They have always needed someone expendable.
In every age. In every time. I might just throw in – in every space. Since when have we ever been a race of inclusive people, people who don’t need sacrifices?
Driver ants. They come to a river, they need to cross it, so they go on and die and the rest of them can cross over the bodies of the dead ants anyway. Necessary risks. Necessary sacrifice.
The word sacrifice. It means, you give something up for something else.
Doesn’t it? You give something up to get something in return, maybe not in return, but for the sake of something else. It is not the same as loss. It is not the same as just cutting something out and letting it go. You are doing it FOR something. For something. Bigger, maybe. Better, maybe. Hopefully.
And for that, you need to sacrifice. Verb. And you need a sacrifice. Noun.
Scapegoats to rock the boat.
Okay, so it is an instrumental?
Well, I bet they did not expect it be an instrumental.
Just for the sake of saying something. Are we sure that ‘Rose’ here is not a verb?
Shut it, smartass. Of course it is not a verb.
It’s called ‘Ocean Rose’. Whenever you think of the word rose, you know what you think of? Without exception?
Yeah, there a few things. It’s a vignette.
You think of the garden you used to have. The roses You think of the flower itself, the petals, the whorls. You think of light shining through them.
But you also remember Rose.
Whenever I hear this song, – somehow I find a very fundamental connect to it.
There is no logical, obvious, on-the-surface reason why that should be. Because I did never have someone like this. I never was the eponymous watcher. Well, there were times, but it was not like he says it here.
But this is song has a vein of rawness to it, an odd, out-of-grasp sense of longing, and failing to obtain, and that makes this song very fragile. The lines don’t say anything that’s pristinely romantic, actually yeah, like someone observed, the matter of the song is ‘creepy’ in modern-day politically correct lingo, because you are spying on someone, and that is ‘weird’.
Crap. You had to go and choose that song.
When did this song become a part of us, Al? Do you remember?
Yes. Yep. Remembered it.
It was an audio cassette I had borrowed from a cousin. And I had my Walkman, and I dubbed the song, that one single song onto a blank cassette and we listened to it on our walks round the roof. And that was when I did not even remember the movie properly. Not really. I just remembered the lines. Not the colours that went to fill the shapes. The song filled those up as it willed.
We did it as we willed. The three stanzas, they rose in degrees, and it was a pattern we followed, – like we are apt to follow, – you know, if you are listening.
There were many voices in that song.
There it ends.
For once, I don’t feel like typing anything. I will just sit and watch this.
Well this here’s a song of warning. Song of violence, and it’s a song of a joke.
Why don’t make jokes throughout the song, Al? It would be just as appropriate as anything else. It would be as appropriate as anything else. If we just keep typing random words right now on this sheet of fake not-made-out-of actual paper paper, it will make as much sense as anything else in the world.
It’s a joke.
Wounded sleep? Not dead, mind. Not dead, but sure as hell wounded.
How do you wound a thought, Al?
You drive a knife through it, a metaphysical knife, a knife crafted out of anger and pain, you carve designs on the canvas, such patterns that summon such devils that will make you feel the sting when you try to sleep. You can’t go to sleep, there is no smooth bed anymore. It is very thorny now.
Only way to go and sleep is to let your hide cut up and heal, over and over again, till it is well calloused,
This thing that happened right now, you know, no one would dare interrupt you if you are at a ‘pooja’ of some sort. No they won’t, they cannot start to take the chance. It is a sacred thing then, it’s a fricking pooja. So it is off limits. But if is a song, of it a book, if it is a film, if it is not something involving clay images in front of you and flowers being hurled and words chanted loud and clueless, — then it is all very well to just drive a big fucking hole through it, it can wait, your business can’t. It is only entertainment, that’s what the idea is.
Fella chose ‘Burning Heart’.
Lie back and enjoy it.
You know what this just reminded me of? The lines by Javed Akhtar, at the very end of the film ZNMD.
What is a heart after all, if it is not burning after some fashion or the other. It is just a cold lump. Not much use. Cold and heavy and dead.
You know what’s playing now? “Plastic Heart.”
Only if someone chooses “Arsonist’s Lullaby” next.
This one person gave so much to me personally. A great deal.
This