Plaguing me for some nights now, I was unable to overcome the need to make one of my pitiful ideas reality.
Look for the song on the upcoming Le Troubadour de Saint Alizee record - The Stranded Conquistador.
I slept lightly, during the night day sleeps tightly.
Lyrics:
Light sleeps,
Keeps its adventures,
Trips into darkness,
Madness, foreseeing my sadness.
Back in the streets, with my drum,
where I can again hum.
Ma’am, may I have the next dance?
How about a lifetime romance?
No?!
Oh, sacrebleu!
My ending is due.
Falling down like everyone else on my face in a slow and painful pace.
Trembling from the fuzziness,
Oh, wait, it’s just you loneliness.
Crappiness.
Definition unknown.
For my life I’ll need a chaperone.
To shove it out of your way.
Please, don’t go, stay.
Ah, nay!
They. Left.
Guess I’m too late.
For the world, I’m an easy bait.
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
Some snippets and ideas from the upcoming record from Le Troubadour de Saint Alizee.
Also, the record title gets one word added. From “Stranded” we’re going to:
The Stranded Conquistador
The Birth of “The Missing Mustache.”
Yes folks, it’s easy as that.
I’ve been sloppy to post more articles, because of the photography endeavor and then the upcoming video. Keep a look out for a movie review of “Young Adult.”
More to the Left. No! That’s too far. Back to the Right. Ah! No, no, no. You got it all wrong. I said to the Left.
There’s about 30 minutes left on this battery. I better hurry before it dies.
The best ideas come to you in a split second. They don’t care if you’re prepared. They just appear and make you stop because of their magnitude, humor or repulsiveness. I’m pretty sure there’s a slew of books out there that talk about how to harvest ideas and make them worth. Convert them into the most socially acceptable and praised currency - yes, you’re right - money.
What happens to the rest; to those, which are left behind and crippled by our very minds? (25 mins left).
You can always blend them and sip the stomach-turning mixtures. Yes, get sick of your stupidity is a way how you can start those engines and burn some rubber.
There’s no better way than to start over. Make everything that you did up to now unworthy of what you’ll do next. That’s how you can come up with a check point system. Every time an idea sets you on fire, one that you have to cool down with a bucket filled with rationality, that’s the point - checkpoint. (15mins, this battery is crap or I’m a slow writer).
If you have a moniker for different ideas, it’s easier to distinguish them from others. Take me for example:
Video: {RE)S†•A.®.T
Music: Le Troubadour de Saint Alizee
Photography: The Missing Mustache (New)
Sorted. Now my ideas have their respective compartments that I can file them into. They can mix between each other, but I’ll always know where they’re coming from.
This is my idea about ideas. And the place all of the above come from?
An idea.
No more battery left.
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
A new track from Le Troubadour de Saint Alizee : Trying Hard.
Entirely recorded with an iPhone.
P.S.: The new record is called Stranded and will be coming out at the end of this Summer.
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
It’s been some time since I wrote a film review. Not that I didn’t have the time, it was more about the movie that would make me write one. Alas, my wish came true and here’s a review of another [indie] movie.
Have you seen Goon?
A very straight forward, simple and in no way breakthrough story. Although it’s not the story, the acting or the message of the movie, which makes you want to watch this. Towards the end, some might even feel overwhelmed and cry out: “I get it!” In other words, an exclamation of such kind would deem the Indieness (pun intended) of the entire flick. I keep coming up with synonyms for the general term “film” in a similar fashion to what Goon is trying to do to the term “stupid”.
Throughout the entire 92 minutes you will get to see many ways in which stupidity can come forth as funny. Though as dumbstruck as you might feel, the movie achieves laughs. It might be because the very writer of the piece is Jay Baruschel (stared in She’s Out of League and Sorcerer’s Apprentice) and Evan Goldberg (writer of Superbad, Pineapple Express or the yet to come Neighborhood Watch).
The easiest and most slapstick humor can be achieved by ridicule, unnecessary obscenity or inventive ways of using the word “fuck”. We are used to all of the above, however, some movies just don’t know where to stop and push the ante too far. The audience rejects the experience and the crew (mainly director) can go back to the drawing board.
With all that in the bag, Goon adds something extra to the mix - gore. Yes folks, good old blood, bruises and in the end teeth flying all over the place. Don’t fret, it’s not that many - one to be exact.
One tooth to rule them all. One tooth to find them. One Tooth to bring them on ice and bind them.
Dough, the mild mannered bouncer makes a perfect example of a simpleton with a God given gift - strength. Played by Seann William Scott, he finds his destiny in hockey and lets no one take away the only thing that he’s good at. We might view “Dough the Tough” as the hero of the picture, but if you look closely, he’s not. He’s a skating bouncer, sort to speak. With little education or aim in life there’s no better example of how society’s lowest become the most praised. It’s a different take on the “rags to riches” or to put it differently “from nobody to somebody” metaphor. Uneducated, yet with morals of a well groomed prince. The guy who brings flowers and candy (reminded me of Forest Gump) to the woman he loves cannot be uneducated. Although old fashioned, he proves throughout the entire film to be a righteous man. Where others fail he wins by saying the truth out loud. The scene where he dines with his parents (he comes from a well educated Jewis family) points out the importance of being who you are and not being afraid of yelling it out for everybody to know. The individualism and cry for recognition from your loved ones is a necessity for the modern man/woman. Do we still need their blessing? What makes the character so appealing is his spirit, which can’t be broken. The modern superhero with a quest to bring his [team’s] life to a state of equilibrium.
The very last scene illustrates the point that I’m trying to make in an eloquent way. The brutal fist fight underscores the truth of what is hockey and where are we headed with our lives. A fight where bones will break and teeth will fly. One will lay there beaten and the other will walk away victorious. The old will make room for new and so on and so forth. I don’t want to turn this into an oxymoron contest, where I’m trying to top myself with how many I can come up with. On the contrary, I want to make sure by using so many that in the end you’ll scream: “I get it!”
Moving on frees out space, and not just in our lives.
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux
Listening is something not everybody can successfully pull throught.
Stop, look and listen.
Listen and you will understand..
Music by Le Troubadour de Saint Alizee
Got Lost.
The words came back by themselves.
I’m stranded on an island that I chose.
The bell of artificial sounds and bewildering voices grows with every day.
I’m not your savior.
I’m not your defender.
I’m not your lover.
The sea has a wish that can’t be fulfilled.
She took a boat and rowed away.
There’s little that I can remember.
Nothingness makes up for the loneliness.
Swallow me night, for I have sinned.
Take me away.
Far away, where nobody can find me ever again.
I got lost by being here.
Music and Poem by Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
Extremes mean borders, beyond which life ends. A passion for extremism in art and poetry is a veiled longing for death.
The above quote is from Kundera’s “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”. I wrote it down while reading the book because it stood out among all that he wrote in the first parts of the book. That was the only line that I noted. There were other memorable passages, but they never shook my world quite like the one I want to share with you.
Days are just illusions that may seem real at some point. The trust that we daily invest into believing what is going around us makes us inexplicably tired. When night comes there’s no point in breaking out in tears anymore. What is there that we should cry about?
The destruction that we can inflict onto each other is boundless. We strive to bring balance to the chaos that we create in our lives. Our lives are sometimes nothing, but a vast oxymoron.
I daily stumble upon the logical implication of a vicious circle. Dancing in it to the sweet sounds of Tchaikovsky’s Lake in the Moonlight. A candy bar that was all too sweet to be eaten. The dramatic crescendo makes you feel for the unknown character that you’re yet to be acquainted with. It seems as if your only love is killed by the hand of the courtly man that’s courting you, which you despise. We all know what happens after that. You grieve, but accept the courtly man’s proposal to be his wife. You know that a great tragedy has to be overshadowed by a miserable life in wealth with a man that you feel to not even be worthy of being your friend. How tragic! How sad! How true!
What becomes of the character when we make the tragic paradigm the unruly one. What would happen when our dreams would start coming true? Would we become morally obese and emotionally steadfast? Can we see beyond the horizon if we try hard enough? “There’s no (horizon) spoon,” said the kid in the Matrix.
Become a spectator that appears to be involved. It allows you to analyze and seamlessly participate in whatever you’re doing. You can travel to the horizon and back by playing a double role. Be the vicious circle, rather than the dancer inside of it. Is that even possible? Can I stop asking questions already and give you some answers?
Giving answers would be the easiest way out of Pandora’s box. Maybe, I’m just trying to hide the fact that there’s nothing else that I can do, besides hiding behind questions and making you come up with the answers. What ever it is, I’m bound to find out, once I get reattached; plug myself in again.
by Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
We’ve serenaded the streets in the most flattering way. They’ve been sighing the entire time that we moved through its cobble stone veins. Mere moments started to stand out from the other. Every sip, or bite, had a meaning of its own. Every conversation had a point.
Sensual stares and loud cries of laughter were like a pendulum that we didn’t hear ticking.
Seven, turning into four. Four turning into one. There’s always somebody that gets to stay behind and has to clean up.
Every city has a testimony, a memento sort to speak. Bonding with a place isn’t uncommon. It can influence your entire perception. It can bind you down forever. It can hypnotize you by its architecture, culture and lets not forget the people. Certainly, the very opposite can occur - you can’t wait to get out of its system. Whatever it is, how much you love or hate the urban postures of people that walk right past you, or the creativity of the local cuisine, you always find yourself on one side of the camp. You either want to return at all cost or make it an always-visa-demanding-state.
It’s not as black and white as I’m painting it here. It’s easier to use just two colors. You don’t have to bother with mixing to create a new shade. Although a bit of color wouldn’t spoil the picture, but beware, too much might make it tacky.
However, it may come down to the very essence of what I’ve been straying away from in this little contemplation - people. They can turn things around. Give reason to things that were lost. Spark ideas in us.
I still think that the valley is as sad as before, hence, my point of view hasn’t changed. What made me forget the moorish winds and desolation were the people that were there with me.
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
I traveled into the past yesterday. It was a different universe. Not the same as I remembered. Revising those days made me wonder about the importance of the past again.
How much do we dwell, reminisce and return into the days that have passed?
It seems that we try over and over to recreate the times that are long gone. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a marvelous thing to do. Although if it is poorly executed, it just brings the past back as a new and altered universe that we might feel out of touch with.
Inflicting some bittersweet “damage” onto the senses sometimes makes the blend seem less blurry and it all clears up. This can work the other way around and have a negative outcome as well. It, nevertheless, is a time travelling experience - be it good or bad.
There’s, however, a lesson to be learned here, in spite of the taunting reviews of the past that were flashing on the walls, there was nostalgia going around. Seeing all the people wearing lumberjack shirts (flannel), black-and-red stripped sweaters, punky outfits and then some more, made me realize that what was a sign of revolt and a pledge to rebel against uniformity became a mass embraced memento of the Rock decade. This could be very well applied to each decade that has it’s revolutionary cultural movement; either widely embraced or just being seen in the underground section of aesthetics.
In the end, it was nothing but a booze fest. A display of what was considered to be a hit single, not only from the 90s, but 2000s and even 80s (Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on Prayer).
All of that made me think about the 90s so much more. Was there not enough material from the 90s that could stand on its own and fill an entire night’s show? Why did the show’s producers resolve to cheap tricks such as borrowing mainstream hits from MTV? Was this a mindless crowd pleasing party?
If the answer is yes, then the 90s are still not that far away to make themselves distinct. They’re within close relation to the above mentioned decades. Although a more refined pick would please even the hard core 90s fan.
I walked back from the concert/show fairly disappointed and a bit intoxicated. The alcohol in my veins made it easier to fall asleep. In the morning, the question crawled up from within the depths of my head:
Where’s something sugary when you needed it?
By Tomas Samuel Corbeaux.
