And o frustration hast thou, perchance, foundeth a new home in my heart. This always happens, at least to some degree, yet it always takes me by surprise as it happens. With the average of two and a half songs composed for Sinisthra per year for the past five or so years, one would think that coming up with an adequate amount of lyrics wouldn’t pose a problem of this calibre. A few verses with a nice chorus to go with it, shouldn’t take longer than 30 minutes maximum and then I can have the rest of the day off.

Only it isn’t so at all. I ‘m clearly adapting a more and more Douglas Adamsian kind of writing mode the older I get, meaning that no matter how much I’d like to write, I just forbid it and I’m strictly not allowed to write anything, especially if there’s the slightest possibility of me enjoying it and actually ending up creating something worthwhile. Therefore once again, in a seemingly most unfortunate development, I appear to have misplaced my lyric writing abilities entirely. As I often do on occasions like this. A brand new shining composition all finished musically, waiting to be recorded in a few weeks’ time, with a handful of days to go until the first and last time we get to try it out on rehearsals before putting it down on album, and I can’t piece two words together to form anything reasonable. Completing a five word sentence feels like something that only happens in fantasy movies and to people who don’t exist in real life.

Was it always THIS hard? If it was, I’ve blissfully forgotten. Although I suspect it wasn’t. Maybe it’s pre-album stress, maybe I’m too happy with my life and too at peace with myself nowadays, maybe I’ve set my standards so high that I can’t come up with anything good enough anymore. And maybe, after grieving and moaning over it for another few days and half-consciously falling back on all kinds of displacement activities, like updating this blog, the words just spill out of me as they’ve usually done before. So it’s back to listening to “Misplaced Childhood” and reading John Keats and waiting for fickle inspiration to pay a visit.

THIS WEEKS’ SOURCE OF FRUSTRATION:
The lyric that refuses to come. Not much of a frustration really, more of a pleasant challenge. At least still for now, although the pleasantness may flake and wither if nothing continues to be the result of my efforts. Mostly my frustrations are fleeting and far between these days and that’s a blessing after years and years of feeling constantly agitated and unwell.

THIS WEEKS’ SOURCE OF DELIGHT:
Probably the same as last weeks’, which I didn’t mention then and won’t mention now either. None of your business actually, just the little shapeless everyday things that make me feel all good and warm inside.

THIS WEEKS ALBUM OF CHOICE:
“Watershed” by Opeth. Probably a lot of other peoples’ choice as well nowadays and therefore not needing much of an introduction or deeper analysis. Outstanding musicianship and the quality of songwriting is way beyond the reach of mere mortals.

THIS WEEKS’ BOOKS OF CHOICE:
First Russell Hoban’s “Amaryllis Night And Day” and then Graham Joyce’s “Dreamside”, both dealing with the concept of lucid dreaming which fascinates me to a certain degree. Russell’s novel is a more surrealistic one and very enjoyable at that, with nothing much explained and a lot left for the reader to find out and comprehend. I’m not sure how much I comprehended and found out but I liked the book anyway although it didn’t live up to my expectations after starting out on Russell Hoban with his tremendous “Medusa Frequency” and then waiting for all his other books to be as shaking and captivating as that one.

“Dreamside”, then. At first I wasn’t sure how it’s going to turn out for me, with sentences like “memories clung to him like the tentacles of a deep-sea creature” but it got better once the story got underway and anyway it’s Graham Joyce’s first novel, with lovely ones like “The Limits Of Enchantment” to come later on so I decided I’m going to enjoy it before I actually started enjoying it for real. I’m halfway through it now and still occasionally wondering whether it’s good or not. He has a way of composing his sentences that I admire greatly but leafing back the pages just now I couldn’t find any of the real impressive ones and couldn’t remember them either, so either I’m too tired right now or the sentences weren’t THAT impressive after a while.

THIS WEEKS’ BOTTLES OF CHOICE:
Trivento Reserve Malbec. They sure seem to know how to turn malbec grape into tremendous red wine in Argentina and I sure seem to respect their capability and enjoy the outcome of their efforts. Although not the best malbec I’ve tasted, a glass or two of this is still guaranteed to wipe several kinds of irritations and wearinesses away,just like that, and bring joy and illumination to even the glummest and sulkiest of souls. Some of whom might originally have achieved a closer knowledge of glumness and other things sulky after tasting a definition-escaping rosé wine from Chile called Tenta Merlot Rosé. Maybe it’s just me and maybe I’m just crouching behind that particular stone where the light of rosé wine fails to shine but I can’t for the life of me think of anything positive to say about any of the rosé I’ve ever tasted. Which isn’t to say I’m not prepared to give these wines another try sometime. Trivento Malbec Rosé sounds promising, and probably tastes not very promising at all.

But before that there’s a dozen or so white wines I’d rather gulp through first. Les Salices Viognier from France is one of them, better than average but unfortunately not entirely free of the pungent qualities I dislike about white wines and therefore not making it on my to-buy-again list. Gatão is a nice vinho verde from Portugal, light, a bit too acidic and slightly bubbly, ideal for hot summer days when served very chilled and an ok companion to pasta as well, but this won’t make it on the to-buy-again list either. Gazela was superior compared to this as vinho verdes go and Gazela is definitely on the list.