Tequila Dream

I think you would like my Brother and Sister! My Brother writes a hilarious blog about being a teacher and the things that happen and my sister is an unbelievable singer songwriter. Both of them are incredibly talented and as such I have come up with a little experiment for us. 

I don't know a great deal about musical theory - but I've been thinking recently that if I could write some lyrics and put some chords to it, send them to Chris (Bro) and Shel (Sis) then they could independently write 2 melodies and - my hope is - they would be so compatible (as they would only be using the notes in the given chord scale) that it would make a great song!

Ambitious? Crazy?

Well they called Bobby Fischer crazy and.... oh wait!  (little chess joke there for anyone who is interested :-))

Where was I? Oh yes... I hear you ask why I would be the one who writes the lyrics and the chords when I've just explained that they are more talented than me. That's a good question and my answer is in 2 parts

a) Fuck 'em

b) It was my idea so please review point a!

So here is what they will be working with.

Maybe you want to play along too.

Tequila Dream

Verse

A                                              G                           A

We met in Texas when you asked me for the time,

A                                         G

Then you said, ‘Are you looking for fun?’

A

And we crossed the borderline

Chorus

E                              D                         A

It turned into a tequila dream in Mexico

E                                           D                               A

When you heard my song play on local radio

E                                  D                         A

You held me tight all night when you heard that tune

E                                              D                                 A

And for one night we were East of the Sun and South of the Moon.

Verse

A                                              G                                A

I sold my Daddy’s watch to buy you a diamond ring

A                      G

It meant everything to him

                        A

To you not a thing

Chorus

E                             D                       A

It turned into a tequila dream in Mexico

E                                                          D                     A         

When you wanted it fast and my body wouldn’t take it slow

E                                  D                     A

You told me that you would be leaving soon

E                                              D                                 A

But for one night we were East of the Sun and South of the Moon

Middle 8

G             D                            G                  D

Now I’m sat alone at the river’s bend

G                  D                G         D

I knew the dream just had to end

G              D           G        D

Another drink before I go

            A

And one more night in Mexico

Chorus

E              D                       A

I had a tequila dream in Mexico

E             D                    A

I had to stay but she wanted to go

E                                         D              A

She came and went , her heart was immune

E                                      D                             A

But that night we were East of the Sun and South of the Moon

Enjoy

Impossible Eyes

There are many ways to bleed
And I choose you.
In my many moments of need
I look for the blue
Of those eyes, those impossible eyes.

I am vulnerable when you hold me,
Protected and bare.
The midnight things you told me
And the devil you dare
With those eyes, those impossible eyes

When I lose it is for you
It's then I gave all.
For the only thing that's true,
Looking up from a fall
Is those eyes, those impossible eyes.

He Surrendered

When he told her he surrendered
He gave it all, has nothing more.
She says she doesn't know him
He's not the man he was before.

He whispers so she can't hear it
'I just need to feel you cry.
I'm not cruel, but I act cruelly.
And my soul can't tell me why.'

When he hurts her it is honest,
In her tears she has to care
He's not proud, yet in these moments
Loves her more than he can bear.

Some thoughts - fiction vs nonfiction

Fiction, as with all forms of art, has the paradoxical ability to illustrate life far more accurately than fact. It is through fiction, and the exploration of the deepest recesses of our imagination that we are able to conceptualize our yearnings for facts and design experiments for truth.

Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world. - Einstein

Fiction provides an arena to discuss the abstract. Concepts such as morality and social responsibility are better understood through the lens of fiction – it is a fool’s errand to try and label notions, born in subjectivity, as fact. Without fiction we wouldn’t have Great Expectations or To Kill a Mockingbird; both pieces of work are able to explore themes of culture, ethics, morals and emotions – the things that drive instances and events i.e. produce facts. In the worlds that authors create we are able to navigate through taboos such as murder and play out the consequences of it, given the tools to empathise with different situations and find common humanity in circumstance far removed from our norm. Fiction is our highest from of governance as it holds up a mirror to the world and asks us if we like what is reflected back.

If you wanted to learn about another culture, country or time then read their fiction. It will allow you to understand the psyche, the essence, the very soul of what you are trying to comprehend. You don’t need to revise battles, monarchs, scientific breakthroughs or legislative action, as these are all just byproducts of the narrative that fiction has woven into the fabric of their existence.

It is, therefore, no surprise that bookshops are split between fiction and non-fiction. NOT fact and non-fact. It is fiction that is the root, the dominant concept, and thus infers that there is fiction and there is the rest.

These thoughts only really came to me a couple of weeks ago as I was absent-mindedly looking through the shelves of a local bookshop. I suddenly ‘noticed’ how prominent fiction was and felt that I could learn about everything and anything in these pages. (Yes, I too am shocked it has taken me this long – considering I have been frequenting these places all of my adult life)

Of course it isn’t always our objective to try and understand the world every time that we pick up a book. We may just need a little escapism or to get lost in a different universe for a while. That, by the way, is the perfect reason to pick up a book. These books will still influence you though, they will change your view point and question your values. It’s unavoidable. We are taught that we are the sum of our experiences, and the words that you read are an enormous part of your experiences. A great book will change you and that is a good thing.

So next time you pick up a book make sure that you let it in. Fiction can teach us a thing or two!

They Matter to Me - Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde (1854 -1900)

It is a peculiar thing being an Oscar Wilde lover and, as such, I’ve felt a strange sort of pressure in getting this post right (truth be told this is my 4th draft). I think other Wilde fans will appreciate my plight with this quick summary of my thoughts;

Oscar Wilde isn’t an author/playwright/poet/wit whose books/plays/poems/quotes I pick from my bookshelves in order to have a jolly good read. He is more than this. He is a friend, someone that I know, someone that has shared their turmoil (De Profundis) and joviality (The Importance of Being Earnest) with me and listened attentively to my own.

Usually, when a person loves something, like an author, they glean great joy in introducing new people to their work and delve into passionate discussions about it. This doesn’t happen with Oscar Wilde! I will introduce people to his work and hope that they enjoy it but only on the (in my mind only) proviso that they acknowledge their enjoyment is of a much shallower sort than mine. How could they possibly understand Oscar Wilde like I do – after all he belongs to me, not them. They can laugh at his one-liners, be moved by his poetry, even pity the unravelling of his life – but they can’t have him. After all they aren’t ‘real’ fans. Not like me!

With that out of the way lets see why Oscar Wilde matters to me.

I’ve read it countless times that he was born in the wrong century. It is assumed wisdom that he would have thrived in the 21^st Century with our liberal values and more civilised outlook. I’m not sure this is accurate. You see, if he lived now then he wouldn’t have lived then, and it’s the effect that he had upon the Victorian world that has helped shape us into what we are today.

Oh how those Victorians didn’t know what they had!

How can one person write with such elegance and beauty as Wilde? In fact the writing is so brilliant that to quote Wilde is seen by all as not only erudite but as providing an unchallengeable truth. How often have we all ended a debate with Oscar Wilde says……

The inference being that if your opponent disagrees then clearly they are idiots because you can’t go against his genius.

I never saw a man who looked

With such a wistful eye

Upon that little tent of blue

Which prisoners call the sky,

And at every differing cloud that went

With silver sails by.

This stanza illustrates the ease with which Wilde can project you to a place by a flick of his pen. Who amongst us could do justice to the melancholic view that a prisoner holds, and so romantically. 

If you ever want to read a perfect love letter then look no further than the first couple of chapters of The Picture of Dorain Gray. Basil Hallward’s love for Dorian Gray is often over looked and very rarely surpassed in literature. The tragic echoes of Wilde’s own love for Lord Alfred Douglas (Bosie) seem too obvious to discuss. Or try not to view the world differently after reading The Happy Prince – Wilde’s flamboyance contrasted in the moral deficit of material wealth here.

He is often seen as the epitome of hedonism and class yet he wrote ‘The Soul of Man Under Socialism’ where he wishes to ‘reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible.’ People believe that he is arrogant and self-assured yet he sees his own flaws and addictions in De Profundis and is humble enough to try and exorcise them.  Complex and irresistible as he is.

Oscar Wilde matters to me because he is mine. He changed the world but more importantly he continues to change me.

Sometimes

Sometimes it’s enough knowing that it’s difficult.

Sometimes it’s not enough to cry

Sometimes it’s  easy to go along

Sometimes it’s hard to ask why

Sometimes I forget to tell you

Sometimes I know I don’t know

Sometimes I open the gates

Sometimes I don’t think I can show

Sometimes I’m scared of the darkness

Sometimes I’m glad that it’s there

Sometimes I’m two steps behind you

Sometimes I’m honest and bare

Sometimes I’ll say that I love you

Sometimes I’ll whisper it low
Sometimes I'll hold you forever
Sometimes I'll never let go

They Matter to Me - Edgar Allan Poe

Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849)

I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with Edgar Allan Poe.

Let me explain…

Fact: Poe is the master of rhythm and rhyme. His writing cuts through the perceived difficulties associated with poetry by grabbing the reader and giving them no option but to read exactly how he intended. This doesn’t happen with a lot of poets’ work. After reading a poem from Poe you feel like you have just been his puppet for the duration of the piece.

I love this. It makes him, all at once, a great introduction to poetry for anyone struggling with the genre and also a master of the demons of the mind.

I hate this. Because every time I read his work it makes me want to rip mine up – I have a very acute (and justifiable) inferiority complex with Poe.

Obviously when my Mum reads this she will tell me that my poems are better than his ever were and I’m her special little writer.  Usually I’m happy to believe this from my Mum – but regretfully not when it comes to Poe.

Let’s have a look at the start of his greatest work.

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore -
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door - 
Only this and nothing more."

See what I mean about rhythm and rhyme? It’s astounding isn’t it?

Imagine having the talent to write like that. His work seems natural and not to have any of the forced rhymes that creep into the poetry of us mere mortals.

Over the last 150 years he has become a beacon of damaged genius. Tragedy followed him throughout his life and he died far too young. The mystery surrounding his death has only served to enhance his reputation and provide an eerie context to his most tormented lines.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

God, that’s a great line! I never get tired of reading it.

It not just his poetry that is incredible either – without his character Auguste Dupin we would never have had Sherlock Holmes.

There is a common misconception that great writers can only be interesting on the page and not in their real life. Edgar Allan Poe disproves this as he lived many of the nightmares that he left us in print. I for one, will never get tired having a glimpse of the tortured mind that was able to fight through the darkness to stain his notebook with works like ‘The Raven’

Edgar Allan Poe matters to me because heroes should be out of reach.

I hope he matters to you (please feel free just to enjoy him and not have him damage your confidence though)