dreams of mine, is that it seems to be that two forces are fighting against each other until Death.

Today, it was the daily grind and the mighty boredom who were on the checkered board. In fact, it was me.

Yet I was also sitting at the table, behind the board, and I grabbed two handfuls of events, clenched my fists until blood poured from my hands.

Then I woke up…

Nothing had changed.
Nothing but… what is about to change.

In my previous post, I ranted about talkers. I told we don’t need them.

We need things to be done. We need doers.

So, why am I still typing?