Friday, October 4, 2019

I'm Still Undone

Earlier this week I saw Orville Peck live in concert, after waiting for four moons.  One of my dear friends gave me a ticket four months ago on my birthday.  But four moons sounds so much lonelier.... languishing in the desert for four long moons.  See?  It works.

Since then, listening to anything else has proven more than difficult.  I tried TR/ST The Destroyer Part 1, in preparation for The Destroyer Part 2 coming out next month and was even tempted by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds' Ghosteen but I just can't yet.  Even when I try, I'm only half listening.  In between recorded tracks, wisps and phrases of Orville's songs just continue to reverberate and haunt me across those moonlit mind deserts.

Hope to Die is my dark night of the soul track but there are so many standout gems.  Dead of Night.  Winds Change.  Roses are Falling.  Queen of the Rodeo.  Turn to Hate.  Buffalo Run.  Kansas (Remembers Me Now).

Pony is a truly a phenomenal debut album.

I'd like to say, for the record, how happy I am that a masked incognito gay cowboy crooning in beautiful vibrato baritone with tenor to soprano soaring swoons about homoerotic dark nights of the soul and transvestite Queens of the desert is making waves and winning over people by the hundreds of thousands.  The world needs him.  I need him.  Also, his whistling prowess is tear slash whoop worthy.

At the concert, he said several times how a song was about SOLIDARITY.  Yes, love, it is.  Thank you.

**Edit: New Order Age of Consent and Fleetwood Mac Gypsy caught me on my sojourn into the world tonight, so maybe there's hope for me. *winking riding a horse into the sunset emoji

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Call Me By Your Name

The other night I watched Call Me By Your Name. It's been out for some time but I'm late, as usual.  Have you seen it?  It really touched me, deeply.  

I felt so much after watching it - like I had wondered into a room inside myself I haven't been to in a long time.  Even now, days later, I still can't quite put my finger on the emotions it evokes, it really was more of a sense of solid self.  An entity, a force and presence.  And in this room, she was a breathing part of the ether who lives and exists all on her own, without me.  She needs neither my permission or my approval, in fact, she/It are unaware of such notions.

There is only this love, this connection to oneself, others, food, nature.  It is so intimate too, soft and tender, breathing pink rainy mists of vulnerability.  Without fear of reprisal or shame. 

And since then, for three days I have only been able to listen to one song.  It's from the soundtrack and it's by Sufjan Stevens, who is someone in the past I was resistant to.  I think maybe because it reminds me of Elliot Smith and that's a sad thing.  Regardless, for days, it's the only thing I could stomach as I let the tears fall. As I stayed curled up in that pink misty room inside myself.  

Nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spots.

Friday, January 18, 2019

Machiavellian Aliens

This is what happens when New York based Gen Z trust fund part-time models decide to make "glam rock".

I hate myself a little for kind of crushing on it.  I said kind of.

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