Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Le Homesickness of the Arctic Monkeys


Old Yellow Bricks - because there is no place like home


Whenever I hear the Arctic Monkeys, I miss the times I spent in Munich missing England. I have never lived in England, but most of my Munich friends had, and their whistfulness in the lyrics of these young boys were infectious. They were a new band then, and it was all very exciting, going along to their concert and intently discussing their vivid descriptions. I listened to them replace "something" with "summit", sing about "mardy bums" [definition: sulky] or tell stories about weddings with horrible bands singing songs about hilly cities they've never been to. It made me feel like I had lived through it all too, just like everybody else.

Today I am in NYC and the boys are not very famous here. In the beginning, I kept looking for cafes and bars where they would play the Arctic Monkeys, proclaiming that when I found that venue I would have found home in this city. It wasn't until today that I realized that that home I seek is not a bar, but the feeling of sitting around in a foreign city, missing a place that never really existed for me. I guess in your 20s, especially in today's gypsy society, that's what home is for everybody.

Love,
Sabrina


Arctic Monkeys - Old Yellow Bricks

Old yellow bricks,
Love's a risk,
Quite the little Escapoligist
Looked so miffed,
When you wished,
For a thousand places better than this,

You are the fugitive,
But you dont know what you're runnin from,
You can't kid us,
And you couldn't trick anyone,
Houdini, love you don't know what you're runnin away from,

Who wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up?
Blinded by nostalgia,
Who wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up?

She wasn't raised by the way,
That the emperor put traps in the cage,
And the days she being dull,
Lead to nights readin beer bottles,

You're such a fugitive,
But you don't know what you're runnin from,
You can't kid us,
And you couldn't trick anyone,
Houdini, love you don't know what you're runnin away from,

Who wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up?
Blinded by nostalgia,
Who wants to sleep in a city that never wakes up?

You're at a loss,
Just because,
It wasnt all that you thought it was,

You are a fugitive but you don't know what you're runnin away from,

She said I want to sleep in the city that never wakes up,
And revel in nostalgia,
I know I said he wants to sleep in the city that never wakes up but,
Dorothy was right though

Monday, April 21, 2008

Le Brain Slap


Jabba, bearing a remarkable resemblance to my brain.

I ran away from mediation class a couple of weeks ago, after my brain attempted to slap me. I've been attended the Kagyu Dzamling Kunchab Tibetan Buddhist Center in New York City and this was my third class. It had been going well until this moment, when I was sitting there trying to think of nothing, and had an aggressive urge to stand up and walk out dramatically. My brain would simply not shut off. In fact, it was as if we had the following conversation:

Me: Okay. Let's hang out, just you and me. No thoughts, no worries, no past, no present.
Brain (who looks a bit like Jabba the Hut) stares me in the eyes, a cigarette dangling from it's mouth (yes, my brain smokes. I was surprised too since my body quit the habit months ago).
Brain: What, are you kidding me?
Brain pulls cigarette out of its mouth and slaps me with that hand. Ashes spill everywhere into cosmic spiritual space. I pray none of it gets on the other meditators in the room).

I didn't quite know what to do, it's not a situation I've ever been in before. So when the session ended and everyone mingled over cookies, I put my shoes back on and ran away. I went to Barnes and Nobles Bookstore and hid in the photography section behind tall book shelves, where meditation couldn't find me.