Sheer brilliance

(and no, I am not referring to the lingerie I bought for myself today... nor the cycling paraphernalia, though those terms could refer to either, perhaps if shifting in meaning - damn those loose signifiers, I swear)


"Inspiration could be called inhaling the memory of an act never experienced. "

I was just ruminating (in all my bovine glory) on this idea of nostalgia, and how I spent the better part of my (mostly) wasted youth, pining for an era that was not mine to pine for, and singing Carole King's Tapestry if not at the top of my lungs (out of respect for non-participating parties), with some sort of abandon. And I was imagining how the lyrics, as an entire whole were so precisely about what in English we don't have a word for "desamor" and the tug of forbidden, or at least denied longing.

And then I come across this little gem, Blooming, ready to be quoted and stolen, not in the Abby Hoffman sense, or perhaps yes, in a little article that examines citation, re-apropriation, and the age in which we live. It would be appropriate to cite, in proper academic manner, then, but I think that it would destroy the point, which was so brilliantly elucidated with examples as diverse as William Burroughs, Bob Dylan and Lee "Scratch" Perry (the latter two being major influences on my very own brand of ecstasy), which is that none of us, not one, are free from the cultural ambience in which we are raised.

I. sings "Well it's too late baby, now it's too late" and we really did hum a few bars and fake it. If only for a while.

And looking out over the ocean, with the glimmer of the waning daylight glancing off the waves, I am no longer uninspired... and I think to myself, what a wonderful... time to be alive. Copyfights, and rights, and the rest of it aside, I love what I can do and find, and the interwoven textures that form this tapestry, of which the cities so gray and so vulgar, are only a part, that we can dance circles around in the sun, if we remember why, it’s not too late to be forever young.