James Blunt has written a few good tunes amidst his relatively bland back catalogue, but I would really hate to have been in the army with him before he started writing songs. He'd have been such a whiny little bitch.
Sgt- "James, we're under attack! What do you see?!"
James- "No Bravery!"
Sgt- "James, that really isn't helpful!"
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Isolated Memories
I was reminiscing on the highlights of the past few months of life, and I just realised I've had a fair few evenings spent outside, singing, by firelight.
Sitting in a circle by firelight singing Hey Jude or praises to God with people you love is one of those times when you just soar. Everyone there knows that they're involved in something real, organic, alive and just full of spirit and life and humanity. It's a step out from normality and one of these memories which you can observe from the outside after time has passed and know it's a totally isolated section of your life, inaccessible and unalterable, cut off by time and probably space. What's happened has happened, and will be that way forever. That memory can't be touched. And that is a beautifully and yet sometimes tragically wonderful thing.
So much of our lives we spend not really being ourselves. Keeping secrets, failing to relate like we were made to. But the most real and enduring memories, of moments or evenings or even years long periods of time, are the ones where we know we were totally open and prostrate before someone. Whether it's simply through singing without a bloody care but with your heart in a circle of people who you love, or whether it's memories of laying or sitting or talking quietly with one person. It's a wonderful gift from God that we can look back at unchangeable, wonderful memories, the happiness and euphoria and freedom of which can never be sullied.
Sitting in a circle by firelight singing Hey Jude or praises to God with people you love is one of those times when you just soar. Everyone there knows that they're involved in something real, organic, alive and just full of spirit and life and humanity. It's a step out from normality and one of these memories which you can observe from the outside after time has passed and know it's a totally isolated section of your life, inaccessible and unalterable, cut off by time and probably space. What's happened has happened, and will be that way forever. That memory can't be touched. And that is a beautifully and yet sometimes tragically wonderful thing.
So much of our lives we spend not really being ourselves. Keeping secrets, failing to relate like we were made to. But the most real and enduring memories, of moments or evenings or even years long periods of time, are the ones where we know we were totally open and prostrate before someone. Whether it's simply through singing without a bloody care but with your heart in a circle of people who you love, or whether it's memories of laying or sitting or talking quietly with one person. It's a wonderful gift from God that we can look back at unchangeable, wonderful memories, the happiness and euphoria and freedom of which can never be sullied.
An old entry from my journal- 18th/7/09
Just saw a girl dressed up beautifully in a bright dress of colour and summer, radiant make up, stunning features, the usual flowing blonde locks...
standing on a scabby grey concrete high street, next to a small pile of rubbish, outside McDonalds, choking on a cigarette.
Very Banksy. Very current Britain. Hilarious little urban irony I thought?
standing on a scabby grey concrete high street, next to a small pile of rubbish, outside McDonalds, choking on a cigarette.
Very Banksy. Very current Britain. Hilarious little urban irony I thought?
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