Sakura Breeze

l.a.u.r.a.n.y.r.o

When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And When all my cares just drift right into space

On the roof it's peaceful as can be
And there the world below can't bother me

Let me tell you now
When I come home feelin' tired and beat
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet
I get away from the hustling crowds
And all that rat race noise down in the street
Up on the roof

On the roof's the only place I know
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Oh, let's go up on the roof

At night the stars put on a show for free
And darling, you can share it all with me
I keep a-telling you
Right smack dab in the middle of town
I found a paradise that's trouble-proof
Up on the roof

So if this world starts getting you down
There's room enough for two, up on the roof
Up on the roof, everything is alright
Up on the roof, oh, come on, baby
Up on the roof
Up on the roof

Run 5.0 miles

And 40 minutes of tennis.

A few nights I go I had a dream that I was on a rooftop looking accross a chequerboard of rooftops stretching into the distance.

The scene was an urban one, like an industrial, rusting, east coast American city. Like New York or Philadelphia or Pitsburgh before gentrification. Like back in the days of the derelict and decaying. the days of blackouts, and pawn shops on every corner. A real manky and strangely soulful scene.

I clambered over the unbiquitous black, grey, and brown. I looked out into a distance. I was breathing in the distance.

Isnt it curious. People look upon things that are threadbare, rusty, or worn, as if they are a sign of failure and loss.

In this age of capitalist regeneration, it seems that only the new and shiny is of worth. Its what we are taugh to aspire to.

Yet the mossy picket fence at the old railway station is a reminder of both the effemeral and the continual. It's a little image of history before our eyes. Such an everyday picture as to hover just beneath consciousness. Barely noticing these wooden or stone or rusting sleeping grandparents all around us.

I just dont see rusty battered cars on the roads like I used to when I was growing up. We dont get to see non-smiley shiny perfect happy people anymore. It violates the code of aspiration and avarice. Their trying to sell us stuff. The worn is shunted away.

Yet the irony in all this is that we are obsessed with nostalgia in the UK. Every other tv programme is about 80's pop culture, or 70's industrial relations.

What does it say?

I'm sleepy time to dream.

Just a random picture.

Maybe i'll come tonight and add more to this post.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I'm back.

What should I write about?

in blogland.

not happy.

Now

I played an hour of solo tennis and ran 2 miles over the hill. Not alot. But kept me occupied 'til its time. Now I am away tpo check the tennis final.

The most important thing so far as Marit is concerned, is that she takes her time to get it right. And that as the artist she is happy with the end product for release.

At less that 40 minutes long, Under The Surface is a work of quality not quantity. Its a really hard album to follow. Its not just a living, but a loving.

(Marit is, Marit Larsen)

Run - 5.0 miles

But that was yesterday.

5.0 miles

This blog is looking bare by comparison.  Maybe it needs a bear. Or maybe I will just set it to private, cos i'm not hugely keen on anonymous lurkers like you.

Listened to LauraNyr0 for a while yesterday. No 70's idoms, no 80's embellishments. No Howe, Cavaliere, or Rundgr3n to ruin things. Just  a little club in NewYorkCity called the Looms Desire, clinking glasses in the background, piano, vocal, three part harmony - Soulful, gospely, songish, . Lifts ya spirit to -1

She never resorted to hyperbole, the songs just stood out by themselves.

35 minutes of bad tennis. And a 5 mile run.

Yesterday I was swinging the racquet and striking the ball much better.

Tonight however, I was spraying the ball all over the place and doing bad backhand slices that just killed the pace of the ball. So I just called it a day after half an hour and went a run.

What was wrong? I bent the racquet frame. How? We'll call it a code violation..

Goodnight.

Ran 2 miles and played tennis for an hour

Goodnight

Still no proper run.

An hour of tennis and a 1 mile run.

Not quite 6 miles a day is it. But it's been a couple of weeks.. so..

What have I been doing tonight? Watching clips on Youtube. Earlier I watched some clips of a guy calledToddRundgr3ntaken from his new record.

Tonight, I watched a Sugabab3s clip of a song called Never Gonna Dance Again from their last album Change. The clip was taken by me when I went to see then in concert a few months ago. My channel is www.youtube.com/groovedestiny6630

Funny to consider the two, side by side, through the amateur medium of 3gp/mp4.

As the final record starts to fade,
I feel the dancefloor turning colder,
And so i'm never gonna dance again,
Cos all the music in my world is faded,
I know it's never gonna be the same,
It's over,

Strange how i'm still getting visitors, lurkers, when I havent posted in two weeks nearly.

No running for almost as long.

The past three evenings I have played a little solo tennis on the grass. 90 minute sessions. But in cardiovascular terms  it isnt as thorough a work out. But it's fun though.

Spent ten minutes each day trying the two handed thing. If  I make contact with the ball at all, then it goes like a bullet! But sometimes with two hands I miss altogether, especially with the funny bounces that the grass garden throws up.

Should I keep Talkng, or  be quiet?

OK. The other night I was travelling back on the tube between Southfields and Victoria. The carriage was full of mainly white middle class passengers making their way home after watching the tennis at Wimbledon. In the corner of the carriage where four black boys.

I looked at Laura Ashley and her daughter, they were looking at John Roca, G-UNIT, Southpole, and Zoo York - and they woz just checkin, get me.

 I sensed a little apprehension in the air.

I got off at Earls Court, and changed trains.

Bu tbefore I disembarked the carriage, I didnt bother confessing to Laura Ashley that just underneath Alice's plain Jane tunic from Next , one would find. a very bling Rocawear belt, .Oh yes. Serena and Bethanie Mattek eat your heart out (tennis players known for their uncompromising dress sense).

I also didnt let on to Laura, John Roca, and co, that underneath the belt lay more surprises.. let's not go there. No one does

Among the 22:00 hrs tube train demographic, there was no demographic to fit me. i'm sorta, post-demography! Sort of all of everything everywhere and yet nowhere.
.
The carriage in my next tube train to Victoria was empty. Fitting. Innit.

A.I.i.c.e in l00king glass world.

Sandwich.

edited