Studio Dreams

I just fell asleep and had the weirdest micro-dream…

I was watching the Presonus Dude do some mixing thing on YouTube when I fell asleep and my brain kept listening and built a whole dream around it.

DREAM: I’m in a version of my studio but it’s huge. This dude who looks vaguely Jake Busey in a threatening manner is stalking around my studio, moving keyboards around roughly and pulling out cables that are audio live. This causes realistic clicks and bangs and very unrealistic actual small explosions and arcing cascades of sparks.

All the time, he’s giving a running commentary on how to record / mix vocals and keeps singing at me, “Look how farrrrr we’veeee commmmeeee!” and then tweaks another bit of my gear and sings it again. It’s like he’s tuning the studio for his own personal use!

I’m following him around, trying to grab things off him and then I stop him and start shouting that I DON’T NEED VOCAL PRODUCTION LESSONS and I know how to setup a mic, whereupon he just starts running round faster and HE’S CHANGING THE EQ CURVE ON MY BLOODY GENELECS by flicking the DIP switches.

I grab his hands and I’m shouting in his face, all the time he’s looking at me, singing, “LOOK HOW FAR WE’VE COME!!!” and then I wake up.

I was sooo angry he was messing up my studio and simultaneously insulting my vocal production skills.

Still angry now. Wanna stab a motherfucker.

Another Outsider

However, Dorothy endured heartbreak at Aberystwyth as well as acclaim. Sheela Bonarjee still has the battered black exercise book in which her aunt collated her verse. Alongside one of the poems, Dorothy jotted down a note: “Written at the age of 22 when a Welsh student after 3 years of secret engagement dropped me because his parents said ‘She is very beautiful and intelligent but she is Indian.'”

(Source: BBC News)

I’ve never heard the story of Dorothy Bonarjee before. As I read the story, parts of it seemed so familiar to me, even though she was born in 1894, seventy-two years before I was.

I feel I know her struggle, being caught between two cultures and never truly feeling a sense of belonging anywhere. I’ve certainly been in the position where girlfriends have kept me secret because of my Indianness. Reading her note, above… the dispassionate detail alongside the words of her poem is so heartbreaking.

And yet, she found her own way and made her own place. Like all of us diasporans do, she made a space for herself where none was given.

We have to fashion new cultures, make new homes.

The old ones neither want nor fit us.