Move over, Peter Petrelli and your wanker hairdo!
And Chocolatini goes on to say: Well, he has a magic lamp!
And Chocolatini goes on to say: Well, he has a magic lamp!
Monday, May 14, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Do-Gooders Anonymous: Scene from a Cubicle
Dilbert wouldn't last five minutes at this fictitious organisation (that I fictionally doodle about). Say hello to the lovable kooks at Do-Gooders Anonymous, saving the world one email at a time!
Today's cartoon: Random Thoughts from Kapten Umbad on George Dubya
Today's cartoon: Random Thoughts from Kapten Umbad on George Dubya
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Chiaroscuro: Mislaid by Some God
Here's the "Previously, on Buffy the Vampire Slayer" rundown: Pessoa was a poet "who wrote poets" and not just poetry: he created what he called "heteronyms"--personalities whose philosophies and writing styles were distinct, and ostensibly distinct from his. The book is Pessoa's only major work in prose: the novel is written as the journal of Bernardo Soares, a clerk in a small company. The text was written over a quarter of a century--published post-humously possibly never meant to become public. Pessoa scholars apparently think that Soares as a character is very close to being Pessoa himself. How do I bring this to the stage? This is the question that has haunted me over the past weeks, a hum of worry like a crease on the skin at the back of my mind. Come mid-July, I've committed to performing a monologue, along with five other performers, at The Substation. Each of us has our own book to dramatize, in whatever way works.
"Nothing, nothing, just part of the night and the silence of whatever emptiness... the space that exists between me and me, a thing mislaid by some god." That is how 'The Book of Disquiet' by Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa ends.
Throughout the book, my mind's eye saw Pessoa/Soares quite clearly. Demystified. Or I thought I did. Pessoa (I think of him as Pessoa more than the character Soares) was socially maladjusted, intelligent but intellectually arrogant, sexually repressed and alone. Lonely and loveless. Sometimes his angst was palpable to me--even close to my own inner Munch-ish scream. Other times, I felt appalled by his misanthropic tendencies.
Although the book was never properly edited by Pessoa into a novel before he died, several threads ran through the work: isolation, love, hate, nothingness, tedium, the meaning of his life and of life in general, his writing and the meaning of writing, and--most importantly--sublimation. Sublimation is the process of separating two or more mixed substances; what Pessoa tries to do is sublimation in the literary and ideational sense of distilling the pure from the unpure. With words, he tries to render the base, transitory and meaningless material world into the purity of its substance in ideas, dreams and writing. Sleep is to life, as life is to death. "This thing we think of as life is only the sleep of real life, the death of what we truly are. The dead are born, they do not die... When we think we are alive, we are dead, we live even while we lie dying."
Pessoa reveled in the objectification of emotion (writing that he should die, "feelings first"), in his self-imposed distance from humanity and in his belief that this distance made one superior to others. He extolled indifference as an aim: "(t)o know, immediately and instinctively, how to abstract from every object and event only what is suitable dream material and to leave for dead in the External World any reality it contains... harboring no ambitions, passions, desires, hopes, impulses or feelings of restlessness.
"We must find for every feeling the most serene mode of expression; reduce love to a mere shadow of a dream of love..."
The consequence is best exemplified in a passage about pain: "The pain of not understanding the mystery of life, the pain of being unloved, the pain of others' injustice to us, the pain of life crushing us, suffocating and imprisoning us, the pain of toothache, of pinching shoes--who can say which pain (is) worse?... Everything is nothing, and our pain is no exception."
But was he just hypocritically trying to assuage his own loneliness? Was this intellectual and psychological onanism simply a defense? He admits on page 159 that he was once truly loved, once. Pessoa scholars speculate that Pessoa died a virgin. Apart from passages about being (or striving to be) above sensuality and the sappy sentiment of love ("If the heart could think it would stop beating"), here was one entry that I think betrays his struggle for equanimity with all his futile passions roiling in him:
"A cup of coffee, a cigarette, the penetrating aroma of its smoke, myself sitting in a shadowy room with eyes half-closed...
I want no more from life than my dreams and this... It doesn't seem much? I don't know. What do I know about what is a little and what is a lot?
... I open the window... And one last thing pierces me, tears at me, leaves my soul in tatters. It's that I, at this moment, at this window, looking out at these sad, gentle things, ought to present an aesthetic figure, like someone in a picture--
and I don't,
I don't even do that."
What I also found interesting was Pessoa's many references to himself as the book itself (or as the product of his art)--Pessoa the "written voice" and "intellectual image", indistinguished from Pessoa the person, mind and existence. Writing four years before he died, he despairs: "I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me." Also: "I am... the very prose that I write. I shape myself in periods and paragraphs, I punctuate myself... I've become a character in a book, a life already read." And, with irony and uncharacteristic humor: "With all this rewriting, I have destroyed myself."
More likely, it is Soares (the character) speaking in direct address to the audience acknowledging that he is only the product of Pessoa's pen.
"Everything in me is a tendency to be about something else; an impatience of the soul within itself as if with an importunate child, a disquiet that is always growing, always the same."
"Nothing, nothing, just part of the night and the silence of whatever emptiness... the space that exists between me and me, a thing mislaid by some god." That is how 'The Book of Disquiet' by Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa ends.
Throughout the book, my mind's eye saw Pessoa/Soares quite clearly. Demystified. Or I thought I did. Pessoa (I think of him as Pessoa more than the character Soares) was socially maladjusted, intelligent but intellectually arrogant, sexually repressed and alone. Lonely and loveless. Sometimes his angst was palpable to me--even close to my own inner Munch-ish scream. Other times, I felt appalled by his misanthropic tendencies.
Although the book was never properly edited by Pessoa into a novel before he died, several threads ran through the work: isolation, love, hate, nothingness, tedium, the meaning of his life and of life in general, his writing and the meaning of writing, and--most importantly--sublimation. Sublimation is the process of separating two or more mixed substances; what Pessoa tries to do is sublimation in the literary and ideational sense of distilling the pure from the unpure. With words, he tries to render the base, transitory and meaningless material world into the purity of its substance in ideas, dreams and writing. Sleep is to life, as life is to death. "This thing we think of as life is only the sleep of real life, the death of what we truly are. The dead are born, they do not die... When we think we are alive, we are dead, we live even while we lie dying."
Pessoa reveled in the objectification of emotion (writing that he should die, "feelings first"), in his self-imposed distance from humanity and in his belief that this distance made one superior to others. He extolled indifference as an aim: "(t)o know, immediately and instinctively, how to abstract from every object and event only what is suitable dream material and to leave for dead in the External World any reality it contains... harboring no ambitions, passions, desires, hopes, impulses or feelings of restlessness.
"We must find for every feeling the most serene mode of expression; reduce love to a mere shadow of a dream of love..."
The consequence is best exemplified in a passage about pain: "The pain of not understanding the mystery of life, the pain of being unloved, the pain of others' injustice to us, the pain of life crushing us, suffocating and imprisoning us, the pain of toothache, of pinching shoes--who can say which pain (is) worse?... Everything is nothing, and our pain is no exception."
But was he just hypocritically trying to assuage his own loneliness? Was this intellectual and psychological onanism simply a defense? He admits on page 159 that he was once truly loved, once. Pessoa scholars speculate that Pessoa died a virgin. Apart from passages about being (or striving to be) above sensuality and the sappy sentiment of love ("If the heart could think it would stop beating"), here was one entry that I think betrays his struggle for equanimity with all his futile passions roiling in him:
"A cup of coffee, a cigarette, the penetrating aroma of its smoke, myself sitting in a shadowy room with eyes half-closed...
I want no more from life than my dreams and this... It doesn't seem much? I don't know. What do I know about what is a little and what is a lot?
... I open the window... And one last thing pierces me, tears at me, leaves my soul in tatters. It's that I, at this moment, at this window, looking out at these sad, gentle things, ought to present an aesthetic figure, like someone in a picture--
and I don't,
I don't even do that."
What I also found interesting was Pessoa's many references to himself as the book itself (or as the product of his art)--Pessoa the "written voice" and "intellectual image", indistinguished from Pessoa the person, mind and existence. Writing four years before he died, he despairs: "I am the outskirts of some non-existent town, the long-winded prologue to an unwritten book. I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love. I'm a character in a novel as yet unwritten, hovering in the air and undone before I've even existed, amongst the dreams of someone who never quite managed to breathe life into me." Also: "I am... the very prose that I write. I shape myself in periods and paragraphs, I punctuate myself... I've become a character in a book, a life already read." And, with irony and uncharacteristic humor: "With all this rewriting, I have destroyed myself."
More likely, it is Soares (the character) speaking in direct address to the audience acknowledging that he is only the product of Pessoa's pen.
"Everything in me is a tendency to be about something else; an impatience of the soul within itself as if with an importunate child, a disquiet that is always growing, always the same."
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Dirge for the Departed
Vending machine.
Your cold glass slabs,
warm only in our memories
of the saccharine drinks you purveyed
to slake our thirst
and fetishes for
aspartame and carbonated fluid.
You are no more.
It took four men
to carry you out
while a funeral dirge
wailed
in our hearts.
i really want an ice cold can of green tea right now.
Your cold glass slabs,
warm only in our memories
of the saccharine drinks you purveyed
to slake our thirst
and fetishes for
aspartame and carbonated fluid.
You are no more.
It took four men
to carry you out
while a funeral dirge
wailed
in our hearts.
i really want an ice cold can of green tea right now.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
ambient noise vol 3
dakota | stereophoics
I turn my camera on | spoon
another devil dies | badly drawn boy
criminal | fiona apple
fall at your feet | crowded house
leaving so soon? | keane
to the end | blur
this charming man | the smiths
caring is creepy | the shins
i fought the law | green day
the importance of being idle | oasis
can’t stand me now | the libertines
is this love? | clap your hands, say yeah
golden | fall out boy
evil | Interpol
yeah is what we had | grandaddy
i predict a riot | kaiser chiefs
OPTION+COMMAND+5. Check out iTunes's album artwork flow view
I turn my camera on | spoon
another devil dies | badly drawn boy
criminal | fiona apple
fall at your feet | crowded house
leaving so soon? | keane
to the end | blur
this charming man | the smiths
caring is creepy | the shins
i fought the law | green day
the importance of being idle | oasis
can’t stand me now | the libertines
is this love? | clap your hands, say yeah
golden | fall out boy
evil | Interpol
yeah is what we had | grandaddy
i predict a riot | kaiser chiefs
OPTION+COMMAND+5. Check out iTunes's album artwork flow view
Monday, March 26, 2007
Chiaroscuro: Disquiet and the Malconent
Chiaroscuro is a technique for painting and sketches that uses the contrast of light (chiaro) and darkness (oscura), with the falling of light on uneven surfaces or from a particular source. It heightens the drama, signifies depth and dimension, and could denote something sinister. This is my journal on Project Chiaroscuro, a production by Little Red Shop and the Substation, which will culminate in a performance of six original monologues at The Substation on 12-15 July. Each performance will be inspired by one of six selected books.
The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pesoa
First, let me admit that I still haven't finished reading it. Not because it's boring but because it's totally absorbing. I think I need to simply take a day off and finish the damn thing. It's been a while since I've had to read a book line by line, and life is full of distractions.
From what I've read so far, the Book of Disquiet isn't plot or character-driven; yet one can't compare it to stream-of-consciousness type works as Virginia Woolf or getting into the mind of the protagonist like Dostoyevski (I'm referencing Crime and Punishment here, at least). What comes to mind is prose by Albert Camus, who used his fiction to explore his ideas about life and existence.
The book is essentially the journal of a book-keeper/accountant named Bernardo Soares, whose life is largely circumscribed by his neighborhood--even his street--in Lisbon. Overtly, he spends his days without change and without incident: he goes to work, eats at the same restaurant, cuts his hair at the same barber's, and so on. He is a non-descript, quiet man, who doesn't make any ripples around him and walks through life as if he is unmindful of what happens around him.
Overtly.
His inner life is full of tumult, richness and expanse. Although he has never been far from home, Soares cogitates over life and existence from his own love of Portuguese and other literature. He pores over the minutiae of his own life and his impressions of his surroundings and the people around him. The people around him have no clue of how much they affect him. He writes about the meaning of existence and life, religion, even sex and love; but from the vantage of a limited scope of experience. And all this happens behind his eyes, behind the veneer of the constant, consistent and unassuming book-keeper, who somehow has the ability to do two things in parallel: enter the credits and debits of his mundane irreducibly material existence while living, in his mind, within a maelstrom of ideas and ontological questions that do not cease.
Here are some quotes to illustrate:
"One must monotonize existence in order to rid it of monotony. One must make the everyday so anodyne that the slightest incident proves entertaining."
"I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love... I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall."
"Because I am nothing, I can imagine myself to be anything."
Part of what makes the book remarkable is also its author. Fernando Pessoa is a Portuguese poet and this book is his only major work in prose. Moreover, the book was found (and published) post-humously from papers among his possessions. He started the book in 1912 and wrote, on and off, until his death in 1935.
This presents an occasional idiosycracy in the book, or perhaps it's just that the nature of one's thoughts and attitudes change over time: sometimes he comes across as religious; others, atheist. Sometimes, he is intellectually arrogant; others, he is exceedingly self-deprecating.
As a writer, Pessoa was also noteworthy for the his use of "heteronyms" (as opposed to pseudonyms), where he explored the philosophy and thoughts of other individuals--writing as them--with outlooks and styles different from his. Bernardo Soares in the Book of Disquiet, however, is seen to be a vehicle for Pessoa's own thoughts and life.
In terms of dramatizing the text, I was thinking of developing a character who is translating the text from Portuguese into English, thus grappling with the ideas presented, Pessoa's life himself, and how this relates to the character's life. I'd be interested in reading the translation by Margaret Jull Costa (the one I'm reading is by Maria Jose de Lancastre), who is considered to have written the best translation of the book into English, and fictionalize on her experience. Perhaps the character's life is in disarray, and she takes refuge in Pessoa's world of ideas--by disagreeing with him, but also finding that some of what he writes resonates in her like truth.
thanks go to sunita, for providing perspective.
The Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pesoa
First, let me admit that I still haven't finished reading it. Not because it's boring but because it's totally absorbing. I think I need to simply take a day off and finish the damn thing. It's been a while since I've had to read a book line by line, and life is full of distractions.
From what I've read so far, the Book of Disquiet isn't plot or character-driven; yet one can't compare it to stream-of-consciousness type works as Virginia Woolf or getting into the mind of the protagonist like Dostoyevski (I'm referencing Crime and Punishment here, at least). What comes to mind is prose by Albert Camus, who used his fiction to explore his ideas about life and existence.
The book is essentially the journal of a book-keeper/accountant named Bernardo Soares, whose life is largely circumscribed by his neighborhood--even his street--in Lisbon. Overtly, he spends his days without change and without incident: he goes to work, eats at the same restaurant, cuts his hair at the same barber's, and so on. He is a non-descript, quiet man, who doesn't make any ripples around him and walks through life as if he is unmindful of what happens around him.
Overtly.
His inner life is full of tumult, richness and expanse. Although he has never been far from home, Soares cogitates over life and existence from his own love of Portuguese and other literature. He pores over the minutiae of his own life and his impressions of his surroundings and the people around him. The people around him have no clue of how much they affect him. He writes about the meaning of existence and life, religion, even sex and love; but from the vantage of a limited scope of experience. And all this happens behind his eyes, behind the veneer of the constant, consistent and unassuming book-keeper, who somehow has the ability to do two things in parallel: enter the credits and debits of his mundane irreducibly material existence while living, in his mind, within a maelstrom of ideas and ontological questions that do not cease.
Here are some quotes to illustrate:
"One must monotonize existence in order to rid it of monotony. One must make the everyday so anodyne that the slightest incident proves entertaining."
"I'm nobody, nobody. I don't know how to feel or think or love... I'm always thinking, always feeling, but my thoughts lack all reason, my emotions all feeling. I'm falling through a trapdoor, through infinite, infinitous space, in a directionless, empty fall."
"Because I am nothing, I can imagine myself to be anything."
Part of what makes the book remarkable is also its author. Fernando Pessoa is a Portuguese poet and this book is his only major work in prose. Moreover, the book was found (and published) post-humously from papers among his possessions. He started the book in 1912 and wrote, on and off, until his death in 1935.
This presents an occasional idiosycracy in the book, or perhaps it's just that the nature of one's thoughts and attitudes change over time: sometimes he comes across as religious; others, atheist. Sometimes, he is intellectually arrogant; others, he is exceedingly self-deprecating.
As a writer, Pessoa was also noteworthy for the his use of "heteronyms" (as opposed to pseudonyms), where he explored the philosophy and thoughts of other individuals--writing as them--with outlooks and styles different from his. Bernardo Soares in the Book of Disquiet, however, is seen to be a vehicle for Pessoa's own thoughts and life.
In terms of dramatizing the text, I was thinking of developing a character who is translating the text from Portuguese into English, thus grappling with the ideas presented, Pessoa's life himself, and how this relates to the character's life. I'd be interested in reading the translation by Margaret Jull Costa (the one I'm reading is by Maria Jose de Lancastre), who is considered to have written the best translation of the book into English, and fictionalize on her experience. Perhaps the character's life is in disarray, and she takes refuge in Pessoa's world of ideas--by disagreeing with him, but also finding that some of what he writes resonates in her like truth.
thanks go to sunita, for providing perspective.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
red hot chili party
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
it's great to drink to someone,
and i guess that's me, whoopee
a merry 30th birthday to me
statistics prove that you've one life,
one birth day, once a year;
the little deaths, all other days,
are also cause for cheer
so
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
let's all just drink the night away
be happy as can be
a merry 30th birthday
a merry 30th birthday
a merry 30th birthday
to me!
i'm gonna get me soooo wasted...
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
it's great to drink to someone,
and i guess that's me, whoopee
a merry 30th birthday to me
statistics prove that you've one life,
one birth day, once a year;
the little deaths, all other days,
are also cause for cheer
so
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
a merry 30th birthday to me, to me
let's all just drink the night away
be happy as can be
a merry 30th birthday
a merry 30th birthday
a merry 30th birthday
to me!
i'm gonna get me soooo wasted...
Sunday, March 18, 2007
ambient noise volume 2
last nite | the strokes, is this it?
cause=time | broken social scene, you forgot it in people
this is how it goes | aimee man, BTVS radio sunnydale
like a stone | audioslave, audioslave
thinking about you | radiohead, pablo honey
rudie can’t fail | the clash, london calling
garden grove | sublime, sublime
lithium | nirvana, nevermind
crazy | gnarls barkley, st. elsewhere
all is full of love | death cab for cutie, the photo album
everybody got their something | nikka costa, BTVS radio sunnydale
sunshine and clouds (and everything proud) | clap your hands, say yeah, clap your hands, say yeah
everyday i love you less and less | kaiser chiefs, employment
hard to concentrate | red hot chilli peppers, stadium arcadium
little wing | jimi hendrix, experience hendrix
road to ruin | the libertines, the libertines
cheated hearts | yeah yeah yeahs, show your bones
i'm pretty happy with this CD and the process of putting the songs together was less torturous--probably because i was buoyed by alvin's enthusiasm (by alvin standards) over the first one. so i was at public house last night and this was played (when i came in, alvin was like "i knew you'd bring a new CD!"). it was fun, sunita, saad and i were enjoying the music and talking about beloved TV shows (and singing the theme music!) BUT the CD started skipping by the time the kaiser chiefs were on and had to be stopped. argh. technical difficulties. alvin, get a frakking iBook!
just a couple of notes on the music. "hard to concentrate" is one of the coolest songs for a wedding (lyrics here).
"all is full of love" is a cover of the bjork song by death cab for cutie. (thanks go to qiuyi for this)
sunshine and clouds is a one-minute instrumental interlude, which i thought was a charming notion.
two songs have been played on Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "this is how it goes" (season 7, with aimee mann doing a cameo and saying "i'm sick of playing at vampire towns") and "everybody got their something" (season 2 or 3, methinks, with Buffy, Xander and Willow dancing to it in the Sunnydale High library...).
me desktop. check it.
cause=time | broken social scene, you forgot it in people
this is how it goes | aimee man, BTVS radio sunnydale
like a stone | audioslave, audioslave
thinking about you | radiohead, pablo honey
rudie can’t fail | the clash, london calling
garden grove | sublime, sublime
lithium | nirvana, nevermind
crazy | gnarls barkley, st. elsewhere
all is full of love | death cab for cutie, the photo album
everybody got their something | nikka costa, BTVS radio sunnydale
sunshine and clouds (and everything proud) | clap your hands, say yeah, clap your hands, say yeah
everyday i love you less and less | kaiser chiefs, employment
hard to concentrate | red hot chilli peppers, stadium arcadium
little wing | jimi hendrix, experience hendrix
road to ruin | the libertines, the libertines
cheated hearts | yeah yeah yeahs, show your bones
i'm pretty happy with this CD and the process of putting the songs together was less torturous--probably because i was buoyed by alvin's enthusiasm (by alvin standards) over the first one. so i was at public house last night and this was played (when i came in, alvin was like "i knew you'd bring a new CD!"). it was fun, sunita, saad and i were enjoying the music and talking about beloved TV shows (and singing the theme music!) BUT the CD started skipping by the time the kaiser chiefs were on and had to be stopped. argh. technical difficulties. alvin, get a frakking iBook!
just a couple of notes on the music. "hard to concentrate" is one of the coolest songs for a wedding (lyrics here).
"all is full of love" is a cover of the bjork song by death cab for cutie. (thanks go to qiuyi for this)
sunshine and clouds is a one-minute instrumental interlude, which i thought was a charming notion.
two songs have been played on Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "this is how it goes" (season 7, with aimee mann doing a cameo and saying "i'm sick of playing at vampire towns") and "everybody got their something" (season 2 or 3, methinks, with Buffy, Xander and Willow dancing to it in the Sunnydale High library...).
me desktop. check it.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
The skin of the world, peeled
The skin of the world, peeled:
here is reality behind that which is beheld.
We think, therefore it is.
Distance is a measure of words,
weight is the dichotomy of being and nothingness,
and time is counted out in cigarettes and cups of coffee.
Meaning and absurdity are sisters,
born of sentience and civilization,
destined to die as us, live as us.
Thoughts are faster than action,
travel farther than light, sound and stone.
Flesh is a clumsy container for infinity.
Why then, is it, that
the body remembers
what the mind forgets?
Singapore, 17 March 2007
The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its former dimensions. I read that on a bookmark once.
here is reality behind that which is beheld.
We think, therefore it is.
Distance is a measure of words,
weight is the dichotomy of being and nothingness,
and time is counted out in cigarettes and cups of coffee.
Meaning and absurdity are sisters,
born of sentience and civilization,
destined to die as us, live as us.
Thoughts are faster than action,
travel farther than light, sound and stone.
Flesh is a clumsy container for infinity.
Why then, is it, that
the body remembers
what the mind forgets?
Singapore, 17 March 2007
The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its former dimensions. I read that on a bookmark once.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Ambient Noise for Public House, or Early Steps to a DJ Career
This is the CD I cut for Public House, the bar that Natalia and I (and other miscellaneous friends) frequent. Credit for Virgin State of Mind, Belong and Days Go By, as well as over-all criticism in the process of putting the songs together, goes to Natalia.
Everything's Just Wonderful
Artist: Lily Allen
Album: Alright, Still
Starlight
Artist: Muse
Album: Black Holes & Revelations
Virgin State of Mind
Artist: K's Choice
Album: Music from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
The Zephyr Song
Artist: Red Hot Chili Pepers
Album: By The Way
Drive
Artist: Incubus
Album: Make Yourself
Days Go By (Acoustic)
Artist: Dirty Vegas
Album: The Best Acoustic Album in the World (I shit you not)
Dani California
Artist: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Album: Stadium Arcadium
There is a Light that Never Goes Out
Artist: Morissey
Album: Redondo Beach
Pursuit of Happiness
Artist: Nuno
Album: Schizophonic
Belong
Artist: R.E.M.
Album: Out of Time
Eleanor Put Your Boots On
Artist: Franz Ferdinand
Album: You Could Have it So Much Better
Yellow Sun
Artist: The Raconteurs
Album: Broken Boy Soldiers
Bohemian Like You
Artist: Dandy Warhols
Album: Radio Sunnydale
Shiver (Acoustic)
Artist: Coldplay
Album: Trouble (B sides)
Angel
Artist: Dave Matthews Band
Album: Everyday
My Hero
Artist: Foo Fighters
Album: Skin and Bones
CD Cover Artwork by sdri 10 March 2007
Everything's Just Wonderful
Artist: Lily Allen
Album: Alright, Still
Starlight
Artist: Muse
Album: Black Holes & Revelations
Virgin State of Mind
Artist: K's Choice
Album: Music from Buffy the Vampire Slayer
The Zephyr Song
Artist: Red Hot Chili Pepers
Album: By The Way
Drive
Artist: Incubus
Album: Make Yourself
Days Go By (Acoustic)
Artist: Dirty Vegas
Album: The Best Acoustic Album in the World (I shit you not)
Dani California
Artist: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Album: Stadium Arcadium
There is a Light that Never Goes Out
Artist: Morissey
Album: Redondo Beach
Pursuit of Happiness
Artist: Nuno
Album: Schizophonic
Belong
Artist: R.E.M.
Album: Out of Time
Eleanor Put Your Boots On
Artist: Franz Ferdinand
Album: You Could Have it So Much Better
Yellow Sun
Artist: The Raconteurs
Album: Broken Boy Soldiers
Bohemian Like You
Artist: Dandy Warhols
Album: Radio Sunnydale
Shiver (Acoustic)
Artist: Coldplay
Album: Trouble (B sides)
Angel
Artist: Dave Matthews Band
Album: Everyday
My Hero
Artist: Foo Fighters
Album: Skin and Bones
CD Cover Artwork by sdri 10 March 2007