Jack McKenna

[jackmckenna-writing]

Untitled Story - II

We arrived at the door before long, and Sami looked down to the crate in his hands and then to my empty hand without a word. I sighed as I knocked.

The door peeled open to the smell of marijuana smoke and sweat. Some guy neither of us knew answered.

“Yeah” a croaky voice let out.

“Where’s Tommo”, I said, not asked. He leaned back and let the door swing open. We walked through and the initial shock of the smell faded away by its becoming normal.

“What brings you boys back in town after all this time, eh?”, jeered Tommo, his red eyes squinted further as his grin widened.

“We’re just passing by is all, been travelling a bit”, I replied, trying to ease myself with the comfort I presented in my voice.

“Oh sweet”, he had sat down on the couch next to Brad and begun concentrating on rolling the cigarette paper as strands of brown and lumps of green fell out of the end, “where you headed?’, he asked, the tongue previously poking out in concentration retreated as he spoke.

Sami glanced at me and must have caught my blank expression, “London, checking something out, but we’ve taken it to be a bit of a tour-de-England”.

Even I believed him, nodding slowly.

Gazes turned towards the TV, lost in its cartoons and in the volume turned too loud. My mind had sunk into the couch as Tommo passed around his impeccable roll. The couch’s softness reminded me of how much tension had been in my body, and, as I slouched further, let it go. The party commencing in a couple hours seemed to cease in significance as the drawn blinds hid the fall of the sun. I stared headlong into the flickering lights. I let my focus blur in the brightness and shatter through my mind’s eye. Shards of glass contained fragments of what was my view, and they jumbled them henceforth. Those long roads curved no longer as laughter rippled by my ear and into my own heart. I gazed stolidly, with restricted view and pink hues, of the small, small room that filled up my mind.

My consciousness drifted to shore, seasick and strained. I splashed water onto my face and took the beer from beside the sink. Glancing at myself in the mirror I took a drink. The hallway lights had turned off, I suppose making it officially the ‘party’. People arrived in bursts and I spoke briefly to each and passed on. I had lingered in the kitchen so far, and that’s where I returned. To Sami, probably bitter at me leaving to go to the toilet, trying to hide his impatience, he spoke immediately.

“Looking good so far”, his eyes scanned the room, “I think Georgia’s coming soon when Mia does, I’ll probably speak to her for a while when she does”. He sipped his drink, “you know Tommo’s kicked out Reece”.

I frowned and lifted my head with an enquiry, ‘why?’

“Some rubbish about Mia”, he waved his hand away, “she’s made things complicated as usual”.

I cared little for the politics and let myself get lost in the brief exchanges and jarring music of the bold speakers. Sami stuck to his word and would occasionally pass me by arm wrapped around Georgia as she paraded around the rooms. I lingered in the kitchen, filling the bottle bin slowly. Jenny came, I said hello and suffered the usual passive aggressive remarks about getting my life together and her new job. Whatever. I had filtered through the kitchen into the small, concrete garden outside. Two plastic chairs encroached upon a small table with an overflowing ashtray in the middle.

I placed myself down next to some guy I didn’t know, what I did know was, judging by the smell, he was worth making conversation with.

“Alright mate, have I met you before?”

“Nah mate, nah. What’s your name bro?”, he was holding the joint trying to find a lighter as I asked, he slipped it into his mouth to offer me his hand.

Somebody opened the window of the kitchen to let out of some of the bass from the non-descript garage song playing.

“Ethan, used to chill with Tommo and co back in Uni”, I shook his hand.

“Sweet mate, yeah”, he had found the lighter by now, “I’m Danny.” His eyes met mine, “you smoke?”

“Yeah mate cheers”, I replied, and we talked with the usual profundity that two smokers could share outside a party. He was a nice guy, nothing much for me to pick up on apart from his relaxed demeaner. He seemed at ease before we even smoked, like the party had been a place of comfort for him. Another guy joined us outside, sitting on the floor against the wall opposite us. They began discussing Reece being kicked out by Tommo and the drama that unfolded from there. I took this as my cue to drift off into my own thoughts, or anywhere less superficial. I leaned back and gazed up at the night sky. It was the dead of the night, and I thought about all the stars being washed away by the city lights. I had wasted the opportunity to use their house to my advantage, my clothes still stunk and so did I; I knew I definitely would not be doing those things tomorrow. I imagined Sami sweet-talking Georgia, or him commanding a room with his wild stories that only came out with a bit of rum. Things really had not changed since I left.

I thanked the two guys, not sure why I thanked the one sat down, and made my way inside. The night was drawing to a close, and my failure to find Sami in the living room or hallways told me to not wait up for him. I had been gathering my stuff to try find a spot to sleep when I bumped into Mia. Mia was hypnotising, she had something French about her that drove me wild, I always tried to play my cool around her. She had recently cut her hair into a bob, so now her dark brown hair hung boldly above her shoulders. Her expression was tired, and her eyes were always awake. She would always tilt her head slightly as you talked and nod along. She knew how to make you feel heard.

“Ethan! Where’ve you been all night?”, hugging me.

We talked, leaning against the staircase. She talked about how she had moved from Hyde Park and rented a flat in the city with a workmate of hers. That this group was always holding her back, and so forth. I nodded along and followed her words eagerly. She had dark brown eyes that needed appreciating.

“I’ve got Sam’s room anyway he’s off travelling Europe, if you want to come for a smoke?”

“Since when did everyone start smoking up?” I thought to myself, shrugging as I followed her upstairs into the room. For now, I escaped the night and let it become forever as she closed the door behind me and hopped onto the bed. The room was dimly lit by a shaded lamp, illuminating the tattered posters of all our old favourite indie-rock bands. The lighter cracked and then we brightened the shimmering tip of the joint by filling our lungs. We talked about ourselves and what was going on.

“How’ve you been, anyway, Ethan?”, shooting an inquiring glance, already tilting her head.

“Eh. Alright yeah”, I thought I’d be honest for once: “me and Sami are a bit lost at the moment, I guess. We’re just hopping from place to place and hoping that nothing will go wrong to stop us dead in our tracks. We set off in February this time, and up until Easter it was pretty grim. I was writing mainly, got a bit of money from that, whilst he was working on some bar. This was in a small town in the middle of nowhere past York, and we thought we’d stay there for a while, but, as soon as the frost cleared from the windows and the trees started to bloom, he woke me up earlier than usual and dragged me out. He’d packed our stuff and was dragging me across the plains again, he had quit the job and began acting out his usual wild ideas. I’ve just been following along and filling my notebook. Think I’ll end up home soon though.”

I ended my speech with a bow, and she provided her usual warm optimism.

“That’s amazing, Ethan”, placing her hand on my wrist, “you’re doing the right thing and living life. Ugh, I’m so jealous”, she dropped her head back onto the pillow and let out a cloud of smoke, “this job is so, so boring, and my flatmate, so, so boring. It’s like I thought I was making a smart decision leaving this behind, getting a job. I thought the money would sort it all out, and it did, for a bit, but everyday has become the same and I’m sick of it already.”

I really couldn’t provide anything to comfort her; the smoke had made the hazy room hazier and I found myself moving slowly into her embrace, wondering where the time had gone. What was Sami doing?  

[jackmckenna-writing]

Untitled Story - I

Just a little piece I’ve been toying around with at the moment - no plot, just writing for the sake of it.

*

It was Springtime when I first realised that I was lost.

I had tried to express this to Sami, my best friend, but he was too busy pacing forwards, turning, and pacing back again. He had this grand idea that a night bus would be soon to pick us up, and that we would be able to find a Bed and Breakfast in a town to get a good night’s sleep. I had already lay my jumper down in a tangle for my head to rest upon, lying flat on the bench. He relented, nonetheless.

Sami had a story behind him. His family, Spanish, moved here in a couple decades ago and worked their way to a comfortable home. He speaks both languages, and he just has this aura about him that I cannot transcribe. We became friends a while ago, I spoke a bit of Spanish, he spoke a bit of English, I helped him get about. It caused this dynamic where he would linger behind me, waiting for translation, rarely opening his mouth, and always watching with his squinted eyes. He felt like a shadow, quiet to everyone else and largely prominent with me. He would open up on these grand dialogues; his mind was trumpets and cymbals, a whole orchestra wild in his brain. He was practising getting his wild ideas into English on me, and this became habitual. The quiet guy all my acquaintances knew would be the excitable maniac I spent my nights with. We waited on.

I explained about us “being lost. It’s a state of mind more than anything”. I used my hands a lot in this description, I wasn’t sure what I was symbolising under the moon’s hazy gaze, but I could see Sami turn his eye in my direction as my hands animated themselves.

“It’s coming. Just wait a bit longer”, abruptly.

Sami has a story behind him, as I mentioned, I do not. I’m run-of-the-mill. I find it hard to communicate myself to others because I lack the foundations to make me stand tall. The world is full of dynamism and electricity and I’m an empty spark. I do, however, love to ignite others, I watch on quietly as Sami electrifies; people love to talk to me, but I rarely ever talk to them. They don’t see that of course.

The moon was washing the cold air with its soft light, stars would start their night shifts across the sky. They would flash out of the black and hang there slow, as my mind drifted off and my eyes became heavy.

***

“You missed out, again” Sami blocked the sun from my eye, the sky was cloudy and moved quickly beside his ears. “I’ve mentioned it before, but I will again, you miss out on a lot when you do stuff like that”.

I had fallen asleep. I felt grey bags pulling my eyes downwards and my mouth stung with dryness. I grabbed the metal bottle of water out of my bag.

“Ah well. It didn’t come, I waited all night for nothing. You missed a lot though. You have to stay awake and keep an eye out because it never stops, even when the stars are out” He had walked into the middle of the road and stared either way briefly during this utterance, he was now turning back towards me, sat up on the bench. “It’ll be here soon”.

I wiped my mouth and asked about what had happened over the night that made him so passionate.

A sigh, followed by a despondent, “Look, I’ll tell you when we’re sat on the coach. I’m still in process” came out of his equally dry mouth.

I could tell by his manner he felt dejected, so I hastened to try and take his mind elsewhere. Firstly, though, I went behind the bus stop to urinate. I looked onwards across the small, green hills. I was reasonably close to home, but those hills felt so far away. We had set off travelling because we had nothing better to do, and I knew it would have resulted in this. We were stranded more than ever; money was running low and the days were growing longer. Something was due to pick up for us and we were waiting eagerly for it. My view lifted from the Yorkshire plains to the cloudy sky above, they moved quickly and gave me hope for changes to come, even the sky couldn’t stay still.

Low rumbles of a bus drew our attention down the road. We weren’t waiting for a bus to stop on any particular side, in fact, any direction would be better than where we were. So, as soon as the sight of a bus appeared to be heading in the opposite direction to where we were stood, we gathered our bags and crossed the road in anticipation. Sami had already dug out all of the change in both our pockets ready to pay the driver, and his countenance became much more reassured as the bus approached.

It grew bigger on the road and it took the moment’s eternity to shatter before we could step through the cool air of the busses aisles and sit in the middle seat of the two rows to the disappointment of tired travellers.

Me and Sami talked briefly about the night until he grew withdrawn as more eyes turned our way. I meanwhile got into talk with the man sat next to me. He was set for his new job, all he had to do was “sign the contract, and I’ll be sorted me” in his slow, crawling accent.

He talked about his girlfriend, they had broken up, and now he had the job they would get back together. He was sure of this. He turned and with a twitch that registered his surprise that he was not alone in the conversation, asked me about my “misses”, “back at home”.

I made it up. I didn’t tell him about Jenny because there was no point. He had better live in fantasy than with the truth, because what would the truth ever get him. He’ll never know me, and I’ll never know him. Time will pull us apart and life will go on.

“Spending too much time on the road for a girl, I’ll find her one day though I’m sure”, I cleared my throat and watched the green hills blur outside, “I’m just too busy at the moment”.

This had spurred him to talk about his work again, and I listened, carefully. The world was going, moving forward like a shiny red ball; he was a dog, happily following along, tail wagging, eager to get it caught, but with no mind about whether it would ever stop. The stories went on and I let them flood my mind. Sami’s eyes cut to the left and I could tell his ears were wide open too.

We passed through town after town as the bus fluctuated with people. I waited for Sami to motion for us to depart. The excitable man next to me left shortly after his story had begun to repeat itself, and I scrambled to the window seat for Sami to move next to me.

His tired eyes scanned the bus as he moved across the aisle.

“We’ll be in Leeds soon my man. I asked him when we got on. I charged my phone too.” Each sentence was like a bullet flying by my ears. “We’re going to head to Tommo’s place and crash there for a night or two.”

This bullet landed between my eyes. I liked Sami because he led me into the future and further from the past, but everyone now and then the past would catch us up. Tommo was a university friend of ours, still living the student lifestyle despite university being far gone. His house was a den for late nights and even later mornings. Sami liked it though, it was one of the few environments where he could let himself loose to escape from his mind. Meanwhile I would be facing the very opposite effect, however sharing the same outcome.

I was staring out of the window at the approaching skyline when I felt Sami’s head slump onto my shoulder, drool hanging out of his mouth. I took this opportunity to likewise put my phone on charge and dig my notebook out of by bag. I scribbled some ingenuine verse that I knew would get published in the right places before I felt brave enough to switch my phone screen on.

Tommo had text me, ignored. My parents had too, I opened it whilst whilst massaging my temple with my empty hand.

“Hi Georgey. Hope all is well, just messaging to see how your trip is going. Your dad and I have been a bit worried, but we know you’ll be OK. We sent some money over anyhow. Lots of love xx’

I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I could eat for a bit longer and sent them a long-winded reply back that channelled my creative writing degree more than any poetry could. “What a wonderful time George is having” they would tell their friends over afternoon tea.

Leeds grew ever closer until the bus terminated in the centre of the city. Sami woke immediately and dragged me along, speaking to himself in Spanish. It was a still Spring day, the mild sun cancelled out the mild breeze. “Lunch is on you”, he said as he marched towards Tesco and I walked behind. “I’ll get us some stuff for tonight”. It was as if he saw the text from my parents.

‘Stuff’. I bought us two meal deals and waited outside watching the suits and ties pass by. The clean, white shirts reminded me of my own smelly, check shirt, reminding me to make full use of their washing machine as we got to Tommo’s.

Sami burst through the door and without pausing led the way towards the house. A bottle of rum balanced on top of a crate of beers as the offices turned into terraced houses around us.

“This is why we do it man. These kinds of nights, ohhhh it’s going to be wild”, his gaze was fixed forwards towards the hanging sun. “Tommo has invited everyone in Leeds, and Sheff too! Mike, Lewis and them lot, Anna, Jenny and Mia’s lot too. God knows who else will be there”. As his voice rode the waves of his words a bounce would be added to each step, a smirk wrapped around his cheeks.

[jackmckenna-writing]

Place To Place

Always around when adventure calls,

By your side when night-time falls,

Wonder how he gets from place to place,

Never content without seeing a face.

He seems so well, it must do him good,

To be out and about, living for love.

Free from constraints that hold us all still,

Free from nights spent wanting for thrill.

Suppose then, I think, you never see

The journey in between. Where we

Wonder what he’s up to, on trains,

Busses or flying through the sky.

Those hours spent without company,

As he floats from friend to friend,

Bed to floor, floor to couch,

What happens in that space between?

Floating from place to place

And seeing us all face to face,

The start and end is all that we see,

Not the ‘to’ that hangs there in between.

[jackmckenna-writing]

Time

Ticking away are the moments

That trickle through the mind,

Temporarily suspended in eternity,

Then to nowhere, far behind.

A flame’s moment is transient,

Like its wavering light,

Emanating hues until it is spent,

To become as empty as the night.

The sun’s axis hangs it tall,

Until it drops it down low,

In darkness one cannot tell at all,

Where next the sun will go.

So, suspend yourself in a moment,

Whether dark or light,

And know that it is transient,

As time always changes in flight.

[jackmckenna-writing]

Autumn Leaves (Song Lyrics)

Autumn leaves swirl through the air,

To lay gently on the floor,

They fly, graceful with little care,

Hanging blissful evermore.

Colour emanates as they fall,

Orange and yellows cast,

Only when the tree has shed all,

Autumn’s time will have passed.

Now, let the sky hang still,

With few clouds to be found,

Let the autumn leaves leave in their will,

Thoughts of spring soon coming around.

[jackmckenna-writing]

Le Fin (Short story)

“Fucking hell”,

The words were dragged out of my dry mouth as I reached for a warm can and stumbled through the sun-pierced doors of my tent. It was midday, and everyone else had already begun interfering with their chemical balances whilst circled around the fire. Meanwhile, I had woken up wondering who the fuck I am and what had happened last night.

I patted myself down and pulled the double skinner out of my pocket to then slip it into my mouth. Naturally, I fell into the camping chair and became one with the circle.  A speaker projected guitar licks and dreamy vocals into the ears of pale figures embodying the polar scale of the ‘festival feeling’ - tired or wired. I fell into the former: pale, aghast, corsped into my chair pulling a lighter out of the drinks holder. As the smoke left my mouth and eclipsed my view, I felt the burden of last night slowly wash away, and as the smoke cleared, the cloudy sky saturated into baby blue. I pulled the round sunglasses down from my head so I could face the world, instead noticing Tommy to my left looking at me with a Cheshire cat smile.

“You alright there mate”, he smirked, “had a good night last night like?”

“Quiet one innit”, I tried to play it cool, in reality I had no clue what happened and my only way of finding out was checking my drug stash or listening to the upcoming roast.

“Lad your jaw looked like a fuckin’ jackhammer, you creature”, chirped Harold to everyone’s amusement.

I blew the smoke out my nose and took the flack; it’s what festivals are about. Fuck your self up to no end, and worry about regretting it the morning after, only to repeat it again as if you’ve learned nothing. That’s what I pay for anyway.

“Here right, we were all getting well tuned in at our tents and, fucking, some lad comes over selling bags and we were all well fucked basically, bought like five bags each and smashed them well quick, and then”, he bent over letting out an enormous scream of laughter, “put a whole bag in this Buxton bottle, you were well fucked! Fucking downed it thinking it was water it’d sober you up”. Folding over again, “Mate”, the word dragged out to his amusement, “you were a different breed”.

“Swear your face was folding in on itself at one point”

“Nah reckon his whole body was”

Everyone laughed and shared videos of my drug-induced state before disappearing into tales of their own intoxications, only interrupted by an occasional key up their nostril. I felt like the world was closing in on me, and the only thing stopping it was the buzz off the joint and beer I had been sipping since I woke up. I had a painful urge to shake and curl up, but that’d only make them laugh more.

After my third beer however I had become part of it too: pointing fingers, shouting obscene insults about mothers, and trying different white powders like a snob with aged wines. The festival was a birthday present, and I had spent months saving up money doing the odd shift at a takeaway for what I called ‘spending money’ to my parents. I went with the promise of good times with friends, basking in the sun, singing songs by my favourite bands and creating memories. So far we had missed all the bands of the first day because we thought it a good idea to feed ourselves horse tranquilisers before we would set our tents up. It was a weird experience in which a few people fell down the hole and the others, thankfully including me, laughed along. We recovered and sorted our tents by sundown, however, that was when my memory departed me and came back in the form of Tommy’s story today.

We used to go to concerts in massive groups. Ten to twenty of us would meet at Endford station with plastic bags of beer or water bottles filled with vodka that we blagged from corner shops or robbed from our parents. We’d sit on the train, the pastoral view from the window blurring into city skylines, chatting rubbish and laughing along. Little relationships would blossom; the lads would chant their songs and the girls would collaborate in adding glitter to their intricate make up. We’d arrive in town to touch down in McDonalds, to the disappointment of all the workers, and occupy a corner, blasting music and mixing spirits into our cups. These memories are what live with me as I sit in the circle looking at the bags under everyone’s eyes, in clubs having heart to hearts about our depressive minds, or sat in my lecture hall alone in a daze.

Hours passed drinking beer in the occasional sun, as the rays would pierce through the fluffy clouds that dominated the sky above us. Before long we’d all set off down the muddied hill and into the current of people heading towards the main arena. Getting checked by security was a breeze and we proceeded en masse to the main stage, ecstatic for some music and feeding off each other’s company. We wriggled our way into the crowd and stood proudly near the front, anticipating four men to come up on stage.

They did, the crowd roared, the brewing energy finally erupted as a circle violently opened in the mass of people. The drums counted ‘one, two, three, four’ and the guitars struck, bodies collided and drinks flew through the air. We bounced and sang in unison, arms around each other’s shoulders and grins on our faces. The sun had left us, but we had no care, our middle fingers were firmly up to yesterday and definitely to tomorrow, all that mattered was right now and the people surrounding us. No grades, no debts, no depression - just the music, us and our love for one another.

The hours flew by; the sky grew darker as the stage lights grew brighter. By the time the last guitar note was played, and the drumsticks flew into the air, our faces were as red as our hair wet. All the ecstasy we shared slowly dissipated like our boots into the mud, and before I could pause to reflect, we were back in the circle outside our tents.

The tempo changed, it became faster and faster. Crowds of people would walk by in baggy shirts and with muddy legs, shouting “aye aye” or staring at us like we’re drugged up deadbeats. Pills, spirits and lines were our new intake instead of spliffs, beers and keys. Ready to set back out into the night when the clock strikes 1. Eyes widened and jaws became tighter, there was a rigidity in everyone’s composure unlike before, as the newbies came up for the first time with no fear of coming down, and the veterans came up as their only escape from their usual dark place. You could tell how fucked up each person was judging by how off their face they seemed. I mean, I swear there’s no correlation between the amount you do and how mangled you get, but instead how much light is shown upon your darkness inside. Last night, even if I didn’t down that water bottle unknowingly, despite part of me thinking I knew all along, I’d have woken up feeling the same. We’re all in the same boat, each day punching a hole in the floor, sinking further into the abyss; we’ll never talk about it sober, we’ll never fix our problems in any other way, it’s all we know.

The time came for us to venture back into the woods, my vision was vibrating violently and every breath I took could put an orgasm to shame. My body tingled through every movement I made, and I could only move to whatever sounds stimulated my ears, the speakers wobbled out these perplexing bass lines that confused my senses and sent me further into my own mind. The lights were swirling in circles behind my eyelids; I became locked within the self that I had thought I had finally escaped.  Instead I was left alone, facing myself, all the contortions of feeling and sensation rendered my body numb. My environment affected me but I did not affect it, I was trapped facing myself and the only feasible solution I perceived was to place another pill into my mouth to remove him from me.

Only a little longer before it kicks in, only a little longer and … Le fin. The bodily sensations intensified and the internal light show grew brighter and brighter until eventually turning to black. I mumbled the words and crawled towards the sun, reached out, into the cardboard crate, pulled out the can and unzipped the door. The circle remained unbroken, the sun resisted the ever increasing clouds which encroached the baby blue sky, and I was back to square one – the only thing resisting the weight on my shoulders was the numbness that the smoke I had exhaled afforded.

[jackmckenna-writing]

3 Different Albums For Your Day (1)

I am always discovering new music, but recently I have been finding far too much for me to keep track of. A couple albums a day means some that I love can slip through and easily become forgotten in an ever-growing Spotify library. But, I don’t very much like the option of listening to fewer albums. So, I figured this would be a fun exercise for me to track some albums that have captured my attention in the past, allowing me to reflect upon them whilst also hopefully providing you with a good album to listen to. Anyway, here are three ‘different’ albums that you may never have heard of before.

I: Loane – Jamais Seule [2008]

Start your day off right with something fun. With Jamais Seuleyou get a brief sonic holiday around a dreamy Paris. Its traditional acoustic instrumentation captures the beauty and mystery that the City of Light is renowned for and makes each song naturally flow into the next for the ultimate daydream.

Loane’s debut album is a fantastic piece of French pop/folk that delivers song after song by hitting you with catchy hooks to (try and…) sing and dance along to. These are equally counter-balanced with slower songs that lure you into their mysterious world too. Every song can become yours, and it is up to you how much you seek to understand or leave unclear. It is an album that you can build upon your own meanings and significance. Thankfully, it is a great joy to listen to and is so very ‘French’ that whatever world you create, you will always find yourself walking down a Parisian boulevard.

Perhaps you had never listened to French music before, or even music of another language. Well, this is a great start, for there are endless amounts of beautiful music in every country to explore. Personally, I have just begun learning French and am slowly picking up pieces of lyrics I can understand, which is a great feeling. If you are learning a language, find an album you love and you can use the album as a tracker of your progress!

2: Shakey Graves – Shakey Graves And The Horse He Rode in On (Nobody ‘s Fool and The Donor Blues EP) [2017]

Your day is well underway now, and you sadly no longer have the time to get lost in a daydream of French cafes and mysterious romance. Well, here is something a bit more stripped back, but no less impressive.

Shakey Graves’s collection of two EPs from 2012 and 2014 respectively features sixteen fantastically crafted low fidelity songs, each unique in their own right. The first half of the album is often just a guitar and a drum supporting his understated voice. Each song uses the guitar in a melodic way that compliments his crafty lyrics, taking inspiration from in particular American folk and blues music. As the album progresses we see the use of more instruments that thicken up the body of the songs. Whilst I do think the best songs here are those primarily guitar focussed (biased guitar player?), these songs are equally as entertaining and make for an album that can rock in the background as you go about your day.

3: Grouper – Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill [2007]

After a long day of fantasizing about Paris and being backed by intricate guitar lines, you may need something to relax to. Grouper’s acclaimed album touches into an ethereal world lost in a haze that seems to slowly swirl and fluctuate in clarity. All the while, she extracts these small pop songs, which, simple in concept fill up this world of her own with melancholic expression. This is the perfect album with good headphones and closed eyes, lose yourself into a meditative state and take a sonic bath in what is one of the most relaxing albums I have ever enjoyed. I can promise that it will not disappoint.

Anyway, I hope if you had the chance to listen to any of these that you enjoyed them and that your day was equally as enjoyable too. Voila !

[jackmckenna-writing]

Engaging With Literature Can Make You A Better Person

Having studied literature in an academic environment for years now, I have observed that people do not always engage with it in a productive way. A way that seeks to benefit them once the book has been put down and continues to use the skills developed once the paperback is back on the shelf. The skills learnt when analysing a book are completely transferrable to a day-to-day life, and can be used actively to help you grow as a person. I simply aim to show how this can be achieved by firstly outlining how one would engage with a book, then how these skills are easily used in daily life, and finally why they should be used so.

Obviously most people will have studied literature to varying extents in their lifetime and will remember the techniques of spotting metaphors, similes and so forth when extracting the meanings from the text. One observes that a boy looks to the floor and begins to fidget with his hands when his father enters the room, and remains doing so as the father slams the door upon leaving. It is clear that that the boy fears his angered father and does not feel comfortable in his presence. This is furthered when we learn that the boy is dressed in dark clothing whilst his dad wears a red jacket – metaphorically, the boys lack of confidence is shown in his clothing whilst from the father’s we can assume his character is one of anger and malice. This is a very simple example of how one would look at two minor details from a story, and it is from this that I would like to demonstrate how it could be applied towards one’s reality.

From this story, we learn how the father’s character negatively impacts the child’s, resulting in a lack of confidence in himself and a fear towards his own relation. The boy’s character has become determined from another’s, and this serves to demonstrate the effect one’s actions can have upon another. From the brief descriptions in this story alone, we can learn how the actions and treatment of others, specifically anger in this case, can affect others in their personal development. Of course this is not new information, but serves to show how revelations from stories can form an understanding of people, attitudes, actions and their consequences. Your revelations made from literature do not have to be left in the English class, they are uniquely yours and can help you further understand yourself.

Likewise, you can use this idea of ‘reading in between the lines’ with the people you hold closest or those you seek to understand. By observing their character and applying the techniques you have learnt in literature, you can increase your ability to empathise with people. This will simultaneously benefit yourself and those you interact with.

It is easy to stick to a routine, and become stagnant in your understanding of the world. But, nothing can ever be known. Every person you will ever come across is filled with stories and behaviours that you can only attempt to realise in a lifetime. Their beauty is their depth, and it is up to you to try and appreciate this beauty through your understanding of them. By engaging with literature, finding meanings and lessons encoded in a text, you can apply them to how you see the world and how you treat the things in it. Inversely, you can treat the world like you would a book, and seek to understand and recognise those meanings to become a kinder and more empathetic person. That, I believe, is why everyone should be engaging with literature.

[jackmckenna-writing]

The Karamazov Brothers

The Karamazov Brothers served as my introduction to Dostoevsky. A novel that, at first, seemed akin to diving into the deep end of a pool wearing only an anvil as a necklace. But, that may be where my biggest lesson drawn came from. That such an intimidating and lengthy novel could prove to be most rewarding and enjoyable was a great surprise to me and provided me the confidence and desire to delve into books where the knowledge of the page number alone had daunted me from ever picking them up.

Dostoevsky creates a world with an immense amount of characters and events, whilst seemingly capturing them in all their intricacy and weight. Touching into its darkest alleyways and brightest corners, it is a world in a constant sway of balance between the foulest cruelty and kindest virtue. The polar nature of the Karamazov, the battle that this essence creates, becomes representative of the world they inhabit and it is this subject of morality that I found most confronting during my reading of the novel.

To elaborate, our stories are often led by their relationships with ‘monsters’: characters whose defining quality is their cruel nature, a flaw that would be overcome by a sort of hero. In this novel I was presented with the monsters closest to us all: the drunks, the selfish, the cruel, and the resentful to name a few. These ‘monsters’ are defined by the characteristics that touch us on a daily basis to varying extents, and highlight the brutal nature that is real life. Every action, how ever minor they are, can affect others in the most profound ways. One does not escape from reality upon reading this novel; ones finds themself plunged even further in than ever before. Dostoevsky explores the nature of man that is so prone to immorality and indulgence, even in its characters of most virtue.

‘There is not one of his characters who does not have that thorn in the flesh’ (Camus).

It is this honesty that I think makes the novel so human, every character is presented under a microscope and presented with the aim of showing their most true form (it is of interest to mention the nature of the narration in the novel seems to focus on this idea of presenting the ‘truth’). I implore you not to place the characters into archetypes as one feels so compelled to do, Dmitri as the manic or Fyodor as the drunk, and to see that no one can truly be characterised by any certain shades of their self. A light casts a different shadow onto whatever it touches.

Thematically this question of morality is placed primarily into its post-enlightenment context, with the constant struggle of God’s existence prominent in the background of every chapter. How can a world be seen as evolving and growing through scientific achievement whilst being so base at the same time? What is filling the void created by a lack of God in ones soul? Simultaneously, if God never left, then why is he not preventing all of this suffering?

These questions are merely surface level in regards to the depth of reflection that this book can provide. I only hope to try and demonstrate how this book affords an active engagement with its themes, and can cast a light upon ones personal philosophies. In an age where science advances faster than one could ever follow, and many are disillusioned, alienated and depressed, its important to try and look at human nature itself to try find solutions to these seemingly inherent burdens. To find solutions of which do not turn to mathematics or chemistry, but instead to the soul itself.  

As mentioned, the length is most definitely intimidating (my copy was just under 900 pages long), but I personally found it a very accessible read despite this fact. This is because the narrative reinforces itself throughout and provides the reader with a clear understanding of events and developments without holding its hand too tightly. Its paced fairly, and never presents too much information at once. It is with credit to his writing that such a massive novel could find itself so engaging throughout. I would strongly suggest reading this with a highlighter/pen on hand at all times, to make note of your favourite passages and to help keep track of the events of the novel.

‘Hurrah for Karamazov!’

As often, with novels of such profound significance, its power will only grow for me as I learn more and become increasingly part of the world it conveys, and that, for me, is a most exciting prospect.

Notes:

I purchased this a Wordsworth Classics edition of this book for £2.50 on Amazon; it included a great introduction (to be read after the novel) and provided a list of further reading.

Further reading:

Fyodor Dostoevsky - The House of the Dead (1862)

Fyodor Dostoevsky - Notes from Underground (1864)