dear damon
April 2008
Am writing to you from the city full of Barbies and testosterone-fueled Kens here on the border between the States and Mexico. Definitely not my kind of scene and the locals make a point to point it out to me on a daily basis. :P It really hit me today that there seems to be one common template for mankind and a myriad of tailor-made sub-templates for people. We fit no template, if I may be so bold as to say so, d, we, and others of our ilk. I don't know about you, but I like it just fine that way and suspect that you feel similarly. George Orwell was ahead of his times, it seems, as this world we live in seems a veritable animal farm, but perhaps it has always been so since the beginning of time.
Blur speaks to many who feel alienated and caught in a blurry world. Like the invisible Seymour we might only be reckoned with when we leave this world, but, even then, perhaps not. It's like we cloak ourselves without ever meaning to; caught in a blurry world, neither here nor there perhaps even to ourselves. It's numbing. I have never needed to numb myself further as a result. Am trying to feel alive most of the time, you know? Thank you for understanding, d.
Gratefully,
frances
P.S. Have belatedly realised "Sunday, Sunday" is a song written in the same spirit as The Small Faces' "Lazy Sunday."
On the bedside table this month
itineraries and library books
On the turntable this month:
Last.fm radio
KNOCK, KNOCK. WHO'S THERE?
Enter the dragon...Say What?!
Name that tune!
Educate Me!
BRITGIRL's gig report
Ravenous for "Ravenous?"
The archives!
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