divineguitar » blind pilot

There are things I cannot forget, I wish none had happened yet, We were stronger than the preachers, We were wiser than the wall

Robert Bruns — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 17:32:00 +0000

Tonight as I kick back after a piece of 'America 'Heck' Yea' Halloween cake, I think about the artical I read concerning the conflict in Afghanistan. Seems as though helicoptors are used to 'mermite' in ice cream and fried chicken to forward operating bases, and participants in the region look foward to 'karoke night.'

With such distractions, it's easy to take your eyes off the prize. Objectives are defined, but they are difficult, time will tell if insurmountable, but as it stands I find it difficult to see the nationalization of these campaigns from the ground.

Lately I've been thinking about getting a new shirt or two, and some pants that fit. I've been running in the morning, running in the afternoon, and the .5 miles to my chu I've been running full speed on the way home. Guess kinda like gump, I can just see one of these 'spooky people' here go, wow, what's that guy's problem!? I would think that Gump ran b/c there wasn't anything particular on his mind, so it just came to him — I think I run b/c the ambiguity in the job and life have forced gridlock. Gridlock in the same way you have a quadruple knot that's been tighened and tightened, and you have nothing but your fingers with no fingernails to get it undone.

Something Billy Bragg says, 'its just like being on a fast ride at a fun fair, the kind you want to get off b/c its scary, but when you're off you want to get right back on again' — I think about that one out here, as we approach BIAP for our obligatory surf and turf — that close to hoppin' on a plane, but then what?

Attitude is something you take with you everywhere, bring a bad attitude you'll leave with one. Out here I have become and play the role of the quintessential 'nerd', that's how I came, that's the way I'll leave.

It's hard to get a 'read' on ANYONE out here b/c of the freakish nature of the roles and responsibilities. What was this person like at 'home,?' I often find myself thinking.

There's a lot of fraternization out here, but little cause for unity in hardship.

How I want that mystery, Let me dive ’til I believe, I had a dream you were two towns from me Got to sleep, spent the whole night running

Robert Bruns — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 15:05:00 +0000

Running on about 3-4 hours of sleep today in lieu of musical schedules. I once read that eddie vedder used to stay up for days and then go surfing, hence writing songs like Alive.

I think many things have come to life in my subconscious which are floating up, changing habits and perceptions.

I see life back home more vibrant, and I often become anxious to re-engage, however, too much too soon.

Often I've pondered the difference b/w wanting and needing someone, here I'm developing a super clear delineation b/w the two as they pertain to my future. There's not much I need moving forward, just to be understood, practically and potentially.

–

The physical texture of this situation is what's hard to describe. There is no allure, excitement, aesthetic — rather a drab tapestry that fades into the distance.

I've seen enough t-walls, dirt roads, and brown skies to last a lifetime. The sunrise is beautiful, more so than back home — at night, when the full moon rises, BAM, great light.

Four times is once too much for love That’s how many times the clock struck, I wandered home, saying your name

Robert Bruns — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 01:15:00 +0000

Often I think about what would some of my musical heroes (Billy Bragg, Neil Hannon of the Divine Comedy, Sondre Lerche, Ben Folds, the gang from Belle and Sebastian, and of course Neil Finn of Crowded House) do out here staring at this ambiguity everyday.

I'm certain their imagination would keep them company, and this point would be a stark point of contrast for life moving forward.

Often I'm thrust back to vivid imagery in the past. I recall 10 pm sunlight at Park Bar Edinburgh Scotland, walking home at 4 am speaking to a roughneck working in the rugged land up north. I recall a gal telling my friends they danced like wildebeests, and the perfect 4 leaf clover made on the top of my Guinness by the barkeep.

Flash forwarding I'd love to experience rain falling on a lonely tenement, as in Belle and Sebastian's Get me Away from Here I'm dying. I will add that to my color pallet in Eastern Euro one day while focusing my studies on building micro economies in a globalized world. It's hard looking forward, getting caught up in daydreams; while the mind is grown, my immediate environment is a perpetual skipping record.