There may be a reasonable explanation for this; what it is, who did it, etc. I, unfortunately, don’t have one. This is the strange world of RU RUL, who is from Lyon, France by the way and not somewhere in East Asia, who put out a half dozen albums last year during the pandemic. The pandemic may actually be the explanation, but that’s presuming these were all recorded last year as well and that’s not exactly clear either. It doesn’t really matter. They mystery may serve as a reminder to stop trying to put everything neatly into boxes and just let it be in open air.
I found this album late last night when Netflix was no longer possible. My eyes were done. I listened to it a couple times through and then fell asleep listening to it. Not that it’s not entirely engaging. It just seemed okay to do so.
If I’m carrying on a lot about cluster headaches these last few days, just trust me. You can’t know unless you experience them. It started again at about 3:30. That seems to be the time, or thereabouts. The roommate and company were just shuffling off to bed as I staggered off to the bathroom and then laid back down to settle into the pain. It’s pushing 7 am now and the pain is gone. Now is the crash mode. Lack of focus, and that is the eyes and brain. Exhaustion, and yes… fear. Fear of… That would be a good question. It may be the return. It may just be some amplified flight instinct left over from the abrupt onset of pain, the body fooling itself. There is nowhere to run where it won’t find me because it’s inside me already.
The music actually helps. This music actually helps. It rides along the same wavelengths that my brain is on. That’s not going to mean anything unless you listen to the album. At the time I’m typing this I’m the 178th person to view the video, and at least 4 of those views are mine now. You want to talk about hidden gems? It was posted to Youtube last September and is still at less than 200 views. That’s rare, especially when it’s something interesting. Dude needs a manager or an agent or something.
It’s Saturday morning though. It’s now just past 7am and there’s a light rain falling. I noticed yesterday when I was over by the chess tables that the tiniest buds have appeared on the trees. Spring is nearly here. Surely one more winter storm at least will probably come, but spring is nearly here. It feels like I dreamed the winter. There are only dim memories of even being cold. A couple snowfalls. Some ice. A couple pretty scenes but nothing you would call arctic. Maybe those days are truly done, like some people say. That’s a shame. That’s so much less poetry. New York City is a city that needs regular disruptions to pause for a moment and change course, and to remember to feel and think. Winter storms are one of the kinder disruptions. They’re big enough that they’re not ignored, but don’t bring all that much hardship with them. They’re the gentle reminder. A heavy snow is not a terrorist or a hurricane or an earthquake. It’s generally just some extra work.
I definitely dreamed the winter. How could it have come and gone overnight? How is that possible? I need to find a way to slow all this down. How many winters are left for me? Well, anyone could ask that same question though and the answer would be the same: Too few.
Yah, so that’s just a few more random thoughts. Radio Quarantine. My billet-doux to The Universe. My message in a bottle. In all probability it will be me who finds the bottle washed up on some other shore where I just happen to have washed up myself. Just imagine being stranded on a desert island and you find a message in a bottle and it turns out to be a love letter from yourself.