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Posts Tagged ‘music’

This become a dead-space yet? I live in a house without internet. I’m writing on paper. [that’s the update.]

Swannanoa, sweet SwannaNowhere, Iam Here. I live in a small house sweltering in sweaty grasses.

I live

in some small house

completed now with seven other children and a chorus of flies:

their teensy iridescence crashing together continuously

making music

I’ve grown used to

even when it falls on the skin of my shoulders

and rouses me

in morning.

When I get up, I move lengthwise

making my muscles unkink and grow slender. I flick my toes.

When I walk out into the world after asleep,

my naked skin greets the air. I reach down and notice my pubic hair’s grown coarse

in its forest of thickness

I’ve allowed to flow free for such time now. Never again to disband it

without incredibly good reason.

Fig’s in the living room, positioned somewhere ocean-wise, on our giant rug of the globe.

he covers world in art

collage-fixins and papers strewn allover

his addiction. His schizophrenia

and the reduction of his pills

forcing him to seek refuge

in all these genitalia

he constantly creates.

skeleton-penis-flaming vagina. “Everything goes back to birth,”

he’s wise so beyond,          that it surprises me when he clings to my words

until I realize I must be careful what I say

around a searching soul so willing to change.

Fig, you’re okay. And I love to get high with you

off mullen, mugwort, herbs,

wrapped like a delicacy

inhaled

and expelled innocence laughter.

The medicines I’ve got to take to get myself to sleep

in that hot smelly room of human

on all nights i could tear in for

hours.

The small house is white, and it’s really false as a house afterall.

Nothing but some crude shelter,

outside posing as in.

It sounds like music

and feels as restless as creative youth.

and outside, which is inside, is always singing. It’s even in our skin,

raised little red bumps

we can’t help but itch until they bleed.

I take a pen to them,

making stars,

galactic scenes,

connecting sense out of chaos;

the creatures I killed so swift with the flick of my hand,

my own blood smearing there, along with that of how many others? It’s a deep orange pekoe

resting in a streak, residual lastings for as long as my next shower,

which occurs maybe in ten days or so.

Showering is a big event in small house. and Clothes can’t contain

the freedom we feel

in a first small house, it’s loft full of arts, words, crushed cans and stolen go(o)d(lines)s.

-0

Emma. has hair like a marigold

and the body of a muse,

renaissance painting.

Her ‘grandpa-ass’ like porcelain gel, speckled. flatly swishing against her frocks, all flowered

she is covered in flowers.

Emma’s like soil, bathed in flowers,

the intricacies of the root systems finding their coils and clings

in ways impossible to predict.

flowers grow from her demure smile

and the way she knows herself but doesn’t know she knows herself

dousing in wine                (“get me the burgundy”) and seeing four faces.

Her skin sprouts faery wings

and smatters in stars

when it’s courageous enough to face the sun.

Emma. A drawn-by, strung-out tangle of golding copper,

lusting for melancholic passion and learning to pick on through

pluck on by

her breathy voice

is as endearing

as the red little pimples in her crack

and the way her teeth line up

to show off the piercing just topping her chin.

A cherry

on her icing (for she’s a cupcake garden, after all.

she;ll go soon. And be gone. And the small house willn’t be similar.

longer.

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These drugs,

simultaneously filling my insides and wetting,

pushing and cleaning them sloppily out.

greens

browns

strings and putty.

strung

ed

o   u    t

lids both halved and fulled.

Is this coming back? Me coming back?

I will admit. When we got off the phone I uttered aloud my disbelief. The rest of the day hovered in the final frays of our clinging

til the next day

.   I knew you’d gone.

He’s gone.

hes gone

I am not “his girl” any longer.

sometimes striking clarity will emerge from these smoking tangles.

I’ll see some curly-haired lemon tending.

I’ll see the necessity of all of this strife.

I will realize,    like,   +

the glorious reminder that we worked because of likeness

in other words, the brilliance I admired so so much in him

is MY BRILLIANCE !

it is my potential. It is my past and my path and all that is ahead ,

twining. curling. eyelashes outside of spiraling shells,

lining tassel and velveteen.

I’ll see his happiness,          reclining,            billowing on a bed of smoke,           with some sort of moon gently lowering her breasts to his lips

he, Master, drinks from the breasts of the mother

and she’ll offer

if I’ve anything to do with it

just in hope

I’ll want for those teats to swell

with all the dusty swill of swirling elements and precious

power

bond

canonical cradling.

Drink, precious beautiful son .

I stand by my assertion

of knowing and not, at once at all.

this is my present life, after all.

and sure, we never learn anything ‘knew’

we just reacquaint

but you know, with your study onthe brain

all the puppetry string meddling in to distort the leaves and falling plains laying deepin.

i know, but i don’t know.

and not yet so solid as to get this intuitively [for the here now lately]

so, sorry babe.

‘Tleast I know enough to cognitively recall how beauty is ugliness and vice verses rolling off silent tongues! This isn’t intuitive, there’ins the issue.

I’ll make it mine, boy. I’ll remember that fear is nothing but choice of death.

I’ll remember the vice versas,

the vices

my vic(tims)(tors)(es) whilstriving to surpass.

and someday, I know

this notion

like no one can understand me but him

like no one can connect as us

like God has escape d grasp and here’s the end

nothing to succumb but loneliness

– i know this will fade, in the face of our truth that all things shift, pass, swivel, and change.

doing my own dance of spirit, and life.

so here’s to fists

and rose wines.

toes between toes and grubby carpets.

here’s to the heavyness in reggae hips

the wisdom of ages

and impossibility of time.

here’s to storybook characters too real to be invented.

to bubbles

and fortunes told.

Here’s to flat squishy bread

and the sad smile that will always come to meye corners

when I think of how you learned to forget your teeth around me.

here’s to the cold washing over

in a room full of misunderstanding

and flirting as a standin for outrage.

here’s, babe,

to your softest skin

and the wave plains your arms made ;

the history of your hair.

the way your collar bones looked me in the third eye

through that cobweb street scholar sweater.

here’s to trying

and dying

and feeling

and mealing.

here’s to falling face first into darkness

and getting caught by light.

to too much talking

facilitating

and extraordinary knowing.

InImy

the love

the pain

the process

our duty.

Here’s to conscious acting

and self-guidance life.

Here’s to our defiance

and beautiful, slow, but mutual compliance.

Dance.

Thanks for playing my music.

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but from Midnite

Had the sheer exalted pleasure of basking in the power of Midnite last night. [Led there by the love in my heart and rushing through my veins, the soul has captured mine] The recording in the video was made when they performed at the same venue in Asheville last year. Trinity goddesses, loose limbs and One pulsation. This song was the message I’d come to hear

Love the life you live

Lead the life you love

Love the life you live

Lead the life you love

You should lead the life you love

You should lead the life you love

World is in trouble

Arm a geddon shall show her face

Upon creation

Goodness and mercy

Driven from the minds of the people

Lamentation

Jah Sire deliver me

Jah Sire have mercy

Jah Sire Father send I some

goodness and mercy

It a go murder them a go charge for

A pure chemical industry

Them a run from cultivation

Goodness and mercy

Driven from the minds of the people

Lamentation

Jah Sire deliver me

Jah Sire have mercy

Jah Sire Father send I some

goodness and mercy

Send I some goodness

Send I some goodness and mercy

Love the life you live

Lead the life you love

The mountains of Africa

They are familiar to me

You see the black sons of Cush

We were scattered everywhere

For as far as the eyes could see

But we are from the mountains of the moon

Kile Man Jah Row, Kile Man Jah Row

Mount Re Wen Zui, Mount Nebo

Kile Man Jah Row

So we love the life we live

Lead the life we love

We love the life we live

Lead the life we love

Lead the life we love

Lead the life we love

No tears, you don’t shed no tears

You don’t shed no tears

Awhoa no tears seen seen

Your body is your temple

Your one and only temple

You are living in the Holy Places

Of the tabernacle of the most high Jah

Love the life you live

Lead the life you love

Don’t shed no tears

You don’t shed no tears

When I cry I cry dry

When I cry I cry dry

Love the life you live

Lead the life you love

You are living in the Holy Places

Of the tabernacle of the most high Jah

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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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A Grand Ole Hoot

A Grand Ole Hoot

Last Thursday, some friends and I went to this Hootenanny at the Cambridge YMCA. It was a night of fiddles, folksongs, and flouncy broken hearts. Check out my coworker, Barna Howard, a softly hooting singer-songwriter currently recording his album manually the good old-fashioned way. Vikesh Kapoor had some clever tales in his lyrics. Spitzer Space Telescope was born in the wrong century; he’s a crazy minstrel through and through. My personal favorite was Old Hannah. Their dreamy EP doesn’t do their live selves justice: Tyler Bussey and AK Kalinowski are deeply beating musical magicians.

The night was orchestrated by Lonesome Vince and his Mama Bird Recording Company. I am soothed and made grateful to know they each exist!

Too, on Saturday I stopped by the Cantab Lounge to catch Chris Fullerton‘s country-style set. He spiced it up with some saxophone in accompaniment and it was darling. Boston’s got some legitimate folk musicians coming out of the woodwork. Czech them out!

“Black Star” Old Hannah

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

and if I look for once in my life I see

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

and if I look right now

then I can make it out

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

stallion running in a plain all alone

stallion running in a plain all alone

and if I look for once in my life I see

a stallion running in a plain all alone

he’s got some real bad blood

and he’s covered up in mud

there’s a stallion running in a plane all alone

a sweet apple growing on a sour apple tree

a sweet apple growing on a sour apple tree

and if I look for once in my life I see

there’s a sweet apple growing on a sour apple tree

they say it tastes so sweet

they say it’s safe to eat

there’s a sweet apple growing on a sour apple tree

clock that’s tickin’ and it’s just about twelve

clock that’s tickin’ and it’s just about twelve

and if I look for once in my life I see

the clock that’s tickin’ just about twelve

when the clock strikes one…

change is gonna come!

there’s a clock that’s tickin’ and it’s just about twelve

there’s a black star shining in a white  sky tonight

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

and if I look for once in my life I see

there’s a black star shining in a white sky tonight

and if I look right now

then I can make it out!

there’s a black star shinin’ in a white sky tonight

there’s a black star shinin’ in a white sky tonight.

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