Poetry & Blindfolds

The False Positives is a band that started from the deepest, warmest love and a malfunctioning pregnancy test.  Sven Gutentag and Marta Vashentung  were two musicians in the bustling Wank-haus district in the small village town of Wank, Germany.  Sven specialized in singalong drones, while Marta found infinite inspiration from playing music on animals.

During a performance at Vunnan Atoo’s Open Mic night, Sven’s seventeen-minute opus, “C Major”, was interrupted by some of Marta’s more vocal dik-diks, which burst from their pen and knocked Sven headlong into the glockenspiel.   Marta nursed his injuries, including one he didn’t mention he had, and the next morning, the two embarked on a journey to their local pharmacist, at which it was revealed that Marta was with child.  The two dumped the infant on the side on the road and bought some pregnancy tests, all of which came up positive.

Sven, inspired by the pee-penned sticks, began to write a new piece, entitled “A Minor”, in praise of his to-be-born offspring.  Marta encouraged him by locking Sven in an attic cage with the ocelots.  Because of bad architecture, Sven soon found himself, along with some floorboard from the attic, back in Marta’s bed and the two made love passionately.  It was only the following day, when Sven discovered Marta had a gig that night, that he had to apologize to the ocelot.

Enraged by this infidelity, Marta began to write songs by hitting Sven with various pieces of cutlery and dishes.  Her rarely heard demo, “You Had Sex With An Ocelot?”, has long been thought to be one of her most rarely heard demos.  Soon the two of them were throwing pieces back and forth at each other with such cadence that nearly a whole album was written.

Marta and Sven headed into the studio in Kolonoscopie, Switzerland, along with their friends Uta, Bling and Notajew.  There they laid down such tracks as “Love U When Ur Far Away” and “Your Favorite Addiction” as well as a demo track of “Alaja”, a sound that Marta made when she sneezed.  But they had yet to find the true name of the band.

Then Marta didn’t get bigger.  And the name was found.

The group soldiered on, with Sven grateful that he didn’t have to be nice to Marta anymore.  “Anonymous” was followed by “Not Girls” which was followed by another song with a title.  “Our sound is the sound of shoe stores and hair dressers,” said Sven, hoping a reporter was around.  None was, but Uta, who wrote down everything she heard, scribbled it into her notepad.

So what is the sound of the False Positives?  Inspired by European trance and pop, the songs vary from the guitar-trance of “The Painting Of” to the Summer-of-Love-trance of “Sunny Sunny Sun” to the trance-trance of “Someone’s In My Heart Tonight.”  “We call it N Trance,” explained Marta to Uta, knowing she would write it down.  “Someone’s already done that,” countered Sven.  “Oh, well never mind,” shrugged Marta and left the clinic.

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

“False Positives” is a real album, recorded by me.  The above is just nonsense.

http://www.lulu.com/content/compact-disc/false-positives/8350468

1. She’s a cat person.

2. She’s secularist.

3. She listens to my music and reads my words.

4. She tells me I’m having a Handsome Day.

5. She sees my plays.

6. She gets sick just enough for me to take of her.

7. She makes food – how it turns out is anyone’s guess.

8. She likes my ex.

9. She likes my mom and stepdad.

10. She’s not too fond of my sister.

11. She occasionally asks ‘who’s that?’ when she sees an attractive girl on my facebook or myspace.

12. She tweezes stray hairs.

13. She tolerates my obsessive fandom.

14. She starts the best stories.

15. She knows how to make me laugh.

16. She is a great shopping partner.

17. She sleeps beside me.

18. She re-introduced me to the wonders of therapy.

19. She is there.

20. She married me.

Thank you, Jennifer.  Lovebb.

Ah, Friday.  That magical day of rituals.  I have never been one to say ‘thank god it’s Friday’ – and not because my personal belief system is secular.  After all, I say ‘oh shit’ without having to necessarily believe in excrement.  No, I have simply found ‘thank god it’s Friday’ to be the weary moan of a working class that I cannot identify with.  I work when I work; I don’t when I don’t.  To champion a deity’s input for a five-day workweek followed by a two-day respite is absurd.  I have never been the type of employee to cheer the end of a working day, nor am I one who delights in seeing how many employees can fit in an elevator at 5:01pm.

Efforts to chip a crack into the sadness that has dominated my mood over the last fortnight have been met with quasi-success.  I’ve taken to grabbing books at random from my bookshelf in the morning en route to the train.  As a result, I have read respectable segments of Henrik Ibsen’s final play, ‘When We Dead Awaken’,  as well as the journals of Sylvia Plath.  Remind me never to recommend books to those who are depressed.  For some reason, though, I have found slivers of comedy in choosing such maudlin, distressed pieces by such beautifully damaged people during a time of personal sadness.

A brief note on Plath’s journals: I love her voice, I hate Ted’s.  Ted Hughes, her husband, was a principle editor of Plath’s journals, and as a result, his British overbearing is felt in most entries.  “I dislike Ted sometimes because he has a tiny [omission].”  That’s not a direct quote, mind you, but merely an illustration of why a former spouse is not the best choice for editor of the writings of his dead wife.

A further brief note on Plath’s journals: it is fortunate or unfortunate, but I tend to write in the style of the last author I read for a few hours, so I apologize if this entry is paraphrasing Plath’s style too keenly.  Too keenly?!  Yeh, I said it. 

I have also taken to bringing my Mac to work and forcing myself to have full-hour lunches.  Usually my lunch hour lasts as long as it takes to get food and bring it back to my desk; I occasionally think that I am an ideal employee because of it.  Rare lunches, no ‘thank god it’s Friday’.  Still, if management notices such behavior, they are experts at keeping it to themselves.  But I digress.  I have been writing and recording an album of trance-like music (if for no other reason than I never tried) on my Mac.  So, this week, I have hidden away in the corner of my workplace’s library and spent an hour tweaking, editing, chopping and channeling.   The results have been pleasing to the point where I had to share some with the wife, poor thing.

When my worldview becomes so coal-black that sadness becomes a bit of a comfort, the best I can seem to do is squeeze it for all its worth and hope a diamond comes out the other side.  Still working on that.  In the meantime, I’ll continue reading Plath’s diaries and maybe pick up a few hints (preferably not involving stoves).