fromthemouthofmoi

Unlike my previous blog entry, The Revolution Is Being Televised , experiencing and understanding Björk's music takes some effort to fully appreciate what it is that you are witnessing and hearing. I will venture to say that even if you are one that claims to be baffled by her or her music you will still be unable to look away from her videos for they are unlike any music videos made. They are experimental conceptual art films often directed by cutting edge directors. One of the aspects of poplar music that makes it memorable or catchy, moving it into the 'standard' arena, is how often it is covered and/or interpreted by other musicians. We may not like a given piece performed by artist A, but we are able to rehear it, and love the interpretation of artist F. Maybe we eventually fall in love with a piece of music when it is finally presented as an instrumental piece and we are left to explore it without lingual interference. More often, many of us use music to highli...

5'8" bi-racial female, full of piss and vinegar, seeks man to make her laugh. You: upbeat, employed, happy. Me: did I say tall?  Eons ago it was once suggested that I place a personal ad as a way of meeting people. I was aghast. Personal ads were for losers or people anxious to meet a serial killer. The friend suggested I try New York magazine's last page. I called the magazine and learned that a personal ad with the magazine ran about 200 bucks a word! At that price I decided that serial killers didn't have that sort of pocket money to invest in stalking. Instead I found the New York Press, a free weekly newspaper which offered free personal ads. At that time people wrote actual letters in response to an ad. They sent the letter to the newspaper and the newspaper forwarded the letters on to the person placing the ad.  I sure as heck wish it was still done that way. The caliber of person who writes a letter shoots up 100% in comparison to online dating through...

I made my trip to Europe and what a trip it has been. It has not been what I expected. It has been more. I ask myself, self: what might you be thinking? And myself replies: too many things. I began in Dusseldorf. I saw old friends, Bernd and Sigy. Gray now and looking like strange children with youthful smiles under weathered faces. I love them now more than I did then when first we met.  They walk at a brisk pace. So brisk I can't keep up. I lumber with the gait of those living in tropical climates. They walk hurriedly desperate to outpace the cold. All those years ago in New York City's Lower East Side. I pushed Bernd, fully clothes, into a public pool. Sigy flirting with me and me too scared to let go of my sexuality. Now we are older and everything is let to pass in favour of the friendship that sustains years. The art of friendship. The friendship of art. The sudden reappearance of longevity that holds nothing and everything. This longevity allows instant simpatico. It...