I'm Not Asleep, My Eyes Are Just Closed

Music Editors - in the days when they wore loose jeans This month has been devoted totally to the awesome goodness that is Editors (not the) whose addictive tunes and passionate delivery have made me swoon in musical delirium. Thanks to the fan forum on the official website (yes, yes, I go to forums now, let’s leave it at that) and their plethora of hardcore and tech-literate fans, there is an abundance of live footage and live recordings of the band’s performances for one to covetously download and savour. (Especially when yours truly has little chance whatsoever of seeing them live). So, when I'm not skulking on the interweb, I'd be enjoying some of the gems below: 1. Fall (live video recording Pukkelpop Festival 2005, Belgium; London Calling 2005, Netherlands) On record, 'Fall' is hypnotic, morose and almost ponderous. Played live, it’s a different animal altogether – intense and oozing dangerous sexiness that climaxes into a frantic scream of guitars. A favourite...

I should have known better than to attempt anything too strenuous considering my family's general history of mishaps when we get too enthusiastic over sport. Sure we may have arms and shoulders that look like they could comfortably haul rice sacks by the ton but we're actually fragile weaklings that break under the threat of a little light gardening. Coz we're city kids and we have no idea what the name of that tree is or what kind of salad we're eating or that is the sound of a frog croaking and not somebody's screwed up car horn. What do you mean go play outside? Do you want me to get run over by a car? Cycling is suicide. There is also the chance that you I could fall into an open drain, like my brother once did, subsequently cutting his head open. I'm not even 30 yet and I can feel my body falling apart already. That's the consequences of physically abusing your body when you're younger and thinking you can get away with it. Yes, you may have bounced...

Books 1. Cloud Atlas – DAVID MITCHELL . I must have bought this book somewhere in 2005 in Waterstones’ and left it to collect dust since. It still has it yellow ‘Buy 3 for 2’ sticker on the front cover; an impulse buy, a book I bought to make myself feel better. I finally picked it up two weeks ago and haven’t been able to put it down since. The book opens with the diary of one Adam Ewing, an American making a hazardous journey across the Pacific in the nineteenth century. Things get a bit hairy for the God-fearing Ewing as he crosses paths with criminals, cut-throats, warring Maoris and an alleged brain-eating parasite. Ewing’s diary ends abruptly on page just as I was wondering if he would survive with brain intact and we skip next to a one-sided correspondence from an impoverished, bisexual rake to his ex-lover while attempting to compose his musical masterpiece in 1930s Europe. Again, his breathless biting story stops short and we move on to three more subsequent characters, each m...

First of all, apologies for the embarrassment of bad poetry in the past 3 posts. Let's just say, I was seized by the Poetry Fairy and found myself so enthralled to its charms that I was unable to write any coherent thought in plain English without spraining myself. Having said that, I did derive a surprising amount of pleasure from writing poems - quite giddy, in fact - but I'm afraid my muse has left me for now. All has returned to normal. Almost. Hee. *looks dreamily out of moon-lit window for the flicker of Poetry Fairy's wings.*

How can one compare A giant to an elf One is broad and full of hair And the other short of self A giant’s grasp can make one gasp His sweetness lies in his strength But the elven charm will pierce any mask And make one smile at length A perfect set of ears A delightful manner of man A refreshing lack of smirks and leers The elf over the giant, that is my plan. Author's edit : I would like to dedicate this poem to my baby sister Maryam , who is sober, for planting the seed of 'Elf Lover' in my brain. It was next to impossible to resist it taking root and morphing into the above. Author's note : Elf love is not in anyway related to Lord of the Rings or any other fictional elves in the fantasy genre. Disclaimer : No elves were harmed in the making of this poem.

In his blue-green sea I am lost in fanciful dreams of sleepy melodies and promised ecstasy.

Sounds from the ether Drifting to earth A guttural growl A bass note that shivers. Swim in the depths of its windows Delight in the flash of pearls Sweet planes of its face Peak through its golden forest. Its slightness made big By its dance across the stage The long reach of its hands Dream of melodies in its sleep.