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What is?

Well, very amateur RECORDING, that is!

You see, it’s been a real treat to record these nonsensical flippertwits I made up for my stories.

1.Nika’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

2.Nika’s Mum’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

3.Devil’s Child Chant (TotWK: Devil’s Child)***

4.Song of a Gypsy Woman (TotWK: ______)

The third one‘s got to be my favorite!

HAHAHAHAHA!

Heed this warning, loves: one has a COCK crowing in the background, one is a SPOILER, and my favorite is a REAL PAIN in the ears. But it fits, seeing as it’s dedicated to one blogger who happened to call me a witch. You know who you are (clue: initials= T.B. and a charming idiot, but at least a real genius in the field – not of being charming, but idiocy). This idiot also likes all things M – like Moose and Miley cyrus – and Me, as well.

Now seriously.

I just wanted to ask you if you know how to pronounce this: “Cthulhu“? You don’t? Me too. Now I really have to agree – Neil Gaiman‘s probably got the world’s largest octopus head.

You take care, you.

‘Til then, J ;)

“Like Seasons eternal,

An’ folks’ come’s and go’s,

Each story will soon one day unfold,

Just as houses’ timid hushes,

An’ old graveyards ling’ring voices,

Each an’ every thing has a tale to be told

An’ as Time’s the One True Constant,

All else Change’s humble servants,

Now’s fairly not when

I’m a’ tellin my own

But let’s lean back, stay still,

Eye the Moon’s subtle beam,

An’ listen as the Wind’s gentle kiss,

Brings back the world’s preserved tears.”

Believe me, that title wasn’t meant to suggest a nefarious act at all!

Stupidity is when you see a pop fanatic being ridiculed by a hardcore rocker for his musical taste – or vice versa. They obviously have yet to realize that music has ALWAYS been subjective. Leave a popping idiot to pop his brains out and a hardcore, drugged-looking-and-probably-is rocker to bang his head off. Music has only ONE rule: To each ear his own.”

-Red Elephant, The

Forget pop and rock….THIS is music I want to hear!

 Dunno about them, but I listen to this.

BONUS: Click here for a ‘lil craziness! And no, this isn’t one of those viral thingies. How could you even think of me like that?! Mama said I’m heaven-sent! But so is hail and bird poop, so whatever.

Image Sources here.

(WARNING: There are 10 mentions of the word “shit” in this post, including the aforementioned. You have the choice to proceed or not. You are warned.)

First, do not take the title literally if you have any self-respect left at all.

Second, breathe deeply and unlatch the barriers limiting your conscious mind, lean back in that chair, yes, good, just like that, and turn on Stateless – I’m on Fire. This step is vital.

Third, listen to me rant.

(Of course, you DO NOT have to do any of that, heh! ;) But if you want to know what’s running inside the head of an ignorant half-wit how come you act so rude to people who “don’t know” any better than you or have been the one at the receiving end, well…)

I guess everyone has that superhero ingredient inside them – just in varying amounts. You know, the ingredient that makes you stand up against something for those who can’t. That bit of me has been triggered a lot of times by RUDE PEOPLE (Definition: People who are being rude just for the sake of it). Which leads to this.

FACT:

By that definition, all rude people are poop-eating misanthropes. Unless they are psychopaths, which only makes them misanthropes. Big difference, you’ll see.

PROOF:

Ever heard of the phrase, “I feel like shit today”? Those are lines of people who feel so down and have little to zero confidence in themselves. They have tremendously low self-esteems at the time. But these people are still 7×12 steps higher from the rude people.

There are people who act/say something rude when they are provoked. And we are NOT talking about them. We’re talking about those who told you to get a fucking life because something you said (and mind you, not even to them) clashed with their set of beliefs, if you can call making a fool of yourself a belief. We’re talking about the people who gave you mocking looks and answered you in a tone that says, “You better be joking if you even have a brain” when you sincerely asked them what does LOL mean, or something like that. We’re talking about those people who made you feel like you don’t deserve to even exist as a urinal for their four-legged friends who sport fur. They, and their sorts, are the people we’ll be talking about. Or I. Whichever fits you.

I would bet, if we are to get even a tiny glimpse of these people’s past or current miserable situation, that we would see an adolescent boy who has been made to run naked across the street by a gang of bullies who can only tell jokes worse than they could spell; a girl who has been told more times than she could care to remember how idiotic she is for even thinking like she does; a boy who can’t even hold a minute-long conversation with his father without hearing a variation of how big of a failure he is – or generally speaking, a past where they have been made to feel like they’re all complete shits.

Sadly for you, this feeling/thought stuck on their minds. But even the this person’s mind is more powerful than the latest supercomputer. And their minds automatically activated its defense mechanisms. They have an INFERIORITY COMPLEX to the magnanimous intensities that any act that would make them feel SUPERIOR is like oxygen to the lungs, food for the stomach, sound to the blind, wings to the bird, wheels to a car, me for your heart (bwahaha!), yes, yes, you get it, and they would do just about anything in their power to get a taste of this false superiority.

And what better way to do this than to make the people around them feel like the E.coli-infested shit that they are, right?

Don’t let them fool you.

Yes, they may have been able to make you feel worthless. But you are only shit. These people are far worse. They feel even lower than you are, chronically making people feel bad, doing this for such a long time only to have that false sense of superiority that doesn’t last. And at that very moment they made you feel like shit, they did because they are still feeling and are so miserably insecure and inferior as they always have been.

You are shit. But they eat your shit.

And you don’t have to stay a shit for a long time either. They may have succeeded in making you feel like shit, but you hold the choice to move on. You are only feeding their delusions of superiority when you answer their taunts, when you play their game. Ignore them. If you can’t, then ignore their effect on you. Fake it if you must – act and decide not to be miserable and you will eventually believe it. After all, the mind controls the feelings. And you must control your mind.

Move on.

And to you, rude people a.k.a poop-eaters, get over it. All of us had our share of misfortunes, abuses, losses, hurts, humiliation – but we don’t dwell on it too much. We have a choice not to. We are not given time and free oxygen to waste it on thinking and weeping over, and over, and over our miserable pasts. It’s done. Don’t fool yourselves thinking it still matters because it doesn’t. Unless some miserable genius has invented a time machine then you can obsess over your past and device ways to change it, but until then – for cheese’s sake, STOP EATING POOP!

Unless you’re a fungus, that is.

This is how a fungus looks like. Do you see any likeness when you look in the mirror? Do you?

(NOTE: I am not a degree holder in Psychology, Psychiatry, Sociology, Anthropology nor Dating 101. I merely used to be a poop-eater, one who moved on (phew!). So you have every imaginable reason not to believe me. And you better not. Because I am a liar. And if you choose not to believe me then you believed a liar. Which makes you what? Right, a FOOL. So now you really don’t have a choice but to believe me. Alright, now I need a drink.)

By the way, you would keep this as our little secret, won’t you? ;)

Image Courtesy of Google Images

For 4 years I have committed my life to finishing a course I don’t have the passion with – in the beginning at least. Unexpectedly, I developed an inveterate sense of affection and respect for what I have been studying.

But affection and respect are different from passion.

Some people find their passions in discovering things. Some on putting things together. Some on collecting things. Some on destroying things. And undeniably, some on controlling things.

Mine was to create.

It is my passion to create something beautiful to add to this world – although I have accepted the fact that it would be sublime for some, refuse for others. I have this naïve belief that the world is still a beautiful place and we people only need a reminder of that, seeing as we have been forced to eat nihilism in the hands of the all-powerful media (watch the TV and you’ll get I’m saying).

Thus, as the stars and my own selection would have it, I have been creating: modest ideas to share with others, music to soothe their senses (and massacre others’ tympanic membranes), ”edible” food (though the only person willing to eat it was yours truly), a better, imperfect person within to be a blessing for others (and yeah, a curse for a few)

Sounds hypocritical?

You see, I have this odd opinion that sharing what you can to others, even yourself, is both a gift to give and a reward in itself. When you know you have made something that conjures even a micro-inch more of a smile in them, you can’t help but believe hope still exists.

Still, still there are people who are so difficult to bridge you’d have more luck in attempting extraterrestrial communication.They have been hardened by time and circumstances; they need more than just another little song, quote, picture, movie, event, or least of all a piece of petty writing from someone who “didn’t have a taste of hell yet”.

But well, the greatest transformations needed more than just a single effort.

And a big thanks to The Magnificent Mother Nature (and greedy politicians) for the law of accumulation – because we can be at ease knowing that every little, insignificant, and petty BUT good, beautiful and true things they have ever experienced are sure to sum up and become one giant ice cream of goodness that they surely cannot resist for long.

I know I should have entitled this “Idealism at Its Finest”.

So that’s my rant for the day. And yes, all is well. :)

*Evil Brother and Despicable Cousin (yep, that’s a RAT’S TAIL on his head :< ) discover the portal to the El Mundo Magnifico of The Ice Cream Land!!!

So here’s my theory! Hahaha XD (Read: Michael Jackson, Death Dance, and a Delightfully Awesome Researcher)

A voice coach once said to me that singing the right notes is 10% voice and 90% ear – and I couldn’t help but agree. Even if you have the most beautiful voice quality in the world, if you can’t listen, identify, and hit the right notes, you wouldn’t have much of a singing career (OKAY, so maybe that’s not 100% true, judging on the singing superstars we have in the industry these days, but yeah, moving on).

Hitting the right notes + appealing voice quality are not the only ingredients into becoming a good singer. You also have to have that Rhythm.

Like many of the beautiful things in the world, such as Audrey Hepburn and a mug of hot coffee, rhythm is subjective. True, every aspiring musician must have it, but rhythm, like beauty, is different for each individual. Yiruma’s rhythm is in a very much different scale than that of Justin Bieber’s. That’s why we have the different genres. AND that’s why there really is no point in comparing one musician against the other. Taste is a person’s own business.

But even though rhythm differs from one musician to the next, each of them can’t call himself a musician unless they have it. I believe that anyone can call himself a musician if he can create music – and that does not include certain people (Read: DJ) “switching buttons and playing other people’s patented sh*t” (thanks, Leo! –check out his music here–). And yet, music, like rhythm, is subjective. Screaming Belting artists’ music might be considered eardrum killers for someone inclined to listen to the sedative form of music.

It’s only right then that the point of music is not to create something which appeals to everyone’s taste, but to create something another soul could identify with and make him feel he belongs to something, to anything…to nature, be it his own or the world’s.

Being a lover of music inSOME of its forms (I admit I can’t tolerate much of Metallica’s raucousness. Sorry, fans), it is inevitable to think and ponder where it all began. Personally, I feel good when I lose myself into the depths of the intangible world, as I am NEARLY doing now, but I’ll try to fight it and finish this…yes…

So where did it all began? Music, like communication and the earliest attempts of it, started with Man. When Man is, Music also is (if that EVEN makes sense!).

I can imagine Man gaining consciousness of what he is, of where he is, and found himself listening to the sound of the leaves brushing against each other, of the wind making melodious gushing with everything it meets, of the tree creatures making their hoots in the night, and the calming effect of a brook’s glide with the rocks in its path.

Oh yes! I can imagine how intoxicated Man must have been with his first taste of music.

It is something that cannot be taught; rather, it’s something that happens. Like feelings and the birth of a star, pollination, and male erection.

So are we right to say that Music started with Man’s communion with the world around him? With Nature?

Partly. Because there’s still another form of music that started a bit earlier – Man’s awakening to the music within. The Inner Nature. The one you hear on a night when you’re all alone, with the world against you in a 1000 to 1 odds, and the future looking darker than any black hole ever discovered.

I totally lost myself there.

Have you ever felt the same way?

*Image courtesy of http://koroitfourfive.wordpress.com/megan/

I read something about what someone somewhere said about Michael Jackson and rhythm. MJ “supposedly” once said that blacks stand out from other singers simply because they have that earth rhythm – that unmistakable beat they possess which is passed on from one black to another, thanks to Genetics and constant jam sessions.

That someone has this theory that since the black people’s forefathers lived/wandered in the desert paradise we now know as Africa, they have expressed their oneness, their gratitude, towards nature (which was all they have ever known before they were forced to slavery back when they were still untouched by the exceptionally ugly white foreigners) through songs and dances in almost every aspect of their lives.

They have songs and dances for hunting, gathering goose eggs, a honey song, cooking song, marriage song, chasing bees dance, Death dance – and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a writing song, although I have my doubts on the necessity of writing back in those days.

Now this way of living, which started from possibly the very first black nomad, was passed on to each of every tribe’s offspring – and so is the rhythm with which they lead their lives. Thus, The Rhythm‘s existence was secured to last for eons.

With this ultra mega useful background knowledge (I know, I know, I’m a great researcher! Pfft..) at hand, I can’t help but form yet another theory of my own farce. I call this “The Oneness of Rhythm, Music, and Nature“.

—to be continued. :p

*Image courtesy of Google search

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