Dance Dance Dance

Dance Dance Dance

Haruki Murakami

So what’s it about then ? I only have a vague idea. Is it any good ? Oh yes. Very good. I liked this book a lot. The story made me smile. It made me feel very sad but every now and then Murakami lets a ray of light pass through the story.

The book begins with the narrator dreaming of The Dolphin Hotel. A hotel he had visited four years previously. He dreams of the hotel and of some one there crying for him. He thinks of the woman he spent time with at the Dolphin Hotel. An enigma answering to the name Kiki. He decides that he must go back to the Dolphin Hotel. Find Kiki again. Dance Dance Dance is at its most basic level a search for friendship, companionship and love. The narrator moves from one setting to the next befriending people, connecting and all the while searching for Kiki. The one he lost, the one he let get away. Just one of the many that he has lost and just as always convinced himself that it wasn’t important. He comes into contact with a psychic 13 year old girl, an old class mate from school who is now doomed to play doctors and teachers in day time soaps, a one armed poet and the sheep man who tells him to dance. Keep on dancing. Something he tries to do to the best of his understanding and ability.

The book is also a strong statement on the capitalist leanings of modern society. Go ahead and put everything on that expense account. From high class call girls to dinners to fees for chaperoning your daughter. Everything can be put on your expense account and everything can be written off. Still, for the narrator it becomes more and more difficult to write off the expenses of his life.

Murakami writes with such a laid back sense of style that it becomes almost impossible to put this book down. Murakami excels in creating set pieces with two of his characters. The interactions, the oddities of every day life as portrayed through his characters have a strange sense of magnetism. The narrator’s relationship with the receptionist at the Dolphin Hotel is the lynchpin of the book. The slow setting of terms and the formal intimacy that develops between them is beautifully written.

In the end, Dance Dance Dance is a story of love, friendship, missed opportunities and a longing for something better out of life. All told in an unbelievably imaginative style. A great story told beautifully.

The Crossing Guard

As a rule I give right of way to the pedestrian. This has made me see something. When it’s a couple about to cross the road. I stop. Let them cross even though the male has made no move to cross. The woman is happy, smiling, the man looks fucking pissed. I even get the occasional mouthed thank you from the woman. The man is surly, disgruntled. Every time. Every fucking time. Why ? Have I hurt his ego ? Like fuck man, I could be running over you.. Won’t hurt to show your gratitude fucking scum. Learn something from the women who walk by your side.

Junkyard Dog

The sun is bright today. The sky blue. A nice day you would think. It gets better. There’s a cool breeze blowing and the colour of the sky is not just blue. Its brilliant. The streets are less noisy, the smoke a little thinner. It doesn’t burn when you’re stuck in front of Symphony at 2pm. Its like people have noticed and every body is just a little more gentle. The coffee is less bitter, the cashier a bit more efficient, I should go to Kohinoor one of these days. Too long. I mosey along. Everything’s okay. For now at least. A brief respite from the junkyard dog that is life. Life doesn’t bite today. In my head I jump in the air and click the heels of my shoes against each other. Today I’m Gene Kelly and nothing can stop me.

Nithya

<>”This place, daddy, there’s something not right about this place.” You’ll get used to it child. It won’t matter after a while.” “Will we be here long daddy ?” “Yes.” “Will I be going to school ?” “No.” “I think I can get used to this place daddy.” A smile on her face. Her daddy looked down at her. A tall bespectacled man with what he hoped was a smile. “I hope so Nithya. I hope so.” Her daddy never called her by name and now, Nithya felt a special glow inside her. She loved her daddy. And so they walked. Side by side. They walked, a whisper of love in every step.

The landscape changed around them, the light gave way to a gloom. Nithya walked closer to her daddy now. Even reaching out for his hand. He held her hand and she felt a lot stronger but the gloom was thick. Nithya was scared but she couldn’t stop walking. Her daddy’s silence gave no room for her questions.

His pace picked up and she could feel her daddy leaving her behind. She quickened and half ran. She kept up with her daddy but only just. There were others there now. Not a lot of them but they were there. Sitting, standing, playing the accordion. Nithya looked and her four year old brain screamed at her, telling her this place was bad. Telling her to shout for her daddy to stop. Turn back, she’d go to school, she’d cook for him, anything for her daddy if they could just go back. She was scared. More scared than any child should ever have to be.

The father slowed his pace and came to a halt. Behind him, Nithya in her terror almost stumbled into him. There were people here too. Walking about, some looking at them with frank comprehension, some ignoring them and some looking at them like they were dinner. “Where are we daddy ?” “Home, child.” “ Daddy, I don’t like these people.” He looked down at his daughter. His eyes filled with the pain of an eternity of loss. His daughter. If there was one thing he could do, it would be to take her away from here. She did not deserve this. Yet, he was powerless. He spoke and his voice held steady, gentle. “They are just like us Nithya. You have nothing to worry about.” Nithya believed in her daddy more than anything else. She believed him now too and was satisfied. If her daddy thought it was all right then she was sure that it was so. Again, her curiosity took over her fear. She had to ask for the entire concept was still new to her. “Just like us ? Ghosts daddy ?” “Yes.”

The national anthem

The guitarist sits on his chair. Legs crossed. Plays the national anthem. Sounds very nice. I know I should stand. I can’t be bothered.

Woman

< style="font-family: arial;">Mother daughter sister wife.
Lover friend nun whore
All of them. Some of them. None of them.
Makes no difference.
Woman. You fascinate me.

grit, fire and Kashmir

Like grit on the middle of my tongue
Like fire on my lips
Like Kashmiri marijuana rolled clean and thin.
I cannot decide if I love you or not.

the desiccated man

His hand cuffed to the wall. His bare torso shows the mark of inexperienced torture. Torn skin. Broken ribs. His head. Its like he’s looking at me. His legs have long since given up. Withered away below him. Starting to separate at the waist. And yet his chest moves. The wonder of breath. His chest still moves. Against all logic. He lives. Three months now. Three months they’ve kept him here. He refuses to talk. He refuses to die. The science of torture is not vast. There is only so much you can do before a person dies. Everything has been done to him already. A human oddity. He scares me. Looks like he could jump up any minute and strangle me. He does not speak. Just looks at me. Planning his revenge. Waiting for his time. I motion the constables to free him. Help him till the doctors get here. He doesn’t say a word. I can only pity the fools who tied him up here.

streets

I walk. Its dull and cloudy and the sky threatens rain. I love this weather. I stop by my favourite book store, looking to buy a book. Any book. Have money, will spend. I do that quite often. A man stops me and asks for directions to the closest cinema hall. He’s from the north as he puts it. Here on work but work got over early. Now he has the rest of the day to kill and loneliness to combat. I tell him how to get to the multiplex which is an hour away. There are 3 theaters within 5 minutes of where we stand but what’s the fun in that ? A little girl passes by trying to sell roses to a foreigner. She should be in school but what you gonna do ? The lady buys a rose, the girl is ecstatic. I walk the pavement bumping into an occasional shoulder, exchanging glances with the occasional woman, slithering past humanity just as they slither past me. The homeless man is trying to light a discarded cigarette butt. I always think that I should give him a smoke but I never do.

I walk past Elvis offering up kati rolls and come across another old man. Lighting his beedi. Like the old man in Oliver Twist he has a brood of boys who run the parking lots. The BCC will scrap all paid parking in the city. What happens to these people then ? I rejoice at not having to pay money to park but what happens to these boys ? Mostly young men, boys who will now actually have to work for a living.

The sky opens and rain comes. A light gentle drizzle. Quickly turns into fat drops of water landing on my head. I feel like dancing. I jump into a puddle and splash water. The parking attendant looks at me. Impossible to read his expression. Probably thinks I’m high.

I reach my bike. Too soon. I washed my bike yesterday. It was gleaming. I love her. Quite completely. The rain has brought dirt on my bike. I should be angry at the wasted effort and I should rail at the Gods who would condone such an atrocity but it’s the rain and all I can do is smile. I will wash my bike again.

the book burner

A man burns books on the footpath. We go up to him and ask what he’s burning. Hitler he says. Half a dozen copies of Mein Kampf are ablaze. “Are you a Jew ?” we ask him. He says Yes. We apologize and walk away not knowing what else to say.

Republic Day holiday. Nice peaceful lazy day. Spent it at home watching movies. Dark Waters came first. Creepy Japanese horror where atmosphere is queen and shadow king. I don’t get the Japanese obsession with apartments and little children but they make it work. Hell, water dripping from the ceiling becomes scary. I liked. Next was Romero’s Bruiser. This film had its moments but the slow pacing made it a chore to sit through. Still, not bad at all. Finally, Takashi Mike’s Visitor Q which you can be sure I’ll have more to say about sooner or later. Right now I don’t know what to make of this film. A work of art or garbage with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. You’ll know soon enough Dear Diary.

Look World

<>I want to write but can’t
I want to watch a movie but won’t
So I do what I do best
Excrete

I’m shitting on you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

world shifter

I sit in fear. Fear, hope, loathing and expectation. All together. I look at the remains of last night. There’s a swig of Imperial Blue left over in the bottle. An oversight I correct. The morning sun streams in through the window. The curtains are drawn, windows shut but I cannot keep the sun out. Too much to ask for. Too lazy to board the windows. I take what I get. I light up and wait for the fear to go away. Maybe today I’ll go to Manali. I’m calm now. I take a drag, a few drags, the fear vanishes. Replaced by a feeling of inadequacy. Not enough, never enough. I stand and dare to look out the window. The world comes crashing in. The sounds of people, the blaring noise of civilization. I draw the curtains. Take another drag. Tonight I will board the windows. Not ready for this. Not yet. The sun continues to creep in.

The voices will soon be back. Any minute now. A man, a woman, sometimes many, sometimes just the woman. I hate them all. They scare me. The woman with her words of re-assurance. Again and again. Telling me things will be all right. They won’t be. Now or ever. I wish she would stop. I wish this would end.

I can feel the world moving beneath my feet. I have no place here. So scared. I light another. A crutch but it’s all I have. This crutch is my friend and it does not scare me. The world moves. I tremble. I fall. I cannot lift myself up. I see the smoke go up and disappear. I see the shards of glass from where the bottle fell. I crawl further in. I cannot. The world trembles, the world heaves the world rejects me.

Light. Slow but its creeping in. Light. The curtains do nothing. I should have boarded the fucking windows. Light. My world is becoming brighter by the second. The ground beneath me heaves and shudders. I scream. The light invades my world. I scream. The woman in my head is screaming too. An audio collage. A million different voices in my head. The woman. So loud. She shrieks. She moans. The ground beneath me is solid no longer. I slip and slide. My efforts to crawl back in are pathetic in the face of this world shifter. The woman screams again and again and again.

The world pukes me out. I scream.

to dust

She stands. Naked and fearless. Arms reaching out. A smile of such beauty on her face that I cannot help but stare in open mouthed wonder. Her long golden brown hair flows down her back. She stands resplendent. A thing of incomparable beauty. This is a dream. I go to her. She embraces me. I loose myself in the smell of her hair, in the touch of her skin, in the arch of her neck. Oh beautiful swan, this must be a dream. Every touch is a message of electricity. She burns me. I float on her eyebrows. I rest on her shoulder. I trace a line on her neck. She runs her fingers over my face. My knees give way and I crumble to dust.

Randomize

I wait for the black car. Another evening of snooker and coffee. The development of a pattern. I need some excitement in my life and not the “lets climb a mountain variety” but more of a “tie me up and ravish me you vicious angel” sort of excitement.

I met a girl who uses the word thingamajig in normal everyday conversations. First time I’ve heard someone actually say that. I like her.

A friend complained about the logic gaps in Kill Bill Vol.2. I wasn’t sure how to react to that. Uma Thurman was nominated for a Golden Globe. Now that was a bit much. She looked incredibly pretty through both movies but a Golden Globe for Kill Bill ? Bit much I think. She didn’t win so its all to the good I guess.

I saw Elaan. Mithun rocks. He has so much presence he just takes over the movie. I was actually waiting for him to pop up on screen. Awesome. Arjun Rampal’s another actor I like. I thought he was very good in Moksh and he’s always come across as being quite competent. No different here. Chunkey Pandey returns from Bangladesh’s film industry but he’s still as irritating as ever. Amisha Patel is very pretty but she’s also incredibly irritating. The rest of the movie is kind of crappy though. Still good time pass for 20 bucks.

Next up I want to see Anurag Kashyap’s Black Friday and Bhansali’s Black. No, dear diary the two movies have nothing to do with each other.

I also saw Ocean’s 12. Not as much fun as the first movie but pretty decent. Some completely bizarre WTF moments helped.

I meet Ms. Thingamajig again tomorrow. That should be interesting.

Cold

The word that comes to mind the most when describing Lycia is ethereal. If ethereal wasn’t so filled with pretension I’d use it too. A 2 member dark wave band, Lycia are mellow, melancholic and quite beautiful. They’re sort of like the gathering but not really. There is an aspect of film soundtrack to their music. Describing it is quite difficult.

<>Its like you’re riding a gentle wave and by the time Cold draws to end you’ve drowned in that gentle wave. Still pretentious but true.

I'm Alive

I have this sudden inexplicable urge to cut myself. I think I’m going insane. Not hurtling down but more like crawling inch by little inch into insanity. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing. I feel like a piece of driftwood except I know my destination. There’s nothing I can do to change direction. A feeling of complete helplessness.

The blood trickles down my stomach. A cut just below my left nipple. Cut myself and wonder if the rusty blade will infect me. I look down at the thin stream of blood in wonder and awe. I taste my blood. A little bitter a little woody. A little stale a little salty. Just like I thought it would be.

I lie stretched out on my bed. My wife sleeps unknowing. Dreams sweet dreams maybe. I haven’t felt this alive in years. I cut myself again. A tiny pansy little cut on my right shoulder. It bleeds. I bleed. I want to wake my wife up and shout at her, “Look. Look! I’m alive.” I put on some clothes and walk out the door.

Killing Joke

< style="font-family: arial;">I’ve been on a huge Killing Joke trip this week. Started with Nighttime, after which I went back to Democracy and then listened to Extremities, Dirt and Various Repressed Emotions and Pandemonium back to back. 4 albums into this band’s massive discography I am yet to hear two albums that sound similar. All four of these albums kick some serious ass in completely different ways. Pandemonium is my current favourite. It reminds me of a more melodic slightly laid back Ministry. There are another 4 albums to go with this band and then I have to hunt down the stuff I’m missing. Still can’t get a handle on this band. I should stop trying.

Kings And Queens

Would you like some turkey for dinner ? Roast or Cold ? You can pick.

Killing joke is one weird band. I cannot figure them out. Vocalist Jaz Coleman is reputedly a nutcase who only brings the band together when he’s pissed off enough at the world to record. I have eight of their albums now and the two that I’ve got down to hearing, Democracy and Night Time are nothing alike. It could be two different bands. Democracy is harsh rock n roll with Coleman sounding like a slightly melodic Lemmy and the band reminding me of Warrior Soul while Nighttime is so 80s disco played in a rock format. Both albums are great but both albums are nothing like each other. I cannot get a handle on this band. Considering the time between those two albums I guess the band just evolved. Also, they’re supposed to be a huge influence on Prong and a whole host of alternative rock bands who started in the 90s. I should get down to listening to the other albums one of these days. I like Nighttime way more than I like Democracy.

crap

Yes – Relayer

About 5 minutes into this album it is apparent that Yes are to blame for every prog rock widdly widdly wank wank band there is today. That alone should be enough to never listen to this band again and pretend that it does not exist. When I want self indulgence I’ll listen to Sutcliffe Jugend. This is utter nonsense. The vocalist makes me feel like beating somebody up. The songs are so fucking long its not funny. This is only the second Yes album I’ve heard. The first was Tales From The Topographic Ocean. A sprawling 2 CD affair that went nowhere. Relayer has 3 songs at a playing time of 40 minutes. The first song is a little more than 20 minutes while the next two are a little less than 10 minutes each. I cannot imagine ever listening to the entire album in one sitting.

Yes ? NO.

Dawn Of The Dead

I saw the remake over the weekend. The original bored me a good deal except for two scenes. One when the cops find a whole bunch of zombies and then have to massacre them all and the second when the white cop is slowly changing. Both those scenes were quite powerful but the rest of the movie just bored me. The new movie has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Utter crap. I’d rather watch dough fall into biscuit trays.

Hunger

No one cares no one cares no one cares anymore
We’ve overslept another armageddon.

When I want to puke and nothing comes out, Two Fingers up the throat is the cure
When I want to write and nothing comes out, Lux Occulta is the cure

I love being me. I have a cure for everything.

Chronicles Of Riddick

I saw this over the weekend. I haven’t enjoyed a big Hollywood film in a while. Like Conan The Barbarian with spaceships, the movie is dumb, violent and a lot of fun. There’s some story about these Necromongers and the planet of Hellion Prime or maybe its Helliom but I don’t remember right now. Not important. The Necros evil as they are want to take over the planet Prime. Riddick is the one man who can defeat the Necros and so he does. There’s some side story of a boy from pitch black who turned out to be a girl and grew up wanting to be just like Riddick. Did you just say “WHAT THE FUCK!” dear diary ? Anyway she’s rotting in jail and Riddick finds time to rescue her in between kicking Necro ass. The fights are superbly done. What a trip. Vin Diesel has a lot of screen presence. He can’t act but he’s a believable tough guy and he uses it to his advantage. The only irritating part is Dame Judi Dench. She reminds me of Raakhi. Another woman who I cannot imagine ever being young and desirable. Anyway, the Dame is an elemental. She calculates events in the universe and gives you odds on what might happen. She can also disappear and reappear at will. She has the plastic grin on her face right through the movie. Riddick defeats the bad guys, kills the head of the Necros, The Lord Marshall and since the Necros keep what they kill, Riddick becomes ruler of the Necros as the film draws to a close and the camera moves to the same fucking plastic smile of Dame Judi Dench. They could have made the movie a little shorter but all in all the movie made little sense but kept me entertained almost all the time.

Bored. I cut myself again because I’m so fucking bored. Acid Bath is quite quickly replacing everything. What a band.

Midnight and the street is quiet for once. Any minute now I’ll hear it. A car. It blended well with Missa Solemnis. Quiet night. Sunday night. The city goes to sleep early Sunday night. Most of it maybe none of it.

This is the last hour of the carnival
I dance I dance though it hurts
Hangman’s rope suits well every gentleman
Madam you look charming that necklace of blood.

This is the last hour of the carnival
I dance I dance though it hurts
I dance I dance though it hurts

People say there’s a day after every night
People say there’s a sun behind these clouds
What a relief
What a relief

I drink to that
Pour me the glass of poisoned wine

What a relief
What a relief
This is the last hour of the carnival
I dance I dance
Though it hurts
This is the last hour of the carnival
I dance I dance
Though it hurts

People say there’s a day after every after every night
What a relief

I typed the words out as the song played and did a damn good job of it. Only three mistakes. I’m proud of myself. This is how jobless I am. I could read but no mood. I could watch a movie but no mood. Fucking jobless idiot.

Hollywood is making a movie of The Chronicles Of Narnia. I wonder if anyone will look at that title and go “Hey, let’s go watch Vin Diesel kick some alien ass.”