I wasn’t planning on writing until next Monday, but I can’t seem to get away from this.

With the falling temperatures come late mornings. Stepping outside earlier, the sky was still dimmed with the street lamps on from the previous night. It felt like the sun had already set, and it was only going to get darker. I was in the mood for some jazz, so I fidgeted on my iPod until I found a Duke Ellington collection. Unfortunately, most of it is comprised of big band swing songs, fast moving, major keys, a sound that didn’t quite match the mood. I settled on Going Up, a calm progressive jazz piece featuring brushes instead of drum sticks, harmon mutes in the trumpets, and Les Spann on flute. Four years of private lessons, with four different bands in high-school, have made me appreciate the polished, roundness of his sound. He travels chromatically with utter smoothness on the woodwind, and unlike on the piano, which the fingers can move across in one sweeping motion, each note is played with a seemingly random combination of fingers. In his head, he’s four bars ahead of his fingers, allowing his intonation remain precise with each purposeful note.

Sometimes it feels like music is the only thing that can bring out my emotions again. Most of them have been replaced by simple determination. Everything is business business business because the world is cold cold cold.

I’m going home for the Thanksgiving long-weekend. A much needed break that I’ve been planning for a while now. Funny that I still call it home when it’s a five hour drive away, and I own my own house in this city. Home isn’t where you grew up, it isn’t where you live now, home is where the parents are.

The new Coheed And Cambria single (song starts playing after the Flash intro) completely knocks me off my feet. I suspect that the new album will be darker, moodier, and even better produced than their last. I’m not the only one who’s reminded of Kashmir by Led Zeppelin, with the chromatic chord progression and orchestral backing, but the similarities end there.

Can’t wait until September.

I’m only awake now because I’m too used to waking up at half past six on workdays. A mug of Hong Kong milk tea (made with condensed milk for extra creaminess) has always been my weekend comfort food, but I ran out of loose leaves a few weeks ago. Usually, I sit at my desk and write after breakfast, finishing off the tea from breakfast, but instead I’ll be going to my music for inspiration.

I’ve run into a string of good music lately, or maybe I’ve just been hearing things in a different way. None of my playlists seem relevant again. More details when I have more time.

It’s good to be sober.

(This took four months to write)

I was kicking back on the couch with John
with the lights out and the music on.

Wut wut.

Anyway, we were stoned out of our skulls and it was Naked As We Came by Iron And Wine. We sat there, listening to the dulcet notes of a lone guitar lead into Sam Beam’s sugary voice, soon to be gently rounded off by his sister, Sara, as the harmony. A summer-morning-during-harvest song, or dancing in the middle of a cool rainfall.

She says ‘If I leave before you darling
don’t you waste me in the ground’
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
one of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open
naked as we came
one will spread our
ashes round the yard

And we sat there, listening, remarking to each other about how morbid it all was, yet so beautiful.

Even John was moved, but how could he not be? One of them would die but there was solice in the fact that it would be in the embrace of the other, as if neither one would want to die any other way, doing anything else.

And it felt like, for the first time in my life, John could understand a completely different side of me.

It wasn’t a great day for landings, but it was perfect for hanging out on the hill, soaking up the winter sun, and goofing around.

If I’m introduced to a good song at a moment in time, I associate it with a specific memory. At Sandbanks last year, it was Eric blasting Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam before the park warden stopped by to gave warning. This time it was 93 Till Infinity by Souls Of Mischief, a track with a true 90’s beat. It’s easy to deduce the general age of the group from the music; the songs that Eric plays on his stereo are the ones that the Bancroft group grew up listening to.

It was the middle of winter for us, but on that one weekend, it felt like the beginning of spring. We donned our vests, hoodies, and sweaters for runs down the hill. The temperature was just under 10°C, and there was no need for heavy down-filled coats. The scenery is beautiful. No one around, no authority telling us what we can and can’t do. The perfect weekend gettaway.

As Aaron noted, Matt’s ability to jump on a board and naturally carve up the hill after an extended snowboarding hiatus is telling of his board experience in general. The one successful landing I got of Aaron seems tiny compared to the jumps that Matt and Eric do, but he assures me that it’s a lot steeper (and scarier) from the top of the hill than it looks at the bottom.