plausibility syndrome ·
8 July 04

I was in yet another bloody sombre mood. I looked at plausability. When your friend says, “Are you coming down?” what they’re really sayng is, “Is it plausible for you to come down?” They expect you to have an answer to a question that is so vague, the answer could be as extreme as, “as plausible as the sky being swallowed my arsehole.”

There are many variations with situations where questions are really questions of plausibility , with expectations for you to know the absolute final answer, providing the total solution for a vague question with infinite answers. Actually the reason I am sombre is because I was thinking of bad, plausible situations that I would lose friends in. What could I do that is plausible enough to want them to never see me again.

Ah, it’s the classic, “tear jerker” by “soft moment”.

“One I would betray by deed” – play violins.
“One I would lie to” – play the bass.
“One I would blame” – clattering of symbols.

I thought about “One I would kill”, and although techincally possible, and could count, it would have to be by none direct or as far as possible indirect death. That’s cheating and unacceptable.

Why can’t life be this enlightening when sobre?

Tearful violin. He isn’t even sure if he has any friends. Big splash by whale in pool. I’ve been pining to listen to PJ Harvey’s ‘The Garden’. I want to hear her sorrow when she says “trouble, taking place”, to then turn her voice into that of an angel and commit sorrow and pain to the words she speaks. I love the pain in her voice, it’s such a turn on.

Misery, resentment, pain, fear, damnation and all the evil in the world concentrated into those words, piercing into my lower spine like a dagger. It’s beautifully moving, sexually charged, and drenched in depression. It’s the sort of song, the sort of lyrics, that if you were to hear them while you were dying, you would feel no pain, no misery, no unhappiness, only contentment and peace. You die, the world flashes white, and as your eyes close, taking your soul beyond to the next paradise, all your deepest, happiest memories surface and you realise your life was not so bad, it was filled with the happier moments you forgot. Then you can die in peace.

‘The River’ is another incredible song, Harvey just melts your body with her deliciously, deathly voice. She sings with the voice an enchantress, but delivers death. It’s unfair to say that, as her later music became happier, perhaps reflecting how she felt about life then. Her earlier albums are flooded in pain and misery. They make Avril Lavigne sound like Mr Blobby for the living dead. Unheard, and never remembered. She has no real misery, she hasn’t lived, she hasn’t known or will be able to deomnsrate pain like Harvey. The Queen of Despair. She can make death seem like a place of hope and a place of damnation simultaneously.
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In fact she demonstrates every emotion, feeling, thought in mind or body in every way. She picks emotions in you that you didn’t think you could mix with others. It’s a choatic free for all, that nothing is ordered, and it can be any way you choose. She’s so amazing, she can be original or she can evolve somthing that exists, but she is absolute pleasure to listen to. This is music I can get stoned to.

Listen to ‘The Wind’, another beautiful and haunting track. She makes everything negative seem sexy, making you indulge in the desires keep locked away for most of your day, that you only acknowledge in silence. She can sound sincere and vulnerable, or dirty and seductive and everything in between. She can look decently attractive now that she caught up with the 21st century and realised she could spend money on having a hair style, and buying clothes that are flattering rather than man-like feminist trousers and big earings, 80’s style. Seems all my favourite solo vocalists are female, and all from different genres of music and all able to deomnstrate synergy, energy and power through their words spoken and the music played. Harvey does for me what Joplin did for generations past.

God, I was smoking a long time, and while listening to ‘Angelene’ beautiful as ever, I came up with a theory. Avirl isn’t bad, but she’s a generation different to the life I grew up in. Things change in a generation, and Avril is the Harvey of that generations time, as Harvey is the Joplin of my generation. It all makes sense now, and doesn’t feel so bad when I think about it. It’s applicable to all genres, one generations

They make Avril Lavigne sound like Mr Blobby for the living dead.

Take That is the previous generations New Kids on the Block. Then we have cross generational bands like The Beatles, even if you don’t like them, you know of them and know they are held in high regard. Or taking from a later generation Nirvana is also cross generational, young or old, loving or hating, you’ll have heard of Nirvana. Why can’t life be this enlightening when sobre? Why does everything that could be light at the end of a tunnel suddenly dim and hide itslef once more in the darkness?

If life was simple, we’d all be happier. You couldn’t be tainted by desire or pleasure. If everything was simple you wouldn’t be able to get better, so you would always have to live with being content and happy. Holy shit! That’s Communism! Maybe I can start a new mind controlling China-esque state called Jinhina which sounds close to vahgina, which is said vagina. This won’t work in name, but we can come up with something later. Everything is negotiable.

I know what will happen. I will end up as the guy who is always stoned, he wears a hooded top, and listens to PJ Harvey on his Walkman. He never moves and is always found at everyones house, stoned sitting in the corner on his own surrounded by Doritos, Pringles, Flumps and Tropicana cartons. He’s like part of the furniture, a house isn’t complete without a Jin taking up part of the furntiure spreading his legs across, cotching because he’s stoned. Trance like, mouth open and eyes looking dead at the lights.