With compatriot D.W. Wordsmith's foray into the electronic mediations of the blog, which is becoming increasingly ubiquitous with Australian Triathletes, it is without epiphany that I have to reinvigorate my blogging colloquy. Thus, in a vain and plunderous attempt to stay relevant in the cut-throat market of blog hits, I shall decant an esoteric but hopefully not irrelevant narrative which will eventually if not sublimely encapsulate an important 'lesson of the Burg', should you treat it as such. I shall also disclose that while no one is currently making significant financial investments in my future, I will write here what I please. Begin...
Around the year 370AD I was moping around the vast steppes of Hunnic Empire before I settled (temporarily of course) near the Volga. Days and months of scouring the banks of the great river passed, all the while dancing with tribes of Huns, slaughtering beasts and drinking fermented goat's milk became norm. I had left my tiresome abode in search of a new life, travelling without facing the embargoes, facades and tyranies of the modern empire and sovereign society. My partaking in the nomadic rituals, namely the aforementioned, as well the casting of tunics out of rodent's skin, riding horseback popping arrows, throwing javelins, sharpening daggers and jousting with the Romans has certianly left many legacies on my being, now of course breathing in the globalised society that is 21st century. Through osmosis, the vastness and desolation of the steppe marvelled it's way into my being and soul. In those fevered times, it was kill or be killed, fear or be feared, the oldern day equivalent of the modern fable 'Triathlon or die'. In essence, life in those times had an overwhelming sense of darkness which has stayed with me all these years voiding the destructive power of time. I still feel the darkness of steppe, even after my many migrations; from my quest accross The Great Silk Road from Eurasia to China, from China to India amongst the West Indies Spice and Opium trade, the booming textile and tea trade from India to the great European imperial powers, and finally from the Pax-Britanica Empire on convict boats to Australasia, which has since seen me settled in the humble Northern Brisbane suburbs for the past few centuries. As fresh as Attila's mink skin coat, the longing for dark feelings remain.
As a consequence of my aforementioned Hunnic explorations, everything I do is one of feeling. Feeling the workout, feeling the purpose. Feeling the aromas of the bean, feeling the succulent taste. Feeling the panorama and feeling the beauty of the moment. In essence, as well as doing, I try to feel. My Hunnic brethren live on in one of my most cherished feelings, the feelings of the dark nature embodied by the soundscapes of modern metal, delivered in musical format. It's quite obvious that the darkness has a different texture to the light; the feeling of dread and despondency versus fear and nervousness. The darkness I feel from music is so real that I feel I can touch it. It's like a cosmos, a very energetic and rich vacuum with lots of messages, infinitly mobile in its capacity to abduct your being. When the darkness knocks once on your dilapidated goat skinned Hunnic door, knocking thrice if need be, you have no other choice but to surrender yourself to it, shifting your state into transcendence.
Pertinently, the great thing about today's globalised society as opposed to my mopings throughout antique centuries past is the recent progeny of Black/Doom/Death & Sludge Metal. While it's deplorably true that about 90% of the bands spawned are hopelessly repugnant, the 10% of metal bands that give a nod to their fellow space-travelling couterparts man should have their very own unique, obscure and dark atmosphere, one that a being like myself can immerse themselves in and feel the feelings of dark times past. The feelings and transcendence absorbed by the atmospheres in metal music are so monolithic and vast that it's a feeling even D.W. Wordsmith's metallic mind would have to grapple with.
Now before it becomes consensus that I'm a vagrant Hunnic freak because of the misanthropic or macabre leanings of this entry, I assure you this darkness is a transmission of joy as much as it sounds like the opposite. While some may like bright colors and soft fabrics, I'm about wanting to have an abstract experience, trying to get to something deeper and more obscure than normal. Dark music provides the perfect medium for this. To the pompous ones who may satyrise or scrutinise these words, please ignore what you don't understand and hide from it accordingly. Alternatively, to the other space travellers out there, I encourage one to embrace the foundations of this post, that from day to day, as well as doing things, feel them.
"But sir, this feeling, this feeling of darkness and dread.... where can I get it?" Lad, by having seen Brisbane's own Portal live at the Globe Theatre last Fiday night. The darkness....
Around the year 370AD I was moping around the vast steppes of Hunnic Empire before I settled (temporarily of course) near the Volga. Days and months of scouring the banks of the great river passed, all the while dancing with tribes of Huns, slaughtering beasts and drinking fermented goat's milk became norm. I had left my tiresome abode in search of a new life, travelling without facing the embargoes, facades and tyranies of the modern empire and sovereign society. My partaking in the nomadic rituals, namely the aforementioned, as well the casting of tunics out of rodent's skin, riding horseback popping arrows, throwing javelins, sharpening daggers and jousting with the Romans has certianly left many legacies on my being, now of course breathing in the globalised society that is 21st century. Through osmosis, the vastness and desolation of the steppe marvelled it's way into my being and soul. In those fevered times, it was kill or be killed, fear or be feared, the oldern day equivalent of the modern fable 'Triathlon or die'. In essence, life in those times had an overwhelming sense of darkness which has stayed with me all these years voiding the destructive power of time. I still feel the darkness of steppe, even after my many migrations; from my quest accross The Great Silk Road from Eurasia to China, from China to India amongst the West Indies Spice and Opium trade, the booming textile and tea trade from India to the great European imperial powers, and finally from the Pax-Britanica Empire on convict boats to Australasia, which has since seen me settled in the humble Northern Brisbane suburbs for the past few centuries. As fresh as Attila's mink skin coat, the longing for dark feelings remain.
As a consequence of my aforementioned Hunnic explorations, everything I do is one of feeling. Feeling the workout, feeling the purpose. Feeling the aromas of the bean, feeling the succulent taste. Feeling the panorama and feeling the beauty of the moment. In essence, as well as doing, I try to feel. My Hunnic brethren live on in one of my most cherished feelings, the feelings of the dark nature embodied by the soundscapes of modern metal, delivered in musical format. It's quite obvious that the darkness has a different texture to the light; the feeling of dread and despondency versus fear and nervousness. The darkness I feel from music is so real that I feel I can touch it. It's like a cosmos, a very energetic and rich vacuum with lots of messages, infinitly mobile in its capacity to abduct your being. When the darkness knocks once on your dilapidated goat skinned Hunnic door, knocking thrice if need be, you have no other choice but to surrender yourself to it, shifting your state into transcendence.
Pertinently, the great thing about today's globalised society as opposed to my mopings throughout antique centuries past is the recent progeny of Black/Doom/Death & Sludge Metal. While it's deplorably true that about 90% of the bands spawned are hopelessly repugnant, the 10% of metal bands that give a nod to their fellow space-travelling couterparts man should have their very own unique, obscure and dark atmosphere, one that a being like myself can immerse themselves in and feel the feelings of dark times past. The feelings and transcendence absorbed by the atmospheres in metal music are so monolithic and vast that it's a feeling even D.W. Wordsmith's metallic mind would have to grapple with.
Now before it becomes consensus that I'm a vagrant Hunnic freak because of the misanthropic or macabre leanings of this entry, I assure you this darkness is a transmission of joy as much as it sounds like the opposite. While some may like bright colors and soft fabrics, I'm about wanting to have an abstract experience, trying to get to something deeper and more obscure than normal. Dark music provides the perfect medium for this. To the pompous ones who may satyrise or scrutinise these words, please ignore what you don't understand and hide from it accordingly. Alternatively, to the other space travellers out there, I encourage one to embrace the foundations of this post, that from day to day, as well as doing things, feel them.
"But sir, this feeling, this feeling of darkness and dread.... where can I get it?" Lad, by having seen Brisbane's own Portal live at the Globe Theatre last Fiday night. The darkness....
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