Electrique Ushers in the Third Age with its Glorious 32nd Album, "Kingdom Come"

With the recently released Electrique's second four-year greatest hits compilation "Forever Young" gaining critical acclaim from both long-time fans and new listeners, Electrique CEO Mr. Aldasiel wastes no time in basking in his success as he once again turns on his full gears towards his next project, "Kingdom Come" slated for release as early as July this year.

"This is the beginning of a new era in Electrique's career," Mr. Aldasiel announced in a press conference held in the more stable outskirts of his mind amidst an imaginary audience. "It's the beginning of the Third Age, this next four-year period, covering 2013 to 2017. It's daunting to imagine that I would be 32 by the time I release my third greatest hits compilation, and because of that internal pressure, I want my first album for this period to be a cut above my previous works. I want it to be definitive, this transition. With this new album, I want my listeners and fans to be shocked anew about the new heights I am still capable of achieving. I want to give them the impression that they really haven't heard anything yet. That I have much more to deliver."

Electrique received a renewed vigor after it released "Icarus" (2011), arguably its most successful album to date. Form then on, it continued its winning streak with album gems such as "Revelations" (2012), "Head in the Clouds" (2012), and "Electric Dreams" (2013), all gaining Electrique new fans and converting previous naysayers into thinking that this simple personal project is more than a whimsy and is really capable of producing something grand. Can Electrique really scale it up when it already has achieved so much when it comes to mixtape-making?

"'Forever Young' wasn't a difficult album to make since it was a greatest hits album. The songs were already there and mostly I just had to plan their lineup nicely. And the six new songs included there were already in my pocket and I had been simply biding my time until this season came around. So you can say that since "Viral", I wasn't really making a new album. And this is why I still have this pent-up energy and ideas within me to come up with some spanking brand new sounds."

Electrique's last official release, the aformenetioned "Viral", however, failed to achieve its namesake popularity. It received a mediocre reception, recalling the response of its listeners for "Drifter".

"I think the reason why "Viral" did not make it big was because it was essentially a feel bad album. I think it's my saddest album, despite the rampant sexual context. It starts warm and steamy but ends up cold and dry and lonely, and very few listeners will revel in that. Despite a few glitches towards the end, I still think it was a remarkable well-executed album in a thematic sense. It presents a solid story, complete with an emotional progression supported both lyrically and acoustically. However, it bogs its listeners down. Other than that, I admit that its making had been rushed. It ended up half-cooked.

"So I'm going to undo all this lull with this next album, "Kingdom Come". It's going to be about changes and transitions. As with my best works, I want to showcase this theme not only in the lyrics but also in the sound. I've been lucky to unearth some songs which sound fresh, and they're going to dispel the tiredness which permeated "Viral". "Kingdom Come", as the title suggests, is about hope. It is about getting back on track, so some songs in here are definitely paean in nature. But of course, the concept of hope is best executed through overcoming trials so there will also be some downers in here. Not very many I hope. Just enough to deliver my message effectively."

But how exactly will "Kingdom Come" sound? Electrique's recent albums can be roughly classified into two poles: the twangy acoustic ones ("Icarus", "Revelations", "Head in the Clouds") and the synthy electronic ones ("Drifter", "Electric Dreams", "Viral"). Which would it be this time?

"I'm excited with the sound of  "Kingdom Come" because it's a fusion of genres. The base of the songs here are of the usual indie rock/pop palette, but the overtones are liberally laden with synths for more texture. It's the first time I'm doing this, and the results are unusually good. It provided the much-needed freshness I'm aiming for with this record. Hopefully, I will win the hearts of those who like either genre. And of course, there's something new to the sound of the album as well but I won't reveal it at the moment. The title of the album also hints at this new... err, beat. There are so many facets to the title of this album."

As the press conference drew to a close, Mr. Aldasiel gave one last message to its longtime fans.

"You are in for a treat, my friends," he proclaimed while raising his arms in a warm welcoming gesture. "I want this album to be my best album, beating by leagues both "Icarus" and "Head in the Clouds". You will feel that this is indeed, a new era. A new level to sound. A new level to meaning. This is music which will make you feel giddy. Music which will not escape your ears for days maybe weeks. But the message, my dears... The message of this album will be the one which will truly last in your minds and hearts. Beat the drums and sound those trumpets, let our Kingdom Come!"

And with a last resounding hurray from the audience, Mr. Aldasiel retreated into the chaotic confines of his mind to work more on his self-proclaimed work of art.

A Gate Left Open

I was 18 when I first ran away from home.

It was during summer so I had no school and it started because of a rather silly issue. My family were in the living room, and my father was making a mock phone call to a cousin who I was close with. My father was calling my cousin names because my cousin was rumored to be gay, and of course that set me off. But it wasn't about my father's bigotry which irked me, and in those days I wasn't "out" with anyone anyway, even with myself. I got mad simply because he was making fun of one of my friends. That started a row. And at that time, my father and I weren't on the best of terms. Shouting arguments with him were not uncommon in my teenage years. He used to hurt me physically too but that night I remembered it wasn't one such.

As we were exchanging choice words, my father deflected the issue to more serious ones, telling me I was only mad at him like that because he couldn't give me the things I needed for school. He couldn't buy me a computer. He couldn't buy me books. He couldn't give me enough baon in the first place. And that surprised me, because even if what he said was true, I never took those things against him. I never resented him for those lacks, not even once in my thoughts. Besides, that wasn't the issue at hand. But he stayed adamant about his own beliefs of why I was mad at him. He went on with ruing the day he allowed me to go to UP because it allowed me to be rebellious, as he once feared. He said I shouldn't fight back. He did not want anyone questioning his authority. I retorted that if that was the case then he did not want a son but a slave. All this time my mother was just sitting there quietly. She never interfered when we were fighting. As our shouting drew to an end, my father gave me an ultimatum - if I don't like how he's running our household then I should leave the house.

And so the next morning, I did.

I slept in the living room that night. I sneaked out of my bedroom, bringing my pillows and blankets and some clothes and I hunkered down on the sofa for the night. I woke up early, and when I passed through our gate, I left it wide open to spell it out for them that I was gone.

Thankfully, I had some money with me at the time, enough for me to commute to one of my aunts who lived nearby. And when I reached her house, I told her simply that my father and I had a fight and I asked her if I could stay there for the night. She just looked at me and nodded, and thankfully she did not ask too many questions. I played with my younger cousins there all day and though there was a tightness in my throat, I somehow forgot my troubles.

The next day they went shopping, and they let me tag along. They were quite on the richer side of the family since my uncle was a seaman, and so I had a grand time pretending for a day that I was okay and that I wasn't starving like we were back home. My two cousins were tugging at my arms, leading me this way or that, trying to play with me at the mall and for a while I felt like they were my own family. And I wished they were.

I told my aunt that for that night, I will be staying at my other aunt's house because one of my favorite cousins was staying there for the night too. So we parted on the road and she gave me some money and as she looked at me to say goodbye she might have seen something in my face because she pulled me closer and said "Halika nga dito" as if she was about to give me a hug but then I was standing too stiffly and I hardly moved so the hug never materialized. To this day, I feel sorry that hug did not happen. Back then, I still wasn't used to receiving hugs and I still didn't know how to react to them.

My second aunt was a bit stricter and she had a little scolding prepared for me when I got there. It wasn't very bad though because it was clear she only meant well for me. I forgot the rest of what she said except for these words: "Kung may lungkot, may ligaya."

On hindsight, it wasn't really very helpful advice. It wasn't really special or insightful or anything, but I suppose it was just the way she said them which made those words very meaningful for me. She's arguably my favorite aunt, and that's something because most of my aunts are really great people. She was the one who kept marvelling at me and believed in me, and she's special because we lived in the same house where I grew up and so she was there with me since the beginning. "Bakit ang galing-galing mo Bryan?" she used to tell me, even when she was in the hospital, dying from cancer. And even while she was sent home after her chemotherapy to spend more time with her family, she kept on asking me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her not to busy herself with it but then she insisted because she said "Last na naman 'to" and of course I had to turn my back on her that time because I was already crying so bad. She died two days before my birthday.

Anyway, back to the main story, the next day, I decided to sleep at yet another aunt's house, this one farther, up in Kalookan City. And so I said my goodbyes to my cousins and took the long commute north. It was on one of the jeepney rides in this part of my journey when my resolve began to weaken. I was confused why that was so, since I was welcomed okay by all my relatives. I was fed and I had good company. And I had enough money to take me to my next stop. But that lump in my throat grew bigger and bigger and it was all that I could do to keep myself from crying right there in the jeepney. This particular moment remains vivid in my mind after all these years.

When I reached my third aunt's house, my mother had already gotten abreast of my whereabouts. It seemed that she had been calling my relatives, and my two aunts have told her where I had been and where I was going next. To my surprise, my third aunt wasn't a bit mad about making my mother worry so. It seemed that my aunts already know about these things and they think running away from home is no different from visiting on Sundays. Incidentally, the cousin I had defended from my father lived there. Though of course, I did not tell my cousin the details of why I ran away in the first place.

I could have stayed there longer but the next day was my mother's birthday, and truth be told I was already missing her badly. So it was then that I decided to go back home. My third aunt gave me some more extra money to see me safely back home, and since I almost never spent all the money my aunts gave me except for my transportation fares, I was able to buy my Mom a cup of Cornetto ice cream and a siopao from 7-11. I knew it wasn't much but that was all I could afford.

I suppose my third aunt rang up my Mom to tell her I was going back home so that probably lessened much of the awkwardness if I were to suddenly turn up back in the gate out of nowhere. It was my Mom who opened the gate for me when I knocked, and I was aghast at seeing black circles under her eyes. It was so surreal because they were so thick it seemed like she wore thick eyeliner. I quickly gave her my gifts, greeted her, and immediately went up to my room. The house was silent for the next few days, except for my brother's occasional outbursts of craziness. And from then on, my father had been more careful with his words when I was around.

My father slammed down his fist. He had been cruel and unfair. So I revolted. And when I came back after three days, I showed him who really won that fight. But of course, I couldn't bask in this glory for too long because after all, he was still my father. And worse, I'm afraid that what I did back then broke him up for good. To this day, he seemed a broken image of who he used to be. Now he's the one doing my bidding.

Our family was never the same since I first ran away from home. Worse in some areas, better in others. Truth is, reader, I wrote about this because I've been thinking of running away a second time. But this time, not because of domestic arguments. But because, I just want to escape from them all...

Run away from my family.

Run away from work.

Run away from my friends.

I want to go on this journey of sorts. And it's silly because that's how it is in books and movies. And it's sillier because I feel the same. I have this urge within me to drop everything and go out there. To try my luck. To do all sorts of things away from my comfort zone. To learn to really survive.

And you know, to live.

To really live.

The Difference

My contract in the university will be ending a few days from now, and though my superiors seem set on having my stay there extended, I am now (gasp!) having second thoughts. You see, this deal will not be sealed unless I go back to graduate school. And this involves a lot of paper work which I will have to follow through within this month. And if I don't do this then I will be free to find my own way. My chains will be severed and I'll be back to zero. And I'm twiddling my thumbs at the moment about it and I'm slowly running out of delaying tactics. Turns out I'm not wholly set on getting my degree after all.

As a compromise, I've talked my superior into changing my teaching status into part-time next semester, assuming that I will go back to UP for my MS. I did this partly because my work is stressing me out. And partly because I just feel the need to escape from this system somehow. And that's why I've been raving out my plans of becoming a part-time barista and my training to be a DJ in Facebook. But these are not mere noises, mind. I am dead set on these things. I have submitted my resume to Starbucks and is currently practicing being a DJ (I'm starting with a relatively simple software) on my spare time. Which makes me think now why is it that when it comes to things like these, I can discipline myself but when it comes to my MS, I somehow cannot?

I've been thinking about these things earlier and though I know that starting from scratch (and in a completely different field too) will be extremely difficult, but somehow, I don't mind. In fact, I'm quite excited about this prospect of laboring and working my way up again. I don't know. When I said I was sick of this system, it turns out that I really was and I do not want anything to do with it anymore. I want to wash my hands off it.

Now of course, I acknowledge that from the perspective of the majority and of the practical, my plan is foolhardy even at its best. Why the fuck would I throw everything that I have now away when it all it takes is a few more months of toil and I just might finally clinch that required graduate degree? Why throw away this chance of stability over a seemingly whimsical and risky endeavor? What the hell is wrong with me?

You see, this reaction comes from having the same view as the majority. And as I've demonstrated many times, I don't follow such conventions. I don't want it. And I'm only forcing myself to get what the others want me to have. So in the end, I don't get out of my way to grab it. I don't make an effort. Not because I'm lazy. But because I simply don't want it.

I've said this many times before and I'm saying it again - I'm not living for careers.  I live to find meaning. For life itself. And I know it sounds vague and pretentious for the normal person but really, we can go and have a conversation about it and you will see that this is not all fluff and nonsense. I've really thought it out and this is the way I want to live.

I want to be a barista because I want to seek balance in my life. Being a teacher (and a celebrated one at that) tends to overinflate my ego (if it hasn't already) and I want to keep this swelling of my head down to manageable levels. I want to learn humility. I want manual labor. I want to know how it feels to serve. My first year of teaching people older than me had been calling me 'Sir' and had been giving me respect I didn't really feel I deserved at such a young age. And it goes on up to now. Teachers are always respected. I know that we should be but I'm talking about my personal growth. It just isn't very healthy to be unduly respected all the time.

I want to be a DJ because I want to put my creativity into good use. As of now, they're dripping out of my system in the form of my mixtapes and my blogs and my other minor side projects and these are all very well since at least, I am able to let them out but I think it's high time for me to channel these urges into something more productive. I've always had good sense when it comes to music. And I love it so much I cannot just stand still and limit myself to appreciating it. I've tried my hand on playing instruments and I realized it's too late for me to become a passable musician. So being a DJ gives me hope. Maybe here, I can use this musical talent. Coupled with my love of dancing and playing loud music and parties and pleasing the crowd, I couldn't see anything more perfect for me other than to be a DJ. It fucking fits. It just fucking fits me.

These new interests give me life. They refresh me. And goodness knows I'm drying out. I need some vitality to keep me from being stuck in a depression. I need these things. For me to appreciate life more.

But my MS degree? Whenever I think of it, it never fails to sour my mood. It's a burden. It's a requirement for me. Not a passion. And it isn't like I need this degree to prove myself. Because the way I see it, this whole system seems like an extended version of high school. I think that I've reached the point when I don't need to prove myself anymore. I don't need these degrees or titles to make me happy. I've somehow grown beyond these things and now I'm running after the things which for me are more important.

It's just too bad that I have to give up teaching for a while. But it isn't like I'm closing my door on it forever. I just need to breathe. This year, I want to do things for myself. I have served eight fucking years and I deserve a break. I know that after a period of not teaching, I can really evaluate whether I'm dead set on being an educator. I think I caught it too much too early. I need a pause. I need to rethink. I need this break from my routine.

And I also need this break for me to clear my head so I can write better. I still haven't given up on this dream also. I need to widen my experience so I can write about more things. I want to do odd jobs so I can further develop my character.

I can already imagine how it would be if I get lucky in this new direction. I'll be going home, tired from my shift. I'll face my laptop to write a bit, letting my mind wander inside a rented room in a dingy city. On some nights, I might get a DJing gig and I'll be off to this bar. And I'll go home, a little tipsy and really happy. This is how I imagine my life to be. Not the conventionally boring one. I want a dynamic life. An artist's life. Not a scientist's life. Oh how I want that so bad.

That kind of life? That's home for me. That's what life is for me.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost

In the Dark Room

The last I watched a movie I was with someone I barely know. It was around a month ago, when I was in Dumaguete, on the first of two dates I've managed to mangle out of the city. The guy was okay, other than the silly hat he was wearing. But it was a failed date because there was simply nothing interesting happening between us. I would have responded if he held my hand when we were watching the movie. Or maybe if he placed his hand on my leg. He wasn't exactly a looker but he had a nice chest and the shirt he was wearing gave a nice view of it. Nice legs on him too. At the moment, I'm trying to recall his name. But I can't. Starts with a J? Or an A?

I've had lots of movie dates ever since I graduated from college and entered myself into the market. It's a safe thing to do when you're with a new guy. To pass the time if the date's not doing well. To fondle each other if the date's doing extremely well. And it's funny how some guys act differently when the lights go out. I remember my first date with this guy who works in the Palace. He looked so neat with his white long sleeves and crisp black pants. But he tried to slip his hand up my pants only a few minutes into the movie and almost forced me to kiss him then and there. He was really cute and I would have loved to ply my tongue on his but there were just too many people around. In the end we did kiss although I couldn't get comfy because you know, there are strangers two feet away from us. In all directions. We never dated again. But not because of that.

And there's this other guy who gave me a hand job while I struggled to shield my thing from prying eyes with my bag on my lap. It was good that the movie we were watching was an action movie, so any gasps and moans which might have escaped my lips can be interpreted as my surprised reactions on the film. It was still very risky though and as much as I would have wanted to spread my legs, fear and decency overcame me. Any minute I imagined security guards descending on us, flashlights quickly swerving on my exposed dick for everyone to see before it was unceremoniously kicked out of the doors with the rest of me. Which reminds me, is that a criminal offense? Will being caught in that appear in my records or something? I suppose I'm bound to find that out for myself anyway. Well, this happened every single time we had a movie date (we lasted weeks.) And it's funny because when we're alone in the room he isn't as horny. At least I was always hornier than he was.

And then there's this other guy who was a sex fiend and did me on the bus and other unlikely places and yet when we were in the movies he barely even looked at me. I kept running my hand on his arm and the most he would do was give my leg a squeeze. This time I wanted something. The movies are much more private than a bus zooming along Commonwealth. But nope, no can do for him.

But my dates with my boyfriends were always on the more serious and sweeter side of things. I don't know why, but somehow, I get this feeling a date's going to be great if the guy does not do anything fishy with me on the movies. My first boyfriend, I used to reach out for his hand in the movies when we were still new as a couple. And then after months, he began to reach for my hand too. And then our relationship became cold and we didn't hold hands anymore. Then we broke up and got back together again. And we came back to holding hands in the movies. When he's feeling cuddly he'd come rest his head on my shoulder sometimes. And I'd try not to move too much lest my sharp shoulder bones give him an injury.

My second boyfriend loved holding hands too. And we'll hold hands in the movie until they were decidedly warm and sweaty. And on choice parts, the tearjerkers mostly, we'd give each other's hands an extra squeeze until we're holding hands with increasing tightness as the movie ends. I'd find myself walking out of the cinema, working my hand and trying to get blood flowing back to it again. Hands severed due to fear of prying eyes around us.

My third boyfriend had no fear of prying eyes. Absolutely none. He'd kiss me in the lips in the middle of the mall. In its exact center, mind. And he'd hold my hand whenever and wherever he felt like it. We didn't last long but in the movies, I remember that at times he paid more attention to me than to what we're watching. He'd ask me if I'm cold. He'd check if I'm comfy. And when there's a hot guy on screen he'd get jealous and try to cover my eyes. Seriously. But that's him. That's his own brand of sweetness. No other guy paid as much attention to me as he did.

And of course, there's my dear Little Boy. We've watched quite a lot of movies when we were dating. To the point that we were counting the coin we have left between us just so we can watch this film on that night. Once, the attendants even asked us to leave less than 30 minutes into the animated film we were watching because apparently, the mall was on fire. Yeah. We had the tickets refunded the next week anyway and we watched the same movie and had a great time and I even cried.

I liked him a lot and of course I tried holding his hand in the movies but he's really tough and he wouldn't give in. Not in the first movie. Not in the second. Not in the third. I'd ask if I can hold his hand and he'd always raise his eyebrow as if that was out of the question. Then one time we were in the movies, with my hand hanging about, I felt his hand touch mine. Not hold, really. No fingers entwined. But it was a touch. An unmistakeable one. And I rubbed my fingers on his and he didn't move them away. I looked at him, a bit puzzled, but he was engrossed in the movie and I just smiled. Oh how I smiled. But he's gone now too. Like the rest of them.

And still there were times when I'd watch movies alone. Just me and my faithful Jansport backpack on my lap but not hiding anything. People around me but no prying eyes on me because there's nothing unusual to see. My hands hanging out on both arms of my seat, safe from being touched because the seats beside me are empty. No heads on my shoulder. No sweaty palms. No hands covering my eyes. Just me watching the movie, hoping against hope it will make me feel something again. Until the next guy comes around.

Forever Young

I find it funny that I'm writing this in the wake of my attempt to sequester some poison from the laboratory. It was right there in my hands, a kilo of it, crystalline and white, and all I had to do was scoop less than a handful, stow it away in a vial in my pocket, and move away while no staff was looking. But in that moment, I was paralyzed. I was half-laughing with confusion, to be honest, holding that bottle with slightly trembling hands. I knew then that I would be sealing my fate if I went on with my plan. And I realized there in the laboratory storage room, under those tired-looking fluorescent lamps, that distinct lab odor of various chemicals and with only the whirring of the exhaust fans to break the silence, that I was not ready. That no matter how much I have contemplated of killing myself, I still haven't thought it out thoroughly enough. And this makes me ashamed of myself somewhat.

I learned that it wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Hours before that, I realized that to commit suicide, you must turn off both your brain and your heart. You must not think. You must not feel. You must be a cold automaton to be successful. It must be a decision made in cold blood. And perhaps at that moment, I wasn't feeling numb enough. So I failed. Though I did note the exact shelf where that bottle of KCN lies for future reference.

I do not really understand why I get these urges. Sometimes at night, "I want to die" will suddenly play on repeatedly in my head. And it is all that I can do to keep myself on my bed, tossing and turning, knowing that the moment I got up and really did something about it, it might be my end. And it doesn't matter whether I had been particularly sad or happy that day. I could have had the worst day possible yet I wouldn't feel suicidal. There are triggers to it, that's true, but it isn't as obvious as "having problems" or "feeling sad". I've come to the conclusion that most likely, it is something in my genes which makes me have thoughts like these. In fact, I'm getting this feeling now that I've lived past my supposed death date. It's crazy I know, and I'm doing what I can, but I'm not sure whether trying to stop these urges will really help at all. It might be making it worse, for all I know.

The night before last I was making the artwork for this album. And I was browsing through my pictures, looking for suitable ones to be representative of what had gone on for the past four years and what I got from looking back at those events was amazement. From where I am now, I couldn't believe what I had accomplished just a couple of years ago. Look at those semender parties, for instance. I couldn't believe that I've really made them happen. Who I am now seemed but a faded relic of the storm I used to be. I made waves. I was a force. But now I've lost them all and I'm down in the dumps more often than not.

This album chronicles the best and the worst years of my life. And although it is mightily embarrassing to make a case study of oneself and promote it, I'm pushing through with this because like what I've said in a previous post, it is a life all the same. I might have been wishing for my own death for years now, but while I'm alive I'm really alive. And you can almost feel the passion oozing out of these songs. Think Tom Riddle's Diary. Really, these songs are my essence. It's Sir Bry 101.

I'm sharing this album for several reasons and to reiterate one of those, it is in the hope that you might learn something from what happened to me. We go crazy with books and movies, especially those that touch us so why don't we learn from the lives of our own real friends right? I can't make a book yet, much less a movie, but mixtapes are within my current capabilities so this is what I do. The songs might not be mine, but the way I compile them makes a work which is bigger than the sum of its parts.

This is not an attempt to glorify myself even if it does seem that way for those people who don't know me well. I keep putting my images on my albums simply because I do not want to be forgotten. If you doubt me, then let's have a chat about it. I can't explain further here. The universe knows I have had enough of unwanted attention.

I'm going to claim that "Forever Young", personal bias included, is my best album. And it should be, given that it's a compilation of the best songs I've found for the last four years. My first 4-year greatest hits album "Dusk at Red Island" (released last May 2009) focused more on love and my tumultuous relationships. And it's interesting that here in "Forever Young", my paradigm has shifted to more meaningful things. How I've established my identity. How I've started to make a change. Much deeper musings on love, life, and death. Others may claim that their best achievement for the past years had been graduating from grad school, getting this house or car, or finding the love of their lives. But for me, this album is all I have to show. It is the wisdom gained. The experience. The lovers. The friends. All here in this 80-minute album.

May you have an enjoyable ride through time with me while listening to the music here. This is my life I'm sharing here with you, and from a fellow human being, you couldn't ask for more.


Love,
Bry

Here is the link:
Download "Forever Young" HERE

I've fixed the link above. It now links to Hotfile. :)

Nu Porn

I'm tired of that same old porn. I'm tired of steamy bodies fucking each other senseless. I'm tired of pecs and abs and sculpted thighs, arms, and feet. Tired of dicks and balls and assholes and cum shooting all over the place. I'm tired of the sweat and the saliva, the moans and the lapping sounds. They're all very attractive to watch, when you're in that mood. But I'm old and I've been there and I'm telling you it's not as great as it looks. At least for me it isn't.

During my younger years I've wondered whether there was some kind of acting involved in porn. And I don't mean those posing as amateur or voyeur videos. That lust I see on their eyes - is that real? The way they kiss and devour each other - do they really mean it? I've always wanted to be considered cool and being cool, in my book, includes sleeping around and having sex left and right but I've never made myself act like what they do in those porn movies. Some porn movies attempt to inject some semblance of a story in their plot but in the end it boils down to stranger meets stranger, then they fuck. Well, I've been there, and I've fucked with strangers but somehow, I've never managed to match that level of raunchiness those porn stars display.

Everyone needs some sex, sooner or later, unless one is a virgin, asexual, or a plant. Those who are claiming otherwise are either hypocrites or are talented enough to completely curb their basal instincts. And I've met men and women who are prudish on the outside but go on like rabbits when the lights are off. I suppose that for such people, porn movies seem real to them. When you've been bottling up your lust for other people to see, once you let go, I suppose you just kinda explode and you become this animal on the bed. I think I envy those people. Because even if their lives are twisted in this manner, at least they get to feel white hot. Me, I can only manage a yellow flame these days. It leaves me dirty. Sooty. I want to feel white hot too just because I want to feel it all. I want it all.

Not having a boyfriend means resorting to casual sex when you're lucky. If you're not, then it's just you and your hand. But since I'm adept enough when it comes to these things, I've somehow managed to have sex with men hotter than I am. And when you've been there and you've had those men, those porn movies somehow lose their potency. It's like watching a romantic movie when your own love story is so much better. They lose their sense of fantasy, and that takes out much of their vile charm. At times, I wish I hadn't sought after and scored with those men. Maybe I'd still have something to look forward to.

But of course, I still watch porn. Sex is a need as much as hunger or thirst is. You won't be satiated for long. But the kind of porn I like now are those where men kiss like they're really a couple. Like they're in love. The way they look at each other sends me jitters down my spine. The way they smile and hold hands. The way they embrace each other. The way they make love. And I... I miss those days when I'm being intimate with someone I have an affection for. This new kind of porn - it's not sexual porn. It's emotional porn. And unlike the former, this is much harder to find in real life. You can have sex with a hot guy as long as you're persistent enough. But love? This is much harder to find and maintain. And I think that for me, this will remain to be a fantasy.

For now, at least.

Fade to Gray

I'm not really certain what other people make of me and my mania for making mixtapes. Not that I really care about what those other people think. I only want to know because I always want to assess myself and the things I do. I want to try and see it from the perspective of others so I'd have a more balanced view of me and the many silly things I do.

At the moment, I am listening to Youth Group's "Forever Young", the title track for my upcoming second 4-year greatest hits compilation to be released next month and with this song, somehow, I am given this overwhelming notion that making mixtapes and sharing them with others has been one of the most meaningful decisions I have made in my whole life. More than choosing to be an educator for instance. More than my passion to make a change in this world. Mixtapes might seem to be a very small thing compared to my other passions, but it is somewhat more intrinsic. That no matter what occupation I might find myself in, no matter what instruments might come into my hands to further my nonpersonal goals, this "art" will allow me to touch others in a way which few others can. Other factors in my life might have been incidental but this one, perhaps, I can claim to be truly mine. And don't mind Charlie because I did this first.

I had always been puzzled why others don't do this. Why others (seemingly) let their years wash by them without leaving a permanent mark. I wonder what they use to mark each year and all the experiences, thoughts, and memories which go with it. Pictures are all very well, and perhaps they might even be effective in some cases, especially if you're going to make albums out of them, but I think that's different from creating something out of your experiences. It's not really something you can share to strangers, especially if you're only taking pictures of yourself. Well, you can of course, if you're going to push it. But my point is what will I get out of looking at your pictures other than being happy for you? I want to be affected and moved. I want to get something out of your experience, and this something I hope I can find useful for my own life. I'm not sure about this, but I'm getting the sense that other people do not even have this need to learn from others in this way.

Another way to accomplish this would be by writing, and I'm thankful I'm connected to some friends who do just that. Those who write beyond making mere diary entries. Those who aim to impart something to their readers. It's just refreshing to be in some other people's shoes for a while. Refreshing to delve into their minds and immerse myself in how they think and interact. Again, this building frustration at why most people I know do not do this. I would have loved to be in your head for a while you know.

I don't know why others don't get this but despite the sheer effort I put into making each one of my compilations, at the end of the day it's all so overwhelmingly worth it. That even if no one gets to listen to my albums, the fact that I was able to make something out of these thoughts and emotions is so fucking worth it. And if I'm getting this gratification now, what more in the years to come? When I'm more worn and frayed, all I have to do is select an album and I'd be instantly transported to this particular phase of my life and I'd get this sense that what an amazing life mine had been. And what more if I play them consecutively? Before my time is up, I'd make certain I get the time to listen to all of my albums one last time.

It will be such a barrage of information though, if I do that. With each song playing, names and faces come cascading down on my head and I'm not sure I'd be able to handle them all at one go and I'm not certain now why I'm telling you these things because what I want to do is to convince you to start making mixtapes and telling you that these songs can make you cry might make you think otherwise. Really, reader, I wish you could feel what I feel right now. This sense of... I don't know. A sense of a life lived. Shared. And sometimes reader, I do question why my life should be shared. Though I'm certain that the emphasis is not on it being my life but just that it is a life all the same and we must make the most out of it and I can't understand why others don't get this.

I don't understand why others don't feel death breathing down our necks and that we must go now and do things and record things while we can because we may not all be given the chance to leave something behind for those who will come after us and though compiling songs might be such a silly thing this is still what I can do well and I'm certain someone somewhere will get me and will be affected by what I do.

I don't understand why most people are so selfish they focus instead on things which won't really last like money or jobs or material stuff. I don't understand why they can't see what I see and that I have to resort to blog things like this, explaining away the weird things I do when in a more advanced, a more ideal society things such as these would have been normal and self-explanatory and though I'm going to admit to you, reader, that I'm beginning to dislike where life is taking me because it is making me follow the rest of this blinded foolish society and the current is so strong I'm afraid it might wash away the things which make me me, including making these mixtapes, including blogging, and others might understand what I'm getting at but they will be helpless all the same and they'd leave me struggling to keep my identity because they were once like me but they've now faded into the gray.

Why have you let them do this to you? Was it worth it? Tell me. Was it worth it to lose who you really are just to go with their flow?