A Morning On A Day Off
He barely ever sleeps before midnight, but he did. He wishes he didn't. Wouldn't have woken up before break of day then. But he did.
So he rolled out of bed, and flipped on a movie. Some foreign film, no subtitles (he gets by without it). He thinks he hears the same word being repeated through what passed to be the dialogue. Something that sounded like "kimochiii".
The sun crept up the sky. He went out to buy himself some breakfast, and the day's papers to pore over.
The sun crept up the sky. He made himself a drink. Sunrise to greet the morning.
Joao Gilberto stirs the air with her languid vocals, invoking quiet thoughts and quiet dreams.
Quiet thoughts.
Quiet dreams.
He thinks, knowing even as he thinks that he thinks too much. He dreams, but he dreams too much as well.
He sits, he ponders, and he writes. He writes about sitting and pondering.
He could just walk out, get into his car, and leave. Head somewhere, anywhere but here. And spend the day thinking and dreaming still, just somewhere else.
He could slip into deliberate misdemeanour, provoking the holidaying drones into shock, disgust, and perhaps even amusement. Maybe even find himself starring on YouTube.
He could take to the streets with a big bunch of balloons, handing them out to random people - foreign, local, young, old, even bumi or non-bumi. He would wish them all a nice day and ask only that they pass on a smile to someone else today.
Sponsors for balloons, anyone?
Still he sits, he ponders and he writes. And he writes about sitting and pondering.
So he rolled out of bed, and flipped on a movie. Some foreign film, no subtitles (he gets by without it). He thinks he hears the same word being repeated through what passed to be the dialogue. Something that sounded like "kimochiii".
The sun crept up the sky. He went out to buy himself some breakfast, and the day's papers to pore over.
The sun crept up the sky. He made himself a drink. Sunrise to greet the morning.
Joao Gilberto stirs the air with her languid vocals, invoking quiet thoughts and quiet dreams.
Quiet thoughts.
Quiet dreams.
He thinks, knowing even as he thinks that he thinks too much. He dreams, but he dreams too much as well.
He sits, he ponders, and he writes. He writes about sitting and pondering.
He could just walk out, get into his car, and leave. Head somewhere, anywhere but here. And spend the day thinking and dreaming still, just somewhere else.
He could slip into deliberate misdemeanour, provoking the holidaying drones into shock, disgust, and perhaps even amusement. Maybe even find himself starring on YouTube.
He could take to the streets with a big bunch of balloons, handing them out to random people - foreign, local, young, old, even bumi or non-bumi. He would wish them all a nice day and ask only that they pass on a smile to someone else today.
Sponsors for balloons, anyone?
Still he sits, he ponders and he writes. And he writes about sitting and pondering.
Quiet nights of quiet stars
Quiet chords from my guitar
Floating on the silence that surrounds us.
Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams
Quiet walks by quiet streams
And a window that looks out on Corcovado
Oh how lovely
Antonio Carlos Jobim : Corcovado
14 Comments:
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poor thing, why dun u join ur fellow indian pals at batu caves?
i'll sponsor baloons! i just can't blow helium into them to make them float. nobody wants a balloon that doesn't float. =(
He goes online. He logs onto his favourite hookup sites.
"Care to be fren?" a window pops up hopefully.
"Stats pls," he replies.
He finds and filters. Sifts and sorts. Searching profiles and exploring opportunities at broadband speed. Separating the can-do from the are-you-kidding-no-fucking-way-in-hells. Time passes. Shadows shift.
He picks.
"See you in an hour," he types and logs off. It's done. Exhausted, he sits. And ponders.
"I do hope he'll douche first."
I thought that was Astrud Gilberto, no?
... somehow could relate to wat u are writing... in similar mood i suppose...
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..
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Xavier
GASP. Pondering and writing? Not at work at the moment?
Aii..one of my favourites, particularly the bi-lingual version by Laura Fygi.
Quiet nights of quiet stars... - What a truly evocative line. :)
khalel:
Really? Thanks :-)
mARCus:
Why? Were you there?
ash:
Whee! I wish I can blow helium. Then I can:
(a) blow balloons that float; and
(b) talk like a chipmunk
Jay:
You once said, "I'll still be annoying your blog and bringing down the tone"
Boy, you weren't kidding ;-)
thompsonboy:
Oops! You are absolutely right! Haha. I guess I was more stoned than I thought :P
The track I was playing featured both Astrud and Joao on vocals, but Joao's a 'he'.
Xavier:
In the mood for quiet? Hehe. Just kick back and relax
savante:
It is a public holiday in several states AND the FT...
Spot:
Laura Fygi's good. But nobody's quite like Astrud Gilberto when it comes to bossa nova :-)
I am lost.
Astrud Giberto is a regular collaborator of Jobim, who is the original composer... I think.
beautiful expression, nicely written.... :o)
I was also going to try to lower the tone by saying something about being an early riser.. but after where Jay left the tone, could it get any lower :)
Anyway, there's just something about early mornings and having the world to yourself for a few minutes that makes you ponder. I must admit, I like it.
and where is the updates?
Xavier
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