There is a moment in yoga, the deepest possible inhale followed by the deepest possible exhale. This the last bits of stale air that have been trapped in the fecund and darkest bits of your lungs, the ones by your stomach/intestines. You breath so deeply in that the idea is that you exhale all the things that you've been clinging to. The lungs being our breathways and channels for change and since most of of us breathe from our upper lungs, the ones in our upper thoracic areas, the air in our deepest places is old, stale and uncycled.
Taking the challenge to breathe inward into my intestines, where the deepest part of my lungs reside.
If we can release that deepest air, so stale and laden with emotion, we can be free. I'm almost there. Before I say goodbye to these darkest bits, let me loose this first. These things cling barnacle hard.
Fleetwood Mac // The Chain (demo) //
Club 8 // Jesus Walk With Me // The Boy Who Couldn't Stop Dreaming // 2007
I've been humming this tune for the last three days. As much as I wish I wouldn't because of its implications. So, we feel. I'm trying not to.
Having spent the better part of my evening reading about U.S. prisoners in solitary confinement, some of whom have been so for 10, 20 even 40 plus years as well as watching a video of a Japanese culinary tradition of eating a still beating heart from an alive and eviscerated frog, I feel I can allow myself a wisp of narcissistic melodrama to swim with this pulsing rage that never seems to evaporate.
Last night, while drinking with coworkers, we touched upon the subject of my recent love trysts and the anger overcame me so violently and without warning I threw something across the bar's patio. Just another day with my chaotic alter ego. I wish I knew how most people seem to know and respect the boundaries of behavior and decorum. It's not something that has ever really come easy for me and it's either a stone mountain or an eruptive volcano people get to experience. There are some I know who never make those around them uncomfortable. Blending effortlessly into a mellow and humorous vibe, they must be the most agreeable people to be around.
It does a number on the psyche when one is dumped twice in a month's time. Whether that damage is an effect or cause, who can say? For now, staying away from the contact of others is probably my only protective measure. Dignity and pride being scarce commodities, I must attempt to reserve what little stores I have left. So, bachelorette living is back and it's an easy adjustment. Chips for dinner and binging on films and new articles. At least, when I'm ready to rejoin society, I will have something other than my own mental decrepitude to bring to the table.
Public Image Ltd // Rise // Album // 1986
Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy Anger is an energy
I'm gonna try so hard, no one can fault me. If I crack up, at least good tunes soothed me down into the mire. Also, I managed to say exactly the right thing today, though it caused some ripple waves. No sweet bullshit.. just a succinct... "if people are stupid, I don't give a shit".
And if they have a problem with it, they can fuck off.
The cantankerous CTST is back. Let's start with some yummy gaze.
Airiel // Sugar Crystals // The Battle of Sealand // 2007
This video brings me so much joy...
Jesus and Mary Chain // Cracking Up //Munki // 1998
It's a weird thought, one that might not be widely accepted. One that might even be strange after all the posts I've shared... but I think finally there is no Good or Bad. There is no After. Bad things, no, terrible/unspeakable things happen to "good" people and blessings fall upon "bad" people. I don't believe in Karma anymore. So, I don't really believe in a God anymore. We're here. We live. We experience. So that's that.
There is a part of me that has always felt different, an outsider. Even in my own skin. As though I were tethered to the Earth, made from it even, but another part is always desperate to rejoin the Ether. Perhaps that's why the ideas of transcendence and resurrection have always fascinated me. Filled with uncompromising and haunting images of something resembling transformation or redemption. A Belonging. A wish to be a shapeshifter, born into a vessel less rigid and static. One with the multiplicities of microcosms growing inside and on me.
Christina Bothwell's work comes very close to these inner desires. Add to it, her entrancing manipulations of clay and glass. Part beast, part earth, seeking companionship and union. Maybe even liberation.
Dreamboat ended things last night, quite suddenly. I'm still trying to piece together the exact coordinates of our demise. When something feels so real and reciprocal and yet, for some reason, it ends. Stung and aimless. Though, perhaps not entirely surprised. I could feel something on the horizon, not a severing but a subtle rending. Second guessing one's intuition, it's a perpetual curse.
It all seems so illogical to me but then again, if the pieces don't fit together, there can only really be two reasons. You're missing something crucial for comprehension or you don't like what the pieces add up to. The brain is a snarling ego maniac and when it doesn't like something, it denies. For right now, this is not real and I'm denying. Avoiding all social interactions in the hopes the bruise will fade before anyone truly notices. Tomorrow, I will try to put myself back together and do all sorts of healthy things. Things my art therapist would be proud of, like cooking and yoga. But for tonight, tonight I deny.
Cocteau Twins // Know Who You Are At Every Age // Four Calendar Cafe // 1993
I'm not real and I deny
I won't heal unless I cry
I can't grieve, so I won't grow
I won't heal 'til I let it go
This internal landscape I'm so blessed to call my brain is not the easiest to cultivate. Filled with splendid crevasses and precarious cracks, I spend a lot of my time congratulating myself (and others) on surviving its treacherous footing.
Two steps forward, five steps back. This is what I must repetitively remind myself is the pattern with all Scorpys. Dreamboat is of this family and though we spent the weekend together, bathing in oceanic sunlight, ferociously honest conversations (his honest admissions haunt me) and all the romance that entails, this week we're back to another reality altogether. I get it, mostly. But my own cavernous brain and volcanic heart can play tricks on me.
Some time ago, I posted about Suede's new album, Night Thoughts. It's taken me this long to listen to it in its entirety. Long term fans of any band are, I've figured out, the absolute WORST critics. We always forever compare and complain regardless of artistry, innovation or production. I'm one of the worst of this ilk. The first listen, I was a complete ass but by the third listen, I find my assessment to have been (as usual) hasty.
I won't post a full synopsis of my thoughts just yet about Night Thoughts as I think it will take some time for this one to sink in. There are some SERIOUSLY beautiful gems showcasing the wonder that is Brett's vocals and Bernard's stellar guitar arrangements and if you are a Suede fan or at least knowledgeable of their twisted and thwarted past, well, this album is beyond worth a listen. Their duet magic pervades this album in ways that I just can't yet express.
Personally, I fight the sorrow all the time. You readers of CTST are now stranger to this, so I'm sure you can well understand my lustful devouring of this track.
Last night, Dreamboat and I made dinner together (tacos) and he schmoozzled me again by telling me that Hum was another of his favorite bands. It was a fanfare movie moment because... well... it's a wallop in the face, if ever I've felt one because Downward is Heavenward is one of my favorite (private) albums, though it's doubtful we've ever covered them here at CTST. I checked them off my bucket list when I saw them live at Fun Fun Fun Fest a few years back (for funsies here, here, here and sort of here) and bounced my ass off, rejoicing in their live sound.
Their album, Downward is Heavenward changed my aural life, twenty years ago. It's less then stellar, I get that. I still think for my own feeling and green ears, I didn't understand reverb or distortion, and so the terribly heavy guitars, simplistic drums and elementary reverb made me HUM. Yeah, I just did that. There are some redeemable moments about them (listed below)....is it the nostalgia talking?
Moving on, we spent a few moments laughing and reveling in the fact that we seem to be the only Catherine Wheel and Hum loving inhabitants in this swampy place. Hearts and hearts and hearts.
Funny that his nickname is already Dreamboat and that it had NOTHING TO DO WITH THE TRACK on the album. Can we all laugh together?? (It was already chosen by a coworker of mine who always refers to him as my Dreamboat. It works, because he is.) Favorites below... lyrics bring me so much joy.
Hum // Dreamboat // Downward is Heavenward // 1998
Hum // If You Are To Bloom // Downward is Heavenward // 1998
Hum // Green to Me // Downward is Heavenward
Objectivity stopped half past tacos, memory and the terrible movie Dreamboat and I watched called, Shock Shock Shock (incidentally, James Gandolfini's first film). Some things are left buried but it's nice to share the scurvy terrible skeletons with someone else. He's very cuddly.
Summing up my last week: beautiful happy times with Dreamboat, swimming in a salt water pool (like the ocean without the flesh eating bacteria, soft mermaid skin), craft nights and so much new music my head is spinning. So many updates to follow...just as soon as life slows down.
The Kills cover Fleetwood Mac's Dreams via Nowness... one of my favorite gems but then you knew that already, didn't you?
Oh and there was some sort of Independence thingy earlier this week. Hard to celebrate with all the madness of late but I did think of you, dear void.
Galaxie 500 // Fourth of July // This is Our Music // 1990
Dreamboat really likes Salvador Dali so I was pleasantly surprised by the synchronicity of stumbling across Kazuhiro Tsuji'sPortrait of Salvador Dali just in time to cheer up a sad Charlie on a blue day. His sculptures really give me vertigo, in the most amusingly perplexing manner. Be sure to check out Frida Kahlo; it took me several glances to realize those were arms wrapping lovingly around her throat!
I've had two dates with the one I mentioned earlier. He's just beyond
lovely. BEYOND LOVELY. So many good things to share but let's
concentrate on his admission of a band that he absolutely adores. He
leaned in so earnest and questioning, that someone wouldn't know and
said, "Catherine Wheel". My jaw must have dropped five thousand feet.
He's lovely, handsome, gentle, passionate, insecure, reflective, cat
loving, funny, irreverent, thoughtful. Annd he loves Catherine Wheel???
I'm in so much trouble, already.
Most of this content is related to the self but there is a deep seeded need to share more than the sounds, art, films and ridiculous dramas of the I. The ongoing barbarism, lack of love, logic and abject horrors filling each day are unspeakable. Yet we must speak, otherwise we are guilty as people. How can you solve the need of an entire planet? This question keeps me up at night and more often than not reduces me to writing about the pylorus gunk nestling deep in my own narcissism. We deal in the micro because we cannot fathom the mechanics of the Macro.
I want, as always, to change that. The shameful thing is that I started this blog to impress a boy and prove to myself that I had the ability to write and had something to say... about music, art, snark. That's done, so now what? My own words and phrasing I've found plastered along the blogosphere, Pinterest and BlogLovin; plagiarized, if there is such a thing in a world of "free literature" in the form of get happy quick "memes" or things that young people use to further their whatever.
It's kind of funny, when I first began this blog journey, the idea of sharing intimate personal words, thoughts, information and feelings was utterly abhorrent. The slightest act of divulging into anything resembling intimate left me feeling so raw, I often deleted or edited everything to a mystical and nebulous platform. That's obviously changed.
It's funny, I pick up followers and lose them along the way. Often wondering who actually reads this space anymore in a sea of blogs that deal largely with food, fashion and goth knows what else. Are blogs even a thing anymore if they're monetized?
Having started this endeavor so many years ago, it's hard to walk away. Like a person, you don't just magically change who you are and reinvent yourself... well, you can of course! But I rather like the idea of watching the process happen. Perhaps, you'll stick around and see how CTST morphs in the future and perhaps you won't. All I can promise you now is that it will always be honest, no matter what.
I asked out someone I've had a mild (yet growing) crush on for the last 6 months. I couldn't stand my own sadness anymore. Yes, it's true and he said yes. We've been exchanging thoughts on all my favorite subjects; art, cats, food, films. Music is next; he's a bassist in a band. I'll ignore the fact, for now, that he's a musician because normally, I run screaming away from them. He seems, so far, super centered.
And the black cloud begins to lift, so guess who messages me tonight? LOST BOY. Because that's how it goes. Just when you're moving on, they try to find their way in. He smooths the way with memories of my cats (sneaky, I love them. We both do.) and compliments with the way I handle things when upset. I'm "calm and kind even when in disagreement". Only to eventually share that (just like my friend warned me was the reason for his outreach) he and his lady friend have ended things and the ending was less than diplomatic. In fact, he said it was pretty fiery and he said some "things that made him feel bad and ugly."
English Beat // I Confess // Special Beat Service // 1982
I was kind and sympathetic but I also, later, said my peace, finally. Even when he asked me how I was doing. No anger, no recriminations. Just the things I wished we could have shared in person if he'd allowed it. Just like this song begs, I hope I'm never cruel again.
Phantogram // Futuristic Casket // Eyelid Movies // 2009
I must have died a thousand times I saw your face in a past life
I'm ready to move on
in a futuristic casket and you're still alive
to work it out
I'll dig a hole
to crawl inside
and make my home
I'll never be cruel again
Incidentally enough, this is the album I listen to EVERY time an ending occurs. All of these songs make a home in the nest of my wilderness.... regardless of the weird posh plastic method they have now.
Do you ever wonder about the infinity of self? I mean really think about it. Not as a fleeting moment while you bathe or brush your teeth or even while packing up your things to leave for work in the morning. We've been told we can renew and re-invent ourselves as often as we like. Is this true? Is it as often as we like? Or perhaps as often as we are able. Is this merely a luxury of the microcosm or can the Macro benefit as well?
What happens to the old selves we leave behind? Like unwanted fluid is
re-appropriated by the body, is it reabsorbed into The Psyche? Recent world events have caused me
to question the nature of reinvention and loss. Who reinvents who, in
the end? Wouldn't Sameness be truly boring after all?
Axiom Fun // If 6 Was 9 (featuring Bootsy Collins) // 1995 (ish)
Got my old world to live through Ain't gonna copy you
White collar conservatives.... They're hoping soon my kind will drop off and die But I'm gonna wave my freak flag high
I had such a visceral dream the other night, I've not been able to let it go. It centered around a woman I deeply admire artistically and one who is a mutual friend with me and Lost Boy. In fact, she dated him at one time briefly before she married.
We shall, for this retelling, call her The Witch. Incidentally, he has gorgeous blue eyes... a complete coincidence and a connection I didn't make with this song until today. Songs are kind of an asshole like that. They grip you and hurt you in ways you would never think possible, even if you previously thought them innocuous. I trust no songs anymore.
The Magnetic Fields // I Don't Believe You // i // 2004
I had a dream And you were in it The blue of your eyes was infinite You seemed to be in love with me Which isn't very realistic
The Witch brought me to this apartment complex that she really wanted to move into with her husband. The complex was built on a hill overlooking a precipice but the place she was interested in was adjacent to the cookie cutter red brick beehive complex.
She showed me the river and talked of the local plants and brought me and Lost Boy into the place she wanted to rent which was previously intended as an art place. It was massive! A huge warehouse place that could be made into anything and previously housed 6 other people but currently only had a husband and wife and their small child. They were artists.
She disappeared while me and Lost Boy wandered about on our own. I found doors within doors, rooms within rooms, including a bathroom (that I really needed) that was guarded by a very aggressive rottweiler. Which she later told me was a member of the artist community. As though it created work as well, a sentient being.
I found myself in rooms where the walls changed shape, the bathroom became a portal to another space, one in which The Witch had transcended her body and was no longer human, though she looked like one. She no longer spoke a language, she was something else. Something fey.. I don't have another word for it.
The Witch was watching over me and Lost Boy as we performed an intimate bodily act, not sexual necessarily but intimate. He laid on top of me and we were naked. Breathing deeply together, I massaged his nipples; we breathed as one. He said no but what was wanted was known and it felt like he wanted me continue but was hesitating.. There was a person that interrupted us, not a person exactly but a shroud. A ghost like person, both hidden and ever present. She only watched but controlled everything.
The Witch disappeared and it felt very lonely and scary. The guard dogs and cats were prevalent, they weren't scared of her but when she wasn't around, they were very aggressive and observant. There was a moment when I finally found my way to the bathroom having had to fight my way through closing doors and secret hallways/rooms to get in and out. The bathroom became a tunnel to a different place, not a good one. I had to unravel the riddle to figure out another way to go, without meeting the aggressive dog again.
I remember The Witch's hair and demeanor quite clearly as well as her calm and slightly dismissive tone describing the place. She set me free to explore but was distant about the secrets of the place. It was quite large and nebulous. She was so excited about the artistic background of the place. Lost Boy and I lost each other but would meet each other again and again, holding hands.
Fantasies were mine. Dark and swirling, light and effervescent. I do this every time. Swim deep and lovingly into those beautiful images. It's called a reality check, right? I've missed the Lost Boy more than I can say so today I asked him if he wanted to get together... hang out... which was code for me spilling my guts. His decline was a sucker punch to my already bruised innards. It's nothing I quote did, it's just that he's seeing someone else and that "would be weird".
Twin Shadow // When The Movie's Over // Confess // 2012
You hang on to the things I say But you couldn't see What's in my head
I'm not the first one, not the last one. I'll cry, I'll cry When the movie's over
There must be an end to the tally of the tears I've shed in the last two months meets tonight. How ridiculous. He's already dating someone and I can barely go to bed at night without imagining him beside me. You know why? I'm the saucy wench that says all the unforgivable words but all the meaning is hidden. He never knew; they never do. I can only grieve them when they're gone because it's easier. I never tell them how much I love them, just say the wrong things.
My friends warn me my intuition isn't fallible; to trust the reasoning that bubbles inside. They're right, I think. Remember why you chose what you chose. Remember who you are. His darling memory is hard to let go of. The gorgeousness that was the quiet and fit between us, those whispers and beautiful words. The matching of limbs, the ease of sleeping.. the shared breaths. Heartbreaking, I'm just going to keep crying until the desert claims me.
I've been listening to a lot of Suede recently, especially Dog Man Star, Coming Up and Sci-fi Lullabies. Coming Up is definitely the most La-La of all their discography and feels a bit like driving through a gasoline soaked acid lit city. Despite their disagreements, I still think their lyrical creations are magic... Brett and Bernard, you're welcome at my tea party anytime.
Who would you choose? Oh, and Happy Saturday Night!
The lover I held in such regard has gone away. That is such a pretentious statement and doesn't really say anything. What can I tell you? What does this place really amount to? Is it a place of music? A place of maudlin emotional questions? A place to explore art and music?
I don't know anymore; don't recognize this place. What do you want? What do I want? I don't know who I am anymore or what to express. Maybe you can help... maybe you can tell me what you want.
Swallowing the strange pill of every dayness has caught up with me. Daily activities take on an almost surrealist comfort to them... Understanding Alice. Do you?
I had the most surprising happy incident of a first date buying me a ticket to Day For Night in Houston, which was a two day festival of music and art installations. It was probably the longest first date I've ever had, FOURTEEN HOURS and we ended up friends. At the time it was the only show New Order was playing in the US and the first time they'd been back to Houston since 1989.
Just sit with that.... 1989. Suffice it to say, it was a phenomenal bucket list show for me.. one I still get giddy about. This is the one favorite song they didn't play. They played so many beautiful songs but their rendition of Joy Division's Atmosphere brought tears to my eyes.
These moments... they're agonizing and anesthetic. Insidiously small but you walk away wondering where your tribe went and when you stopped seeking them.
Listening to coworkers riff on some television show called Rugrats (which is apparently something you should have known but never did) with fervor you wish was reserved for the things you love. The moment you figure out that the person you've been hanging out with casually is someone you might actually like and the fear that comes with it. The book you read for book club, The Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis and how you realize how both disgusted you are by its contents as well as how much you ironically now see yourself and the caricatures in the interactions around you. The impromptu happy hours and the uncomfortable realization you have nothing interesting to add anymore because the things you find interesting are glossed over (and rightfully so, they're all desirably younger). This makes you want the interactions you had with your Exes, the ones you see or talk to every couple of weeks, and wonder why and how you didn't work. Just like the characters in that damn Ellis novel but with more esoteric, metaphorical meaning/nonsense. Or less, now that you think about it. Or is it the Ellis logic wrapping itself surreptitiously into your mind?
The careful and solitary journey into hermitage.... or is it something else?
Maybe ennui is inevitable. Maybe this is Ellis' point. I can't say for sure.
This skin may not fit anymore but this song and others of its ilk continually do.
This, I can live with.
Chapterhouse // Come Heaven // Whirlpool // 1991
Beneath your skin, I'm swimming
In your eyes, I'm drowning
Days speed by, sleeping
Distant times come nearer and go
Into the sky, soaring
Come to me, heaven
Climbing high, melting
Distant times come nearer and go
Without warning the fruit can ferment. Once dripping with tongue tingling sweetness, now sour and offensive to the tongue. I don't know; I don't make these rules.
Lush // Out of Control // Blind Spot EP // April 2016
Beyond excited to welcome Lush's lastest into my arms in a couple of months. With what has been referred to as something as asinine as The Shoegaze Revival... I can't really complain when so many splendid sounds grace my ears.
The Jam // That's Entertainment // Garage Days // 1980 Two lovers missing the tranquility of solitude
Sometimes you have to choose the chance...even when everyone around you disapproves because as heart breaking as the chances can prove to be, there is no experience without risk.
No one can ever truly understand what passes between two people.
Bjork // Scary // Homogenic - Bachelorette Single // 1997
Youthful folly seems so passe and at some point, giddyness more rare. This life is long and short... Choosing to cherish the sweet effervescence of this encounter, along with its darker, primal and more spiky cousin. For however long it may last.
Bjork // Sweet Sweet Intuition // Post - It's Oh So Quiet B-Side // 1995
Close your eyes
All that you've learnt
Try to forget it
Bravo to instinct
And sweet intuition
What makes you tick?
Try to remember
All that you've learnt
Try to forget it
Believe in believing
Believe in instinct
And sweet intuition
And inside we're all still wet
Yearning and longing
Repeat after me
Bravo to instinct
And sweet intuition
Sweet intuition honey