A little Gaslight experiment with the sounds of Zooropa
[Appended with some unremarkable, unrelated silly Umbrellas]
(what do you want?)
(what do you want?)
Zooropa…vorsprung durch technik
Zooropa…be all that you can be
Be a winner
Eat to get slimmer
Zooropa…a bluer kind of white
Zooropa…it could be yours tonight
We’re mild and green
And squeaky clean
Zooropa…better by design
Zooropa…fly the friendly skies
Through appliance of science
We’ve got that ring of confidence
And I have no compass
And I have no map
And I have no reasons
No reasons to get back
And I have no religion
And I don’t know what’s what
And I don’t know the limit
The limit of what we’ve got
You must hit play while reading along to the captions, silly
Don’t worry baby, it’ll be alright
You got the right shoes
To get you through the night
It’s cold outside, but brightly lit
Skip the subway
Let’s go to the overground
Get your head out of the mud baby
Put flowers in the mud baby
Overground
No particular place names
No particular song
I’ve been hiding
What am I hiding from
Don’t worry baby, it’s gonna be alright
Uncertainty can be a guiding light
I hear voices, ridiculous voices
Out in the slipstream
Let’s go, let’s go overground
Take your head out of the mud baby
She’s gonna dream up
The world she wants to live in
She’s gonna dream out loud
She’s gonna dream out loud
Dream out loud
—And now for some more ridiculous Umbrellas—
α…If someone were to pose the inane question to me: which victim is more to be lamented, a girl who is seduced by a Don Juan type or by a Faust, I must admit that there really can be no comparison—the one seduced by a Faust is utterly lost. Thus it is very profound indeed that the legend logs 1,003 in Don Juan’s little black book; Faust has only one, but she is also crushed on an entirely different scale. A girl seduced by a Don Juan still has the world of Spirit before her certainly; but a girl who is seduced by a Faust, well…for her even that is poisoned… Ω
α…And as you once so very wittily observed, when the idea of society truly ascends, communication will become so deeply intense that even to the most observant, the human race will morph into a vast single cyber-ocean where it will be impossible to distinguish the hordes of infusoria who previously formed little unique pockets of isolated floating existences. Oooo! my latest ‘AP’ just notified me again… Ω
α…I’ve had little to win or to lose in association with the ordinary lump of humanity, partly because what they all aver—this so called extraordinary life—life which appears fairly prevalent in the whole cyber era, is manifest also in the biggest of things; whereas the past ages built works before which the observer must stand by himself in complete awe and silence; now they build a ‘cloud’ and everyone swears at once in bold-faced font they wear a cape too! Yes, almost before a child gets time to admire the singular beauty of a plant or some animal, it demands: But is it extraordinary?—This does not interest me much, its hard to realize the spiritual and deeper currents in man while claiming to one-up the next cyber-mountain-climber… Ω
—[An imaginary construction of a one way chat directed at a silent Aesthete]—
α…It is okay, one might say, that you cannot allow yourself to be satisfied with such a mundane and ordinary life, that your ravenous hunger for pleasure cannot be satisfied by that—but is it more satisfied by the satiety that comes almost in the very moment of pleasure. The satiety you experienced in the same instant you embraced the pleasure?… Ω
α…but wanting to construct imaginatively is really quite futile. You know how Musäus’s Rubezahl was tricked by his captive young princess who sent him to the fields to count turnips; he never finished, you see, and she got clean away—but he is the very likeness of you, who like him in a certain sense is very clever, in another extremely stupid.—you become fooled out of life… Ω
α…If you happen by a young woman who had become terribly unhappy in love, you do not hesitate to IM with her and tell her the contents of her life in the form of fairy tales.—Heaven help that young woman!… Ω
α…But is it any better really, then…then the perspective in which you see every joy vanish with a swift fleeting sigh? Whenever you see a young woman, you immediately become very anxious because it seems to you as if this were her happy moment that will never descend upon her again… Ω
tete de femme
α…On cyber status updates, generally it is regarded as the ultimate wisdom of life to live each moment as if one were teetering over the very precipice of death. I knew a woman on Facebook once who became very unhappy precisely because she continually believed that she would die—this poor status-conscious lady robbed herself of all patience to live… Ω
α…I’ve heard it explained that man’s walking is a constant falling. This, one might say, is even more the case with his running; he is continually prevented from falling by a new fall. So it is with you; you lack the firm posture of a devoted life view, and therefore you cannot stand but, oh boy, can you ever run… Ω
α…She’s crossing the Rubicon! No doubt this road takes her into battle, but she will not renounce her decision. She will not lament the past—why lament? She will not waste time in regrets, like the girl stuck in a mire and first figuring-out how far she has sunk—all the while she is sinking still deeper. No, She will hurry along the path she found and shout to everyone she meets: Do not look back as Lot’s wife did, but remember that we are running up a hill… Ω
mr johannes 
Profound, elegant, detailed, sculptured…..now I await the voice of the composer, as spoken through a microphone. Oh and stylish too.
I both feel for this woman and admire her courage. There is something compelling about the fact she hammers on with life and never gives up.
,,,Fairy-tales are strange, aren’t they? Even more so if you believe in them…though smart men and women aren’t generally fooled, both enjoying an imaginary existence (whether that be writing, music, etc.. and a real life. Some just have more of the imaginary in them than others,
which is construed as odd.
So more much to say on this really but haven’t got the words right now. May return to it if that’s okay.
Thanks Deb. You are being too kind – but that’s what makes you ‘wicked awesome’ 😉
If you haven’t seen the movie ‘Gaslight’ with Bergman and Boyer yet, I do highly recommend it. It’s excellent I think! I wanted to try and isolate three different mediums(Photos from the movie, Music, Lyrics) and have them merge back into one at the end. I believe a Photo by itself forces the mind to create both mood and a story; the same goes for lyrics/poetry by itself. Does our mind then fit the photo to the lyrics or the lyrics to the photo? Obviously there is no right answer here. Just a silly experiment of course. Also, I was thinking it might be very interesting if a viewer has seen the movie. Would they then perhaps perceive an abstract connection between the lyrics and the movie’s plot and ending. To me, there’s a ton of symbolism appropriate to our modern age and its wayward and relative morality as a whole.
The poorly developed aphorisms were haphazardly put together here and there over a period of several months. The title of the dialogue to the Aesthete was inspired by another blogger. She had written a wonderful little fictional opening about a post-modern man who at night secretly revels in embracing 18th century rococo effeminacy(there’s a link, btw between this and the rise of the gothic writers of the same era – they were rebelling against it, but I digress lol). He hates himself for his addiction. The subject there I would actually call an esthete rather than an aesthete. Though others might argue there’s no difference. But to me, Aesthetic disciple differs from an esthete in that while the esthete loves beautiful ‘things’, the Aesthete loves ‘change’, the enigmatic moment. He has nothing solid or constant by which he guides and develops himself. He never decisively chooses and goes undaunted forward. He must have constant change…Ok this is getting quite dull now ;).
You may always take whatever liberties you desire here. I love to read and get your unique thoughts. I’ll check your latest tomorrow. Got a huge snowstorm tonight and that means up very early again with that damn shovel.
Night Deb
I haven’t seen the film so hard for me to draw any definitive conclusions here – do like a good thriller though! …and thought I saw Charlie Chaplin for a second in the platform photo…till I realised his cane was missing! (Been watching Chaplin films, so he’s popping up all over!)
Spotted the umbrella though, which makes we think it was filmed in the UK. Do other places like Europe and far away countries even have umbrellas? I think not. Anyway, it’s peeing cats and dogs here so need to go and check for any flood damage – waves almost came over the sea wall earlier! …Thinking of building a little boat for me and the cat and hubby, should the worst occur, and row us the hell of this town.
More later Zoop!
hahaha umbrella’s are totally a Brit thing. And that’s why they kick-ass!!! And I suspect if it comes to it your furry-pawed, whisker-faced feline friend there will secure a very suitable first-mate. No matter how great the flood may become; no matter if all other living creatures drown in the watery wrath of an angry Providence; it is still the absolute must that felines survive. After all, when the world has finally toweled itself off, how will it define the ‘cuteness’ scale—cats being the measure of all things cute 😉
P.S.
Chaplin Rocks!
P.S.S.
Powers been out here for a day after the last storm here, finally back on. Dear Mother Nature’s been acting like a mischievous child this winter. Just when I think she’s finally composed herself right, she goes and heaves another gigantic snowball at me . :]
Ha Ha! Mother Nature’s been doing the same to me. She flipped out yesterday but is totally fine now.
A dragoness needs neither hat nor umbrella, nor is she impressed by Sir Gaslight any longer—she glows with her own burnished light. Great posts & lush imagery.
You rock my mysterious Ms. Flame!
And Yes, Ophelia is no longer suffering through her jailer’s madness. She’s finally putting those ‘marguerites’ in ‘la boue’. And I, for one, believe her Attar has become quite refined. 😉
Incidentally, is it not telling Ms Flame that both Goethe and Bulgakov named the two leading ladies of their highest creativity ‘Marguerite? I should think those play-wrights had something hidden up their sleeve besides their clever satirical talents.
This:
“the one seduced by a Faust is utterly lost. Thus it is very profound indeed that the legend logs 1,003 in Don Juan’s little black book; Faust has only one, but she is also crushed on an entirely different scale. A girl seduced by a Don Juan still has the world of Spirit before her certainly; but a girl who is seduced by a Faust, well…for her even that is poisoned…”
Insightful, indeed, Johannes. Perhaps I will write another poem about Bulgakov……….some day…………..