A Place Far Away From Here / Layers

I: A Place Far Away From Here

A lot of great songs have certain moments that define and dominate the entire structure and perception of its consituent parts. The moment could be anything--a great vocal harmony, melody, a particular production technique, a crescendo, or coda--but even if a minute thing in terms of a song's run time, the one thing these great moments share is the distinct ability structure everything leading up to the moment in terms of anticipation and everything coming after as a glow with the affects of that moment. Wolf Parade's "I'll Believe in Anything" has this kind of moment when Spencer Krug wails "look at the trees / look at my face / look at a place far away from here" followed by the introduction of crunching guitar chords which infuse a certain edge into what was otherwise a springy, bouncy pop song. Not only are the words fitting, but as I sit in this airport lounge, one more wait after months of it, the moment in that song captures a lot of how I'm feeling. There's a certain edge of expectation and anticipation, almost fear, but mostly the excitement of approaching the creation of new memories in new places. We await future ghosts.

I'm also struck with the particular feeling of implementing myself into crossroads: I, the traveller, am intserting my wanderlust and excitement into the everyday, mundane lives of locals in places I'm visitng as a tourist. I tour and interrupt. This sort of collision, I hope, should only yield interesting results. As much as this is a process of doing, travelling and finding that life changing/affirming/cataclysmic event, it is also a process of absorbing and learning with an ear to the ground and to the ambiguous. I hope to hear stories as much as make my own--otherwise, what's the point?


II: Layers

We travel in an arc high above the ocean from one continent to the next. Time becomes fluid in a way that can never be experienced on the ground. Watches have no bearing until we actually touch down in Ireland. We lift off from Toronto and my cheap Timex watch might as well say "infinity." The only hint that there is still a shifting of the planets and the universe and the lives of so many creatures is by a thin band of layers on the horizon. Slowly the sun sets outside my window during our ascent. The sky blue diminishes, growing darker at its edges, closing ever closer down, down toward the mirror's edge. In turn, the other side of the mirror, the clouds and the ocean grown darker with twilight and bring that azure band closer and closer to the copper filament at the mirror's edge. Each border between these colours (midnight blue, azure, copper) is distinct but impossible to determine. The sun doesn't go away though; these midnight blue behemoths draw closer and closer and threaten to touch, but before they do, the sun arises on the east again and slowly takes back the sky. I experience sun set and sun rise in the space of about five hours--but these are half measures because the sun never goes away. We touch down in Dublin and I feel bemused because I'm not of this time or this day for now. I need sleep but it will have to wait. I set my watch ahead six hours to read 7:30AM. I hope I find these six hours again.