Posts Tagged ‘Opium Pour Homme’

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dream: apocalypse rob.

September 18, 2009

This dream is a masterclass in me.

The first thing that I remember is being at lunch in a fancy restaurant, ordering French pastries with Charlotte from Sex and the City.  We were discussing relationships and sex, and about whether I was a failure for not having gotten married yet.  Charlotte was as lovely and reassuring as she is on the tv programme, and I remember as I took bites out of my French cake (strawberry – which I normally don’t like), she told me that I was young and that there was plenty of time to fall in love.  We sprayed each other with the new Prada fragrance, L’eau Ambrée, and it was delicious.

I left the restaurant and Charlotte, and met up with Rob (the Romanian) and we went back to my place (I had a very white apartment) where we sat on the bed and were talking and flirting for ages.  (I am wearing my Opium Pour Homme today as I type this as a result) At one point I was so tempted to kiss him, but I couldn’t do it because he had/has a boyfriend and that would not really be ethical.  I reached out and stroked his face, and he nuzzled into it while saying “You know that I can’t do that”.  The tension mounted and I kept my hand against his cheek, but eventually the moment passed and I had to go.

The next thing I know, I was walking along the edge of a bayou (!!!) and I came to a big wooden Colonial-style house with lots of people crowded around on the veranda.  I mingled with the crowd, looking for Rob and it transpired that his family owned the house.  There was a raft on the river of the bayou, ready to “set sail”, and I tried to get Rob to go on it with me and we could go down the river together.  However, once I sat on the raft I discovered that his sister was going to use the raft with me, and she was a prostitute.  She got on the raft, along with a couple of other guys, and Rob disappeared and we started to drift upstream, towards the big white gates of the city.  The gates opened, and after some forgettable conversation, I got off the raft and left Rob’s sister and her guys to it.  I walked along the street and went back to my apartment.  The whole city looked as if it had been whitewashed, and it was ominously pristine and futuristic.

I went into my apartment block, and suddenly a siren sounded and the dean from St. Anne’s College at Oxford University, Martin Jackson, came thundering down the stairs and informed me that we were on ‘high alert’.  He told me to follow him up the stairs to a safe part of the building, and I had no choice but to do so.  He led me to an isolated part of the apartment block on the top floor, where all of the doors were sliding and gleaming white, with no handles or anything – they seemed to open and close of their own accord, as if they could see us coming.

Once I arrived on the top floor, I found out that the country / world was on ‘high alert’, because the Chinese had massive guns that they were using to shoot down all the other countries.  (Dreams are not logical.)  Although we were trying to fight back with our own guns, our guns were not as big and therefore we were almost certain to lose, and the world was due to descend into warfare and possibly the end of the world.  So that was why it was important to take refuge now, before it was too late.  In the top floor of the apartment building, there was a hallway leading off to three rooms.  I chose to enter the room on the left, which was furnished largely in red velvet with chairs set up for an audience.  At the front of the room was a massive flat-screen television, and it appeared that we were supposed to be watching something.  I have no idea what was supposed to happen in the other two rooms, but I had the impression that it was something more sinister and that I had chosen well.

Little by little, the room began to fill up with people, including my friend Hannah, and also a girl from school called Hannah Drake.  Hannah found me and we were relieved that we were both safe.  Meanwhile, the screen began to show Street Fighter games for different gaming platforms (including the Playstation and the Sega Saturn; it was some weird hybrid of Street Fighter and Mortal Kombat).  Akuma from Street Fighter actually entered the room and sat himself down, all fiery red hair and glowing eyes, and finally the film began to start.  It was very abstract and didn’t explain much.  At one point, me and Hannah looked at each other and started giggling because it made no sense, but one of the old women seated behind us hushed us and told us to pay attention to the film as it was important.  I remember lots of cityscapes and white gleaming buildings, and that was it!

Anyone willing to psychoanalyse?  Sigmund Freud?

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i want to know what love is.

August 28, 2009

After yesterday’s epic rant, you’ll be relieved to know that I am gonna try and keep it brief tonight.  First things first: I had the perfect start to the day, downloading and listening to Mariah Carey’s new song, “I Want To Know What Love Is”, from her upcoming album Memoirs Of An Imperfect Angel.  The day proceeded well from there, so I will share it with you in the hope that you will enjoy it as much as I do, and it will give you some positive energy also! :

Classic song brought tastefully up to date, with restraint in the right places and explosive vocals as a climax.  Mariah Carey is incomparable, and I aspire to be the kind of artist that she is.  Some of y’all will know that I did my own version of the song a couple of weeks ago now.  Embarrassingly enough, I spelt the title of the song wrong!  I thought it was “I Wanna Know…” but no; it’s “I Want To”.  So I apologise for that.  I still am proud of my version: a couple of my friends said that it was one of my best recorded vocal moments.  Here it is again for y’all:

It’s taken from my High Fashion mixtape, which I’ll release online sometime towards the end of September, a month before my proper album Quiet Storm is released.  My birthday is October 25th (note it in your diaries y’all!) so I’m thinking to release it around then; the actual day is a Sunday, so it might be that weekend, otherwise the following Monday or Tuesday.  I’m so excited!  All the music is finished, so just have to complete the artwork.  I need to get a move on!!!  I also wanted to let you know that the first single from Quiet Storm will be “Touch Me”, and I’m gonna put that online hopefully MONDAY for y’all.  So keep your eyes and ears peeled!  Once again, I sincerely thank everyone for the views and the comments and suggestions, it really means a lot and I hope that you all enjoy my music.

Returning to the song “I Want To Know What Love Is”, I remember I was partly inspired to record it because I knew Mariah had done a version of it, but another driving factor was my infatuation with R.  I still wear the Opium, which I guess means that I genuinely like the fragrance regardless of any tie to him.  My crush on him somewhat dimmed, since we haven’t spoken nearly as much in the past couple of weeks (after the drama with his boyfriend kicking him off msn for talking to me too much, followed by a reported tension between the two of them; and some stuff on the internet which confuses me as to whether he is a liar or a potential cheat, or just delusional, delusional *sings* – I decided to move on and avoid for a bit).  And I saw him at work while I went past on the bus, and he’s cut his hair – it doesn’t look bad, but I preferred it before.  I texted him and we spoke for a bit, and despite a bit more distance than before, nothing seems to have changed between the two of us.  So he told me that if I was walking by the museum (where he works) that there would be no problem if we spoke for a bit (I had expressed concern I might get him into trouble).

So today, after work I walked past the museum and there he was.  He seemed impressed by my appearance (Prada sunglasses, houndstooth polo shirt & smart trousers and shoes; I had been in the office dahling.  Plus my hair was not a total disaster today, despite the wind’s best efforts), while I looked at him and can’t believe there is just 13 days’ difference between the two of us, since he seems so much older.  We spoke for a while, before he got harrassed by an irksome man and then some of R’s colleagues were making their way towards him, at which point I decided to make a sharpish exit.  But in those few minutes, we spoke about our jobs, his financial and employment woes, my new stuff.  I would have liked to have spoken more… and I could feel my heart being reeled back in despite myself; despite my head saying “you shouldn’t trust this guy; you don’t know him that well; things don’t add up”.  All those things are true.  But I can’t deny that I feel an attraction, not just a sexual / lust attraction, but even a platonic attraction.  I really want us to be (at least) friends, because I always find conversation flows so easily between us… something just clicks, and it feels like we are on the same wavelength, even if we don’t have the same opinions on everything, it’s easy… And to have all of that going for us, and yet to know that I should be wary because part of me doesn’t think he is completely trustworthy… it’s a difficult mental balance and I don’t really know how to address it.  I’m not going to resist talking to him, because I don’t want to.  I just wish I knew him better, so that I didn’t have to be apprehensive about being open with him.  But of course, to get to know someone well, you have to be somewhat open and trusting of them; it’s a catch 22.  What to do, what to do…?

“I want to know what love is… I want you to show me”

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i cry real tears.

August 4, 2009

On my way home on the bus after a lovely day spent with Hannah and Nick, I suddenly felt tired and wanted nothing more than to be instantly wrapped up on the sofa.  With the rain flooding down the windows as I gazed out at the grey, overcast cityscape passing me by, I couldn’t help but feel that the weather echoed my inner sentiments.  As if, for all the nice chats and coffees and perfume I enjoyed today, I couldn’t escape my own sorrow, loneliness, fear and ennui – I could only subdue it and try to ignore it.  But with the rain coming down all around me, I could have started crying – not bursting into tears, but silently letting them fall from my eyes.

Why? I have a pretty good life, and I had had a nice day.  But I guess that being on my own, in the middle of a crowded bus (the windows steamed up by our collective body heat) with nobody to talk to and my ipod drowning out everything, surrounded by anonymous faces and anonymous rain, the solitude just got to me.  I’ve fallen for somebody real bad, and it’s crazy because right now, I can’t think of anything better than escaping my life and running away to another country, learning another language and living a completely different life.  Obviously I’m not going to do this, but I can’t help but imagine what it would be like, and how happy I could be if we really did fall in love with one another.  I’m wrapped up in a fantasy and it’s so sweet, it makes reality all the more bitter in comparison.  And I’m wrapped in his cologne (Opium Pour Homme) so that I always feel it on me, and it’s torture because it smells so good and yet he’s not there.  I’ve met the guy once (though we talk most days) and I’ve gone utterly crazy.  Rationale literally out of the window.

I have a ridiculous amount of music on my iPod, and at times like this I can’t help but pick songs that echo my mood, or lyrics that echo my situation.  My current choices range between optimistic and heartrending: Blu Cantrell – “I Can’t Believe“, Mariah Carey – “The Beautiful Ones“, Shontelle – “T-Shirt“, Toni Braxton – “Spanish Guitar” & “I Don’t Want To“, The-Dream, “H.A.T.E. U” are the examples which come to mind.  Of course, tugging at my heartstrings doesn’t make me feel any better or enable me to forget my situation, but instead keeps me moping, though at least I am moping to a good soundtrack!

Anyway, I didn’t cry.  I am not the kind of person who would break down in public (I don’t like looking imperfect, even sweating in public, so tears are out of the question – I do my utmost to keep my façade weakness-free), and I’m not the kind of person who breaks down even in private.  Ever since I was a kid, I was taught to keep my emotions inside so that nobody can see your weaknesses (particularly when my dad would try to upset me with the goal of making me cry, my mother taught me not to give him the satisfaction).  So even during trying times, I try to suppress any extremity of emotion in public, and take deep breaths and clench my fists and just get on with things.  After all, the quicker it’s over, the quicker it’s done.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to cry.  I believe in the cathartic power of tears, and once you’ve cried your eyes and your heart out, there’s nowhere left to go but to start healing yourself and picking yourself back up.  Although they make your eyes puffy and swollen, and seem to bring out dark red freckles around my cheekbones (lucky me), tears do serve a purpose – they let you acknowledge your sadness and express it and move on.  Sometimes, my restraint from expressing my sadness even privately means that it festers, whereas if I could just let myself go and cry, maybe I’d move on a little quicker.  Who knows – that’s just the kind of person I have come to be, it’s probably to late to do anything about it now.

Yet I disagree with the widely-held belief that “boys don’t cry”.  They just don’t let anyone know that they cry.  There are a lot of secrets kept between the sexes that I think stop us from understanding one another and feeling close to one another.  Of course people are going to think that men and women are from different planets; that’s the way we live our lives.  The machismo the boys don’t cry does stem from the fact that crying supposedly signals weakness, and men must never appear weak.  But why is it ok for women to be weak, in that case?  Everybody gets weak sometimes (even though nobody talks about it, we all know it’s true) and in that weakness, the best thing we can do is to seek strength from others.  But (and I am particularly guilty of this), seeking strength and asking for help once again points out our weaknesses to other people and we are too proud / afraid to bare ourselves in this way.  So we cover it up.  But I think that to make it a gender thing (Fergie made things no better with her song “Big Girls Don’t Cry” – boys cry, men cry, big girls cry, petite girls cry, grown women cry, transexuals cry.  Everybody cries.) is just stupid – tears are universal.

Babies cry for attention.  Adults rebel against this because when we cry, we don’t want anyone to know – bringing attention to ourselves is the last thing on our minds.  Crying is a secret rebellion against maintaining that all-important appearance of teflon perfection.  I don’t cry (films never get to me – the right music is usually the closest thing to bring me to the brink) very often at all, but sometimes – like today – there is an evocative feeling in my heart, and I don’t know what to do with it.  And though, despite everything, I am not comfortable with letting my tears fall in public, it’s as pure an expression of hurt and longing as you’re gonna get.  And wrapped in this cologne, my longing aches just that little bit sweeter.