And from there they turned skybound

How long, how long, we've waited for
A sign, a sign, of something more
We climb, we climb up mountains and fountains
but we cannot, we cannot we cannot

Understand what earlier hands
built till the palms all were red,
and here we stand upon hundreds of years,
our feet scrape the stones and rattle the bones of the dead.

Lo! how the crows bring the city down
and they caw, how they call for fruitful ground
but stones and cement is all they found
until they saw the sky

And wings never seemed more useful
towers never seemed so low
since hundreds of years, all that they've feared
is that there's nowhere left to go...

I ben nämlich der Spion von Aale

I've just returned from a few days visiting old friends in Aalen, the medium sized town located in east Baden-Wuerttemburg, just slightly out of reach of the gaping Bavarian border, snuggled within the most northern points of the Swabian Albs.

Aalen in an interesting city in itself, and rather well known for it's Roman ruins and the legend of the Spy that saved the town from being conquered by a foreign army, but that's all besides the point. If you're really that interested, read about it on Wikipedia here

I started my way there on Thursday, and the be quite honest, I was scared to death. I had spoken on the phone only twice with him since I had left four years earlier, and both had been short, only discussing the details of my arrival.

You know how sometimes you get that feeling that you've stepped into a dream? That's what it felt like as I stepped off the train at Aalen Hbf, nothing had changed. The people I called my friends can still be called friends, and even though I haven't talked to most of them in the four years that have passed, It feels like I was here yesterday. It's also interesting how little people change, the quiet people are still quiet, the annoying ones still annoying.

It's nice to have a tiny little place in the world where you can go and have a whole other group of people that knows you, and possibly sees you completely differently than the people back home. They all still talk about the time I played a song at the school concert....hm.

Cardinal Directions

Fields of green and skies of blue,
never know what they're coming to,
and the lights that fade at night erase
every sign of color and life.

Every scene we're pulling through
helps to reveal what we have to do
and the paper trail that fills my room
wasn't worth the haggling, so I'm traveling on...

To every scenic spot
to stretch my limbs that soon forgot how to move,
and when the red birds sing, their tunes will bring some better news.

Although my shirt is green and my pants are blue,
polarity shifts can't help me through,
the muck and the steam that coats my shoes
isn't worth the strain, so I'll throw them in the bonfire's blaze...

To let it melt away
and to free my brain that soon forgot how to choose
and when the red birds fly, I'll loose myself of this tightened noose.

fencing with flowers
climbing with lace
mid-winter showers
suddenly replaced

With all the things I've got
and never leave this spot that's so overcome with the blues
and when the red bird dies, we'll soon realize,
that sometimes the prize ain't worth getting to.

Bernoulli

The air pushing around the fuselage, Bernoulli at work, his arms stretching from the ground to guide our noses miles above his. And we, hoping his arms never tire.

Sometimes he stumbles, and we shake furiously. We're not even supposed to be here in the first place, are we?

And Bernoulli is an old man, his joints growing weak and his hair thin, breathing shallowly with lungs lined with the dusts only billions of miles can collect, his brow beaded with globules finer than crystals of refined sugar, running salty into the corners of his lined mouth. And while he sweats and toils to prove himself, I worry about getting a window seat.

And he strains
and I sit
And he strains
for a bit
of fame
And they sit
and complain.

Hungarian Police...they will steal your child and robberate your house

So I've been spending the last few days of my life in Budapest, Hungary with Andy, and needless to say, it's been rather awesome.

for those who don't know, Hungary looks like this:

Budapest is that larger dot in the middle. I'd show you what the city looks like, but I haven't uploaded any pictures yet.


Even though I've only been here two days, I've seen/done quite a few things that I would never have expected. The first day, we got lost and saw some medieval sword fighting school, where I took a picture of a dude in armor through a window. Yesterday was especially exceptional, after climbing the hill on the Buda (west of the Danube) side of Budapest (yes, there's a Pest too, it's on the east side of the Danube. So Buda+Pest=Budapest, clever, huh?) and taking some pictures of the wonderful view from above, Andy and I decided to walk about town and to take a tram. Once on the tram, we encountered a quite...well, crazy woman who decided to take this time on the tram to complain about the evils of the Hungarian police.......in very Hungarian sounding English. Quotes include: "I never elect, because they need to be changed," "If there is a crime....Hungarian Police," "You'll get a stroke from Hungarian Police," and the title of this post is also one of her claims. As people got on at each stop, more and more people were weirded out my this lady's antics. Did I mention she was old?

Then, last night Andy and I decided to travel to Margaret Island, a small island in the middle of the river towards the north of the city. I thought that Andy getting hit on by hookers in Prague was just a coincidence, but now I am fully convinced that he is what I refer to as a "hooker magnet". We were asked no fewer than 8 times whether we wanted to participate in some gross looking woman's "Sexy Program." We were also approached by a man asking if we wanted to meet "The Fuck Master," referring to the Master's talents as "precision FUCKing technology" (emphasis on the "fuck" syllable). That had me laughing for about ten minutes.

Eventually we got to the island, and decided to participate in the festivities, which were essentially open air bars/dance clubs, and it was truly a neat experience. We apparently happened to come on "Remember those 90s songs?" night because in a row, they played "Ice Ice Baby", "U Can't Touch This", "Pump Up The Jam", and "Everybody Dance Now". So we drank some beer, ate some sausage with bread and mustard, which was quite delicious, and drank some semi-sweet white wine because Andy is a girl. We danced like idiots for a while, and then decided to head down to the river's edge to slowly make our way back to the hostel. We sat for a little while, and then we were suddenly joined by a group of boys who were toying with the idea of going swimming. Eventually about four of them stripped down to their underwear, jumped in the water, and immediately bitched about how cold it was. We laughed at them for a while, but then decided we should move on, but we wanted to walk around the southern tip of the island. There, we saw a cat, and decided we wanted to follow it a little bit, essentially because we're a little gay and like to pet animals. We couldn't catch the cat, but we did see it leap over a fence to a very quiet looking area, so we decided that we should do as Hungarian cats do, and also climb the fence, Andy got his belt loop caught on a spike, and I poked my but with one, and it was funny.

Once inside, we looked around and to our surprise, right there was a small pool. We looked at each other, knowing exactly what the other was thinking. Then I stuck my hand in the water, came to a wonderful realization, looked at Andy and said, "Dude, it's warm." Yes, we had successfully broken into a small bar with a hot tub completely concealed from any people who may have been looking to keep such people like us out. So we stripped down, and had a wonderful time in our own personal Hungarian hot tub. The only downside was that they had turned off the beer taps for the night.

After our swim, we decided it was time for us to return home at the lovely hour of 5AM to sleep until noon, and prepare for the following day.

No, I'm not going to kill myself. sorry if it's bad.

In this room I've made my home
all white and lifeless, chills and spite
It's all I have, a roof above my head.
Here I'll stay writing from my hospital bed

And as I sleep, I'll curl the sheets
around my neck and make it like an accident
They'll say "sorry he had to go"
That it was suicide they will never know

When I reach my destination
Shaking hands just like the prom
Hopefully they'll have a place
Where I can be alone

And in this room I've made my home
So white with brightness, thrills, delight
It's all I have, a place to be myself
And I'll never know whether it's heaven or hell.

To Prague and back.

Sunday morning looking through the half opened blinds of my window that looks out to the many other faceless buildings that populate the student community here. So this isn't what it's supposed to be like, Europe's supposed to be filled with endless wonder, and instead I find myself living in what resembles a housing project from the eastern block; boring, drab, and depressing, but painted with bright colors to hopefully disguise it's utter lack of personality. My room is white, like the inside of an institution: sterile.

Tuebingen itself is a beauty of a town, wonderful weather, friendly people, a charming town center filled with winding ancient alleys, smiling shopkeepers, and cafes. Wednesday morning farmer's market outside the town hall, bustling and picturesque. People ride boats up and down the river every Sunday. Why Sundays? because everything except the restaurants and cafes is closed, you can't even buy groceries....just church and relaxation. And the ice cream, people are always eating ice cream on Sundays, and walking up and down the Neckerinsel, walking their dogs, or spending time with their kids or just enjoying the day because it's there.

I could spend a decent amount of time here, but I doubt I could ever spend my entire life here, there's something about this town that is too perfect, no arguments, little crime, no fear. Everyone seems to be happy in Tuebingen. Maybe it's the water.

So after three weeks of Language class, Doeners, and city tours, I decided it was about time I went somewhere else. Prague.

For the longest time, I have never found a place on this earth where I felt I could spend the rest of my life. Growing up in the suburbs and seeing how people there treated life bothered me, and I needed to find a place where a neat little domestic life wasn't the preferred method of existence.

Upon entering Prague for the first time, after having spent the entire night in a bus trying to catch some sleep, I was instantly entranced. There is something about that city that glows perpetually, a unique beauty intertwined with a heaping spoonful of darkness, something mildly evil. This city felt real, people lived here and died here and suffered here and defined themselves here. There was enough character in this city for everyone.

Hostel Elf was also a joy, bright and vibrant graffiti decorated the entire exterior, the staff was friendly and rather open minded, and the beds were more comfortable than the bed I have in Germany. It was nestled beside train tracks, and a train would pass us by every five minutes. Those who were sitting outside stopped their conversations while the train passed, everyone looked at each other, unwilling to strain his voice above the noise of the passing train. It was as if the train sought to regulate our thoughts. Most of the people there were open, and we'd share our experiences and stereotypes over real Budweiser beer (American Budweiser is called B here). Canadians, Finnish, Norwegian, Belgian, American, French, Brazilian, Bolivian, and countless other nationalities would sit out on the front porch and talk late into the night, stopping only when the trains would pass.

I would spend my days walking all over the city, trying to exercise my little bit of Czech on the most unsuspecting people. I went to the castle twice, perhaps the most beautiful in the world, because I felt like it, toured the torture museum, and went to a black light theater production of Faust. What surprised me is that the entire cast talked to each other during the entire production, barely audible over the music that blared, caught only by those like me who insisted on sitting in the first row. I wondered what it's like to be an actor in Prague, and how far up the achievement ladder the black light theater actually is. One thing is for sure, the female lead was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

The turkey flavored chips were also pretty awesome.

Kutna Hora was also a treat. Small shops, beautiful churches, including one decorated entirely with human bones. No pictures allowed, but just google it.

Having Andy there was also a plus, there's nothing like being able to share a beautiful city with a close friend.

I also find it oddly fitting that Kurt Vonnegut Jr., my most favorite author, died while I was in Prague.

Being back here in Tuebingen only increases my Wanderlust. I want to get away from here again, because I don't want the lightness.

So, it's been a while

Yeah, so I know it's been a ridiculously long time since I actually decided to post something on this blog, but I figured it'd be both a good way for me to collect my thoughts whenever I felt it necessary, as well as be able to share my adventures and experiences with my friends, and whomever happens to stumble across this...blog.. I seriously find that word so annoying.

So I officially embarked on my five month journey yesterday, finishing packing and driving up to JFK airport in order to catch my flight to Germany, where I'll be living and studying for the next while. I currently find myself at the London Heathrow Airport, where I sit waiting for my connection flight to depart. The flight here was....rather uncomfortable, and I didn't sleep at all, so as a result, I am running on the same batteries as I was yesterday.

From the next flight, I'll take a train to Tuebingen, my new home, and seek out the Youth Hostel, where I'll be spending my first night. Come Wednesday, I move into my apartment on the opposite side of town. I currently have no map or train reservation, opting instead to work things out as they come because in today's day and age it's far too easy to destroy a true adventure with technology. So I might get lost for a few hours, I can deal with that.

I also have no idea what my apartment looks like. I just hope it has a kitchen.

I've actually composed a short to do list once I get my apartment:

1. unpack some stuff
2. buy some beer
3. drink aforementioned beer
4. buy a bicycle

I have about a week until I actually have to start doing things for school. I figured this was adequate time for me to unwind, get settled, and perhaps meet a person or two.

As many of you know, music is very important to me, so I'm also going to post short playlists that are downloadable for anyone who's interested in listening to what I'm listening to. Here's the first one:

1. (+/-) - The Important Thing Is to Love
I'm not even entirely sure why I'm all about this song. It was stuck in my head at the airport for some reason, and then when I put the iPod on shuffle, it came up immediately. Crazy.

2. Mogwai - Travel is Dangerous
Off the infamous Mr. Beast that people rip to shreds. Okay, it's no Rock Action, but this song is good, and slightly ominous considering my situation. Also a Celestine Prophecy type shuffle. eerie.

3. Chin Up Chin Up - We Should Have Never Lived Like We Were Skyscrapers
First, I love this song title. The song's pretty good too. This band is from Chicago and their old bassist was killed when hit by a car on tour.. eeeeeee.

4. Blitzen Trapper - Summertwin
One of my favorite songs in the recent past. Listening should explain everything

5. The Arcade Fire - Intervention
Off the new album (that just came out) called Neon Bible. I really like the way the organ sounds in this. It's also #1 here in the UK. I didn't expect that.

6. The Microphones - You'll Be In The Air
My favorite song about flying. period.


I know this all seems very random and not well thought out, mainly because it isn't. I'll figure it all out eventually.

-brendan

The Premier

(All off The Live Like You're Dying EP)
The Premier - The Great American Novel In Three Easy Steps
The Premier - She Doesn't Bother With Goodbyes
The Premier - Top Ten Reasons To Lose Your Faith In Mankind
buy it on their website at thepremierrock.com
You can also stream the whole thing at their Purevolume

It's about time I got around to these guys. Know, I know that a lot of you (from my area) may know of the Premier. The real question here is, have you heard the Premier?

Cause honestly those are two completely different situations. Of couse the band is made up of some of the nicest guys from lansdale (read: philly) PA, but did you expect them to write, record, and produce (all by themselves) some exceptional music? I will admit that I was hesitant to buy their "Live Like You're Dying EP" soley based on past recordings and lineup issues from years past. I will say that this self-produced record is one of the best of 2005, period.

The EP, recorded, mixed, and mastered by guitarist/songwriter Nick Steinborn runs on multiple levels, and has the potential to appeal to a number of different music lovers. It is the catchiest of the best pop/punk, the smartest of indie rock, and has the lyrics of the fastest reading angsty teen novel mated with the heavily stylization of 1930s private eye radio programs (lyrics provided by bassist Danny (Soupy) Campbell). Three of the four members of the band split the lyrics between themselves, each approaching the lyrics and medodies with their own sort of style. The guitar work is progressive enough to remain interesting, but retains the heart that much of the truely progressive genre sacrifices for technical skill. Don't expect dream theater hemi-deci-whatever-quivers or soaring Mars Volta vocals, cause you'll get neither. What I mean by progressive here is that where other pop/punk bands settle for power chords and colorless second chords, The Premier guitarists Dave Hughes and Nick Steinborn build interesting inversions and true guitar counterpoint, something usually only seen in more mellow independent bands such as Death Cab for Cutie. The Premier however, maintains layered guitar work while still managing to rock out pretty hard. Drummer Matt Brasch's pitch perfect (obviously an avid tuner) drums provide a lush rhythmic landscape for the rest of the music to be built upon.

Even their website http://www.thepremierrock.com has an interesting theme to it.

What Transit Can Do For You

For the past two weeks I've spent about 10 hours a week on the train riding to and from the lovely Temple University for the beginning of my sophmore year. Spending this much time on the train gives me time to sit back and absorb ridiculous amounts of music I would normally have to cram into my busy schedule. Usually I set my mp3 player to shuffle and see what kind of crazy mix it makes. More often than not, the songs don't really have a flow that one would normally want, but every once in a while something inside that little plastic and metal box seems to click, and suddently you're listening to a fabulous impromptu mix. This morning was one of these days. I tried to remember all this songs, and these seem to stick in my mind.

Nickel Creek - When In Rome
Sufjan Stevens - The Lord God Bird
The Platters - Earth Angel
The Premier - The Great American Novel in Three Easy Steps
Radiohead - Idioteque
Iron & Wine Calexico - He Lays in the Reins
Neutral Milk Hotel - The King of Carrot Flowers Pt.1
Mae - The Everglow
Neutral Milk Hotel - Two Headed Boy
All Time Quarterback - Cleveland
The Dandy Warhols - Gospel

There are some I forgot, and maybe they'll come back to me in the near future

By the way, tomorrow (9/13) is a great day to buy some CDs. Tomorrow sees the release of:
Sigur Ros - Takk
Devendra Banhart - Cripple Creek
Nada Surf - The Weight is a Gift
Iron & Wine Calexico - In The Reins

In other news, Death Cab's Plans was number 4 last week on the billboard charts, selling somewhere around 90,000 copies. I wish the album was deserving of those numbers. They really need to start pushing Transatlanticism or We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes.

Serena Maneesh

Check out this band from Norway. They're called Serena Maneesh. Imagine The Velvet Ungerground had a child with Brian Eno. Now imagine this child was born and raised in Norway and was named Serena Maneesh. their Self Titled record is worth all the hype they (hopefully) are going to get.

the only song you can hear online is a streamed one from the label's website http://www.honeymilk.no

I wish I had time to say more, but I have to get to class (and sit in the back of the room and listen to Serena Maneesh). Ahh Physics......

Hmmmm....

Well, I haven't updated this un two months, but I don't think that it messed up anyone's life.

I'll post some music eventually