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Posts Tagged ‘lovelies’

Thanks, Lisa

I’m an orange moon

I’m an orange moon

Reflecting the light of the sun

I’m an orange moon

I’m brighter than before

Brighter than ever before

I’m an orange moon and I shine so bright

‘Cause I reflect the light of my sun

I praise the day, he turned my way

And smiled at me

He gets to smile and I get to be orange

That I love to be

How good it is, how good it is (4x)

Shine so bright

He ruled the day, I ruled the night

Shine, Shine, Shine

How good it is, how good it is (3x)

How good he is, how God is

How good it is, how good it is

How good it is, how God is

I’m an orange moon

I’m brighter than before, brighter

Reflecting the light of the sun

Smile at me

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Filthy Blues

I attended a show last night at The Great Scott (Allston, MA) in support of a friend’s band, Emily Peal.

Elana Brody opened with her orgasmic energies spiraling all over the checkered floor tiles, clad in turquoise lace and a pink plastic rose.

The Dirty Dishes rocked out with shoegaze-esque creativity. Slightly more stage presence would send their sound a long way.

Emily Peal is a band of wonderful souls and music vignettes made flawless by dedicated rehearsal. Emily is theatrical and whimsical and her unassuming yet exacting art lights up a room.

Nini and Ben were lovingly folksy and closed the show with the dirtiest blues that’ve moved me in a long while.

Check these folks out. They live and breathe their art and they practice it in a way that makes it accessible to others. That’s the goal, isn’t it? Creating a space through art that transports us all somewhere more fantastic. Thank you for doing it.

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I’ve been slackalackin’ on the post front, for serious. It’s okay, other things are flowing these days.

I meant to Big Five on the fifteenth as customary, but time kept slipping past the creases in my knuckles til it was three later. I’ve a feeling picking the big ones is going to be a challenge for me today. Know that this post is informed by the incredible elation I tend to feel when Dirty Projectors sweetly serenade me (at this moment in my kitchen).

1. Relief.

– After my illness two weeks ago, I returned to my body. Now it’s a matter of staying inside it, but I tell you it’s going well!

– And relief for letting him go and returning to my little life without distraction. I feel like a better human being when I’m alone romantically. I’m focusing my time! Being with folks I care for and showing them such in calculation and pureness.

2. Just living the day-to-day.

– I am okay with being in one place! I am happy with work and going to yoga in the mornings and filling the rest of my days with inspiration.

3. Some stagnancy.

– I’ve been struggling with a feeling like I’m not and never doing enough. I want to create, create, create! but I can’t figure out what to spill my energies in. It’s all about who I want to be, I suppose. But there is so much worthiness out there craving my attention and I find myself scattering all over the place. I’m craving depth in something but there seem to be so many barriers – like cost and future travel. I want to become well versed in things I can take with me, things that require little to no money or material. Dancing. Writing. But I’m craving movie-making and taking up some instrument. I have faith that Warren Wilson will cure me of slight boredom and swing me in the other direction, perhaps feeling a schedule even too crowded. It feels it’s been a long time since I’ve been so consistently active as I expect to be there. I hope not to go overboard, but I plan to embrace intensive activity.

4. Magic and childlike wonder.

5. I am leaving so soon! Cramming everything in before hand and spending time with lovelies.

 

I am high.

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krs-one

KRS ONE: “I am not just saying this because you [a woman] are asking the question, this is my real answer: More women. More women. Not just emcees or b-girls, but women taking control of hip-hop. Let me be culturally-specific- hip-hop’s women should teach hip-hop’s men how to speak to them. Because when we learn how to speak to you, we can learn how to speak to the whole business world. It’s not just about respecting you…it is…but it’s deeper than just respecting another human being. Everytime you degrade a person, you degrade yourself, because you are standing next to that person. You can’t diss a person, and not diss yourself…I should say ’she’s a queen.’ And what does that make me? A king. So now at the end of the day, what’s missing in hip-hop? Knowledge of self, that should only come from women. I know that sounds feminist, but that’s real talk.

[Check it: feminism is real talk.]

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Ode To An Artichoke

The artichoke

of delicate heart

erect

in its battle-dress, builds

its minimal cupola,

keeps

stark

in its scallop of scales.

Around it,

demoniac vegetables

bristle their thicknesses,

devise

tendrils and belfries,

the bulb’s agitations,

while under the subsoil

the carrot

sleeps sound in its

rusty moustaches.

Runner and filaments

bleach in the vineyards,

whereon rise the vines.

The sedulous cabbage

arranges its petticoats;

oregano

sweetens a world;

and the artichoke

dulcetly there in a gardenplot,

armed for a skirmish,

goes proud

in its pomegranate

burnishes.

Till, on a day,

each by the other,

the artichoke moves to its dream

of a marketplace

in the big willow

hoppers:

a battle formation.

Most warlike

of defilades-

with men

in the market stalls,

white shirts

in the soup-greens,

artichoke field marshals,

close-order conclaves,

commands, detonations,

and voices,

a crashing of crate staves.

 

And

Maria

come

down

with her hamper

to

make trial

of an artichoke:

she reflects, she examines,

she candles them up to the light like an egg,

never flinching,

she bargains,

she tumbles her prize

in a market bag

among shoes and a

cabbage head,

a bottle

of vinegar; is back

in her kitchen.

The artichoke drowns in a pot.

 

So you have it:

a vegetable, armed,

a profession

(call it an artichoke)

whose end

is millennial.

We taste of that sweetness,

dismembering scale after scale.

We eat of a halcyon paste:

it is green at the artichoke heart.

Pablo Neruda– Pablo Neruda.

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Feel Your Human

where-the-wild-things-are

“It’s hard being a family.”

– KW [Lauren Ambrose]

The movie allowed the story to remain and properly reached into its depths. The terror and the brilliance of it were well preserved. The soundtrack was entirely intuitive and young.

And the thing I love about this movie (and the book preceding)

is it shows mistakes. Everyone in the story is constantly making mistakes. They suffer from moments of weakness, from lapse of judgment, from too-big emotional reign, from selfishness. And the mistakes affect the outcomes of the situations in serious and confusing ways. This story is about love and about remorse. It’s about learning. It’s about not having the answers and making mistakes even when you mean well.

The ecstasy of love and community was there [sleeping in a pile]

The reach of someone’s frustrated anger was there [concern for Carol and his ability to destroy everything]

The resolution wasn’t there and that’s what makes this story so brilliant. Because though Max is folding into his mother’s arms at the end, we know that he isn’t going to be happy forever. Life and circumstance will come for him and he’ll be responsive to that. He will hate again and be selfish again and break someone’s heart again because that’s what happens. Eventually he may learn how to hold things up higher,

but it takes practice. And I’m not sure perfection in happiness is a reachable goal.

We’re all full of blemishes.

And though we can wish for a life of ecstasy, people (and ourselves) are going to make mistakes and deny us that. So we must feel and hold these mistakes, then release them upwards as balloons and move on.

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