07 April, 2005 - 14:57

What, life.

I revisited Lali Puna and Stereo Total last night for the first time in months and months. And oh, oh, oh. It was relaxing. Even Momus with his lyricising on priests with mottled penises put me in a space where I haven't been in quite some time: somewhere essential.

In talking with K the other day we were both trying to find some kind of truth in essentiality. I tended to side with the looking-glass self but I'm not sure if K really sided with me. It's hard. And music is also leading - and tends to open a dimension that I might have just ignored. Especially here in the middle of sub-bloody-Saharan Africa, in the midst of craving urban anonymity, real city streets, music endeavours to provide me with a real intoxication.

But this essentialism is what it's about. This music brings me whatever happened in a moment without my control, so there is no essentialism at work. I discovered Lali Puna whilst sitting at a dingy desk in Montreal but it brings back romanticised versions of memories that had a completely different present tense.

So music leads as well as misleads.

Cat Stevens' Father and Son leads me to an early, Spring evening on a partially-frozen lake down a long dirt road off of Highway 61 in Northern Ontario inside of a cottage standing next to a table with dishes on it, holding and dancing with someone whom I love more than the universe. It will always be that.

The Weakerthans' Left and Leaving misleads me to a vague notion of blurry amour with someone whom I loved so much that it still hurts. I remember traveling north in Mozambique on the road back from Maputo listening to my music and crying uncontrollably. Utterly, utterly uncontrollably. Because there is no scene to go with the music - just a vague recollection of summer streets and green grass none of which involved that song.

Leads and Miss Leads.

I am so much more together when I'm around people who I really love. Perhaps I shall just turn this diary into a very long, issue-filled personal ad. How efficient for you, dear potential lover, that you can be cognizant of all my little issues and consequently capable of tackling them head-on with the agility of a psychologist. What an idea! Right - officially, this diary doubles as a very long, very involved personal ad. Much better than those 5-line wonders which tell you ... zip all about the luvah you want.
Someone yesterday was talking about a friend who collected phone numbers from men she fancied by asking them to write their numbers on her bare bum. Maybe I should try.