Alexander Knappe – K and a Snake (Ohne Dich) w. Lyrics

I really like this German artist too. I like the tone of Alex’s voice, the melody, and the way that the poetic verses seem to erupt from the sombre acoustic riffs. I also appreciate how Knappe chooses to sing in English, despite his strange accent, and how experimental he is with his lyrics.

The song obviously tells the tragic tale of a long-suffering addict, possibly with tourette’s, whose mind forever craves just one more hit (of ‘K’ from a ‘snake’). Obviously in an emotionally-charged state, the protagonist dismisses casually the fact that the product he is using is from an unreliable source (having been stolen from hicks). His hands tremble and his relationships with women (Johanna, and Ellis the Fin) seem complex and fraught with pain. Stylistically, the rambling, stream-of-consciousness nature of the verses enables Knappe to accurately portray the disjointed and tampered-with quality of reality as perceived through the drug-addled mind of an addict.

And at first you know,
Your hand is silver, and zen.
It isn’t in my hands,
Container, huh?
Lessons fleeting.
That’s some spade.

Yes, your hands may well be silver. They may be beautiful in the moonlight. They may be zen-like, tranquil, and at peace. But if they are empty, if in time all hands are replaced by containers, then what lessons can be learned? Are we to be left digging? With a spade into the soil of life?

Everything is inverting, the world is turning turn-toe. Seemingly unrelated objects surround you. Butter, viber, toes, oats, ham. A new man emerges. But will the lessons be free? Are they ever?

(Lyrics)

Alexander Knappe – K and a Snake (Orig. Ohne Dich)

Me hand was fuck it,
Johanna’s smile began.

If forearm shfarts, butter, strarse and bum,
And viber..
And that hand.

Is it an off container?
My toes and toy and my oat.
For the old,
Sit allah’s sphere.
Feel like they’re off.

And at first you know,
Your hand is silver, and zen.
It isn’t in my hands,
Container, huh?
Lessons fleeting.
That’s some spade.

Oh.. I want to take,
K,
K hick-nicked.
Don’t invert.
Don’t get it no more til…

Oh.. I want to take,
K,
K and a snake.
You won’t invert.
Don’t get us no more til…

Me hand was fuck it,
Woman, Ellis, love.

Feel like she’s all asleep.
Tan and a ham, Finnish, Goddamn.
They told themselves to ring her,
Your heart isn’t touched in rain.
Worse than that, they tiefed some time…
and cake.

And at first you know,
your turning turn-toe.
As a new man hurts,
In time and hurt,
Oh lessons free, lessons free.

Oh.. I want to take
K,
K hick-nicked.
Don’t invert.
Don’t get it no more til…

Oh.. I want to take,
K,
K and a snake.
You won’t invert.
Don’t get us no more til…
Don’t get us no more til…

woooo.

Oh.. I want to take,
K,
K hick-nicked.
Don’t invert.
Don’t get it no more til…

Oh.. I want to take,
K,
K and a snake.
You won’t invert.
Don’t get us no more til…
Don’t get us no more til…

woooo.

On a day, on a a day, on a day.

K and a snake, K and a snake, K and a snake.
K and a snake, K and a snake, K and a snake.

Finish.

Glastonbury, Ethics and German Sirens

I discovered this band and the beautiful German singer Marianne Neumann almost a year ago, when a series of fortuitous events grabbed me by the still-repatriating and rather bewildered hand and dragged me to Glastonbury.

Amidst the unbearable work of climbing with people, I managed to see a number of bands; some that I knew and some that I didn’t. And I’ll be honest, none of them blew me away.

The most lasting impression of the whole experience was the friendships that I made, sitting around the campfire in the evenings, chowing down on vegan food, and exploring the otherworldly makeshift colony. Henrik, a spirited German climate scientist in-training -cum- Bohemian improv Greenpeace mechanic, was the person with whom I gelled the most.

We spent several evenings debating everything from the ethics of meat consumption to human civilisation in general, and it was this that led him several weeks after the event to share Berge’s 10,000 Tränen with me. I really enjoyed the song’s haunting melody, its marching rhythm, and the uncompromisingly honest lyrics.
For the following 8 months I was hardcore vegan. True story. No meat in sight.

Recently I started listening to Berge’s music again on youtube, humming along and nodding my head elatedly in the rare but gorgeous British summer sun. Of the tracks, I have become most fond of ‘Schauen was passiert’, or ‘Look what happens’. Marianne’s voice is gorgeous and the tuneful upbeat chorus leaves me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, as though a kind angelic figure is cradling me in her arms, smiling down, comforting my soul…
I know. Quite a feat considering I have no idea what she’s singing about…

Angel of the City, Golems and Transformers

I am back in London but I never left The City.

‘Cling, Clang, Cling, Clang. Another hard day in the citeh…’

Accompanying me in my attempts of repatriation I call upon thee, oh Sylvester Stallone up above, Judge Dredd of the clouds, Rambo of the bicep so rippling…

‘I’m working my fingers to the bone, trying to get blood from a stohone.’

… for today I begin again to send my application letters and my Cvs so numerous. I choose this song to serve as the fanfare for my journey homeward, but I never left the City…

‘Angel of the City, are you watching over me?’

Mong Kok, Luohu, Qiaoqeng Dong. My gutsy parade of urban residence marching for two years ever deeper into China’s bowels seems to me now as ludicrous as it was spectacular.

‘This ain’t any kind of life, living on the edge of a knife.’

Now I feel as Bilbo Baggins at the end of his days, peculiarly like butter spread over too much bread. Perhaps it is possible for the human being too, to experience too much, or at least to feel as though one has felt too much.

‘Cling, Clang, Cling, Clang.’

Perhaps there is a point of overload, a point at which the overworked secretary of your mind just stops picking up the phone, or else a point at which she’s rendered deaf from all that incessant ringing. I learned much the past year, and it was not unfruitful in stimulating the gnome-like linguist in me.

‘Some survive her, most go under, Dancing this ball and chain around.’

Without going into particulars, I also learned that there is a point at which self-sacrifice or a voluntary hardship (whether that be in terms of a relationship, life-pursuit, or principle) can just no longer be sustained. The sleeping brain, that most animal part of us born of shadowed forests and sabre-tooth cats, rears its head, and its only at that moment that you realise what a colossus it is, much like when the golem in Neverending story ripped itself from the earth. Suddenly our dreams, our past, and our dreams of the future are no longer a scenic mountaintop in the confused Van Gogh landcape of our mindseye, but they’re a monster combined, they’re an optimus prime or a megatron, and they’re shifting from vehicle to solar cannon, primed and ready.

‘The air is thick with dreams on fire And this ain’t any kind of life’

The points that I think I’m trying to contrive, meakly, and from this confused skew of 80s pop-culture, are two; One, that once you’ve seen the golem in Neverending story, it can never again be a mountain. It will forever remain a giant titan of a monster and thus you will be wary of it for ever more. No more lazy hiking, no more mountain top picnic strolls. The same, I have learned, rings true of your animal self. Once forcefully made aware of your own dreams for the future, you can no longer ignore their presence, nor can you stroll around them with picnic baskets, say to China and back.

‘Tell me where can you be. In time I’ll find you, angel of the city’

Two, that once you’ve given time to understand the golem’s booming voice and once you have grown enough balls to stare it in its gargantuan trollic face, you realise the monster is not evil. You realise that far from it, the golem is your greatest ally, and that the real evil is in fact that bitch (typo: witch?) from the Neverending Movie who sauntered around erasing all corners of existence.

‘In time you know I’ll find you In time I’ll find you, angel of the city’

Your animal self, born of your desires, history, experience and choices, is battling along side you in a lifelong war against the true evil of all good children stories: emptiness,

meaninglessness,

chaos.

Cling, Clang, Cling, Clang.

In short, I wish to write here once again, and my inner golem is giving me his giant oafish thumbs up. The goal of this website was always to serve as a creative outlet for myself, and to give me a voice and my own medium for sharing issues and interests that are of importance to me, or that touch me in some way beyond the average. I welcome myself back. As for the job…

‘Heaven send her to my door I can’t hide away here anymore’

————————

The World’s Innocent Killers

Here’s a poem I wrote for the platform. The brief was an educational poem about environmental damage for lower high school kids. I put “killers” in the title because kids love anything with kill in it.

The World’s Innocent Killers

One morning, strolling by the 7-11 checkout,

my father said to me as he got his wallet out:

Son…

“Have you ever wondered about the origins

of all these colourful aluminium tins?”

“No,” I let slip,

As I coddled my lip

 with my paw.

“Have you never considered the snags,

of them handing out all these free plastic bags?”

My father bellied again.

“Well they’re new and they’re free,

And they’re handy for me.

So no dad…

I’ve not considered the snags

Of these free plastic bags

Or the origins

 of these aluminium tins.”

“Well, you see my dear boy.

It’s a tragedy to buy

All these things

When you don’t know their cause.

When I was a lad,

There were no plastic bags,

And we did how we did,

With the bags on our backs.”

“With the bags on your backs!,” I did cry.

“For all these bags and all these tins,

And convenience and waste disposal bins,

there is a price

though it’s naked to the eye.”

“But they’re free” again,

With a jubilant grin,

I let out a boundsome cry.

“Ah, but what’s free to you and me,

isn’t free to the sea,

which curdles and spews,

With the pestilent hews

Of these profusely free plastic bags.

And what’s free to you and I,

 isn’t free to the sky,

Nor the bear nor the hare

in their poisoned lair,

near the voluminous garbage dumps.”

I gazed at my pops, his eyes sparkled so sad

It made me quite mad, that the world was so bad.

The bears and the hares and the sky and the sea,

So much bigger than me,

yet much harder to see.

Then a tender, sweet voice interjected.

“Would you like a plastic bag with that, sir?”

Job Application

As a part of my current role I am sometimes asked to produce creative writing for the biz. It’s one of the perks of the job. I like the creativity and freedom and it balances quite nicely with the more extrovert task of teaching.

Here is my most recent piece. I was asked to write some poetry on the topic of “Job Applications”. Quite uninspiring I thought, but then I whacked this out in about five minutes. Enjoy.

My CV alongside me I post the letter,
Through the slit in the red post box,
Off to future desires and locations unknown,
To dreams and nightmares and lovers not yet met.

My experience, my qualifications, my objectives,
Are all tiny digits on a canvas.
It’s a paint-by-numbers,
Only I can’t make out the picture.

A bright star falling into a stream to be washed away?
A giant towering over a cowering audience of suits?
My high-school careers advisor sneers at the glimmer in my eyes,
As he sits there forlornly ticking boxes.

A surprisingly mature response to an immature question

Sharing some wisdom from the youth of Hong Kong. Maybe this should be sent out to all the ASBOs back home?…

———-

Learning English through Social Issues

Your name is Sam.  You are sure your friend, Chris, is mixing with bad influences after school and at the weekend.  Chris has been away from school for two days.  You don’t think Chris is sick.  You think she might be taking drugs and spending time in clubs with gang members.

Write an email to Chris explaining why you are worried.  Explain the effects of taking drugs on a student’s life.  Explain the consequences of taking drugs, mixing with gang members and spending time in clubs.  Finally, give Chris advice on what to do to sort out this problem.

Dear Chris,I’m really worried about you since you have been away from school for two days and I think you have been mixing with the wrong crowd recently.   I guess that you might be taking drugs and spending time in clubs with gang members.  So I want to tell you about some bad effects and consequences of these things to encourage you to leave them alone. I think that taking drugs may affect your studies.  As we know, all of us have problems studying.  We may feel stressed, but we cannot escape these problems by taking drugs because they will get worse.  If I were you, I would face the problems and seek solutions.  Of course, you will eventually be successful in your studies if you can overcome these problems. Addictions are also very expensive.  The most serious problem is that your relationship with your family may deteriorate with the increasing financial burden of your drug taking.  Moreover, drugs lead to poor health and medication and doctors’ fees are so expensive.  Worse still, they may cause fatal problems or long-term memory loss. Also, I want to say that it’s not a good idea to hang out in clubs.  There may be gang members who are criminals.  They may encourage you to commit crimes.  The consequences of committing a crime are serious.   You will have a police record if you are arrested by police and found guilty in  court.   As you can imagine, all your studies, your family and your future will be devastated by any bad decisions. It’s never too late to stop making mistakes.  To be frank, I think you are a good student.  I just want to encourage you to talk about what’s going on with your parents and your school counselors.  Discuss the problems with them.  They will help you beat the temptation and stay free from the curse of drug addiction. Meanwhile, I think you should actively stay as far from the gang members as possible.  Don’t go out with them again but try to focus on your studies.  Make friends with people who are polite and good at studies and join more extra-curricular activities.  Then you will know how beautiful life is! I have one final reminder.  Actions speak louder than words!  You have to grab the opportunity to start your new life! Yours Sam

One Moment

Song of the day:

[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tYFHAvULvJ0%5D

It’s been such a rollercoaster week that I’ve hardly had time to catch a breath. Through nothing short of an organisational miracle, I managed to spend quality time with the majority of my friends still in London. I’ve laughed, dined (alot), drunk, watched league games, watched movies, lifted weights, played playstation, and all the while marvelled at the wonderful array of people that have shaped my life so far. A sense of clarity gained from their varied perspectives has restored my self-esteem and I’m so grateful. At the same time it makes what I have to do tomorrow all the harder. Yet again I’m leaving everything that I know behind in search of new experiences. Yet again I must say goodbye for the sake of ‘progress’.

Earlier this week I sent Whitney Houston’s Grammy award winning performance of ‘One Moment in Time’ to my sister as a motivational gesture for her finals. Little did I know that I would be listening to it repeatedly for the following week. Now more than ever does it hold a special significance for me.

“I’ve lived to be…
the very best.
I want it all,
no time for less.
I’ve layed the plans,
now lay the chance,
here in my hands…”

x

p90x

Over the past 2 weeks I have been taking part in a new exercise routine known as p90x, a three month gut-to-cut home workout routine designed to get you athletically fit, flexible, and beach worthy. Recommended to me by my life-long Canadian buddy, p90x has apparently hit America by storm, spreading in popularity predominantly through word of mouth and the inevitable youtube fallout of fans posting up their results.

The programme, designed by a company called Beach Body and fronted by the enigmatic Tony Horton, relies heavily on a theory coined ‘muscle confusion’. This is basically just technical jargon for ‘variety’. It works on the obvious principle that by doing an hour of exercise per day every day whilst constantly switching muscle groups and restricting diet an individual will both lose weight and tone up the muscles. So no new breakthroughs there then.

The one thing p90x does very well though is motivate you. Tony Horton is charismatic, positive, supportive, and above all hilarious to listen to as you bust your balls day-in-day-out. Within a few weeks you will know his one liners and be chanting along to them as you exercise. “Just do your best, forget the rest.” “Bring it.” “I hate it… but I love it.” You will understand the wonders of stirring German-potato soup, and the horrors of Krispy Kreme and coca-cola… yes coca-cola, I said it.

At first glance the constantly changing p90x routine may seem confusing, but there is order within the chaos. Three workouts per week (day 1, 3, and 5) are weight training workouts: These are intensive and, by hitting 2 to 3 muscle groups hard, build strength and shape the core muscle groups. In between are supplementary workouts that tackle flexibility, balance, and cardio fitness, whilst providing the muscle groups time to recover.

If you have a static few months and you’re determined to lose some serious weight, tone up your physique, or just gain athletic fitness, then p90x is a great alternative to other solo fitness activities. Tony Horton’s ‘can do’ attitude proves extremely infectious, and the OTT Hollywood glamour of the whole thing will have you laughing out loud mid-crunch.

All that’s left to say is…

“What soup are you stirring?”

Right where it belongs

Song of the day: NIN – Right where it belongs

Okay, so I admit, the song sets quite a sombre tone. This is NIN after all.

That said, I love how the heavy drawl of the guitar contrasts with the tinkering piano throughout, I love that I can make out the lyrics and that the lyrics fit the tone of the song perfectly, and last but not least I love how the base steps up gear about 3 minutes in and sets your hairs on end. Terrifyingly terrific, or is that terrifically terrifying. One of them.

x

Strange Cloud Formations

Sunset.
North London.
Early Summer.
A band of eerie cloud ripples high above the rooftops.

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