Deluxe mugs and human diversity

This is going to sound stupid.

Where I work there's a kitchen and in the kitchen there's a cupboard. In the cupboard there's mugs. Until recently the cupboard was a little less than half full of a rather eclectic collection of mugs which had presumably taken years to become what it was. Small, large, blue, white, old, new, chipped, handleless, patterned, with logo, etc. The only thing they had in common was that they could contain a hot liquid without leaking or breaking, in short, all you could ever expect from a mug. I don't remember having a favourite but subconsciously I would probably have picked a bigger one if I felt more tired. Or a white one if I was feeling confused. Or a handleless one if I was cold.
But a little while ago the rest of the cupboard was filled. The company had acquired an entire army of new white mugs with the red company logo on the side.
I think if I asked any of my colleagues here what they thought of the new mugs they would probably say that they hadn't thought much about them, but that they were pleased that the cupboard almost never ran out of clean mugs anymore. Until yesterday I would probably have said the same, but then I became aware of a subconscious choice of mug I made yesterday. It was afternoon and most of the new identical company mugs were in the dishwasher or on peoples desks, but instead of just grabbing any mug I caught myself moving some of the "other" mugs out of the way to try to find one of the new deluxe ones. !

That made me think about archetype, diversity, uniformity and the majority. Do you see what I mean?

Download Klak Tik songs.

Hey reader/listener. Here I've posted a few tracks for you to download, should you be so inclined.


Culinary Skills of a Modern Man

Zeitgeber

Heatwave

Concrete Under the Bridge

Martin & Victoria og os

Christopher McCandless Dies Alone

I Sing, Like Everyone

The Ghost in the walls

I read an interview with the great Colin Meloy from the Decemberists by Laura Barton on the Guardian website. They were supposed to write a song together while she was interviewing him. It turned out that he was a little self-conscious about writing in front of her, but in the end they managed a bit of a melody and one verse worth of lyrics. Laura Barton challenged the Guardian readers to try and finish the song, either just the lyrics or actually the whole song, guitar and all. I decided to give it a go, so got up reasonably early on Saturday, finished the lyrics and came up with some fingerpicked guitar to accompany the melody. I made a chorus and a middle section and then recordet the whole thing. It took me most of the day, but I had a great time doing it. I hope it'll somehow end up in Laura's ears, if not in Colin Meloy's. Anyway, check out the song.

Ghost in the Walls


And here are the lyrics.

I hear the floorboards creak
I hear them in my sleep
and now I rise to go aloft,
all padding soft
to catch you lost and lonely call
all through the walls

I open up the door
No creaking anymore
I sit and listen for a while,
and then I smile
You always loved to hide from me,
so I wait patiently

I'll sit here in this very chair
for as long as I can carry myself up these stairs
My boy, you don't have to be sad
I've lost my son, but you've not lost your dad
and I know you can hear me,
my little ghost in the walls

Before I go to rest
I open up the chest
the photo album in my lap
I feel a tap
a tear of joy and one of pain
a tear for all you could've gained
I close my eyes and then I wait
you turn the page

I'll sit here in this very chair
for as long as I can carry myself up these stairs
My boy, you don't have to be sad
I've lost my son, but you've not lost your dad
and I know you can hear me,
my little ghost in the walls

Wanting Time to slow down

I want time to slow down. But I don't want anything bad to happen. And time only ever seems to slow down when something bad happens. What a shame.
Off to watch Shine a Light now. I'm guessing that won't slow down time.

energy

I've got it, I've got energy, I've got power, I've got ideas, I haven't got time to even shower, I haven't even got time to put a full stop, only kommas, I must make something, I must drink a latte, no, no latte, might push me over the edge, oops now I had a latte, wow, I feel ok, I feel great, great, I might even try a cigarette, NOOOOO, yes, NOOOOO, yes, NOOOOO, yes, fuck it.

pppffffffhhhhh aaaahhhhhhhh

I feel like shit. Actually. f.u.l.l...s.t.o.p.s....i..w.i.s.h...i...w.a.s...a.t...h.o.m.e...i..h.a.t.e...t.h.i.s...s.h.i.t...j.o.b...i...n.e.e.d..t.o..s.t.o.p...s.m.o.k.i.n.g...

Lyrics

Here's some more lyrics, in no particular order.


SturM und Drang

A sea that begins and ends

with no shores

Waves crash agains glass

and shock your frame

Your lungs struggle for air

You're near submerged

The fights under your belt

weigh you down

Your screams reflect off the walls

hollow and wet

recoil from a transparent throat

But you can't drown

you can't drown

Do you want to be freed

How do you want to be seen

Climb out of your glass

No storm blows out here

The Culinary Skills of a Modern Man
I am a traveling chef
My knife never rests
I've got blood on my hands
And ice in my chest
And I'll warm you up and cool you down
and cook you tenderly

My pots and pans are
the skulls and rib cages
of beautiful feeble creatures
with spiteful, able features
I warm them up and cool them down
and cook them tenderly

First I smell
Then you see,
Then I taste
And then we feel

My meat of choice is
Wild hearts and free souls
Lured in by adjustable brain waves.
From a controlled breeding ground
To ensure match
Sweetened with a deceiving tongue


Concrete under the Bridge

There's a statue on the square

That's not yet turned to stone

I see it from my window

I feel it in my bones

All the stately grandeur

For passers-by to find

Masks that piercing gaze

That's intercepting mine

I can't keep you out

the wave wont break

frozen in time

concrete under the bridge

In the morning sun

You let yourself be watched

And by the hands of time

You let yourself be touched

I can't keep you out

the wave wont break

frozen in time

concrete under the bridge

Martin & Victoria and Us

This weekend I wrote and recorded a new song. It's about an old friend from school and how he became my friend. I managed to create a triple meaning to a phrase in the song, I'm proud to say. Maybe a bit tenuous but still.
I sing "you, more than I, wrote our first song. It was A minor."
The song's title Martin and Victoria is also the title of a book we read in school at that time (about 14, I guess) and the main character Martin's favourite chord is Am. The song my friend and I wrote was also in Am and, DRUM ROLL PLEASE, the chord I play at that point in my song is also Am. Voila, amazing.

Here are the lyrics. My Myspace to hear/download the song.

When we were young and you sat next to me
I was wrong, you were not really who I though
You had much more to say now than I remembered

I used to think, that you were simple
like the way you wrote your name down
that somehow you wouldn't understand
what I was and where I came from

You watched the world from the moon
through a home made lens,
wide enough to observe all the movement.

When we were young and you forgave me
we both got strong
you more than I wrote our first song
It was Am
And that night, I saw your beauty

You watched the world from the moon
through a home made lens
wide enough to observe every movement

You were lying, when you said to me
that it's not coming
that you're the one to change
I'd trade my place, to be who you are