Sensory Teleportation
04 Feb 2012 Leave a Comment
Some songs just burn a memory into your mind. Three seconds in, you’re back. Completely transported. Standing still. Eyes closed. The air, the smell, the lighting, the mood, your age, the breeze in the room. The people. The sound. The real world evaporates. Suddenly lucid.
My living room was glowing when I arrived home this afternoon.
These are the strongest, most visceral:
Lucille Has Messed My Mind Up – Frank Zappa, Joe’s Garage
Preparing This is Our Youth by Kenneth Lonergan. Once for scene study in 2007, once doing tech side for Havana Theatre production in 2008. Couldn’t find it on iTunes (still not on there!), had to buy it off some sketchy Russian music download site. This song in particular out of all the songs I have, is something special.
Painter Song – Norah Jones, Come Away with Me
Lights off, white icicle christmas lights on. My room. Just the coziest, glowiest situation ever. One of my last distinct bedroom memories before moving out of my parents’ house. Painting flowers on the wall. Betta named Opus in a little tank. Freshly plucked lavender on a sill. Green windowshade.
Hit ‘Em Up Style – Blu Cantrell, So Blu
High school. Volleyball trip to the island. A 15 passenger van and a chauffeur who swung the steering wheel to the beat whilst driving on the freeway. Scared the hell out of me but oh what fun.
Soft Light – David Darling, 8 String Religion
VFS days. Warm up. Movement. Freedom. Breath. Blackness. Warmth. Touch.
One of the Brightest Stars – James Blunt, All the Lost Souls
Broughton Street Apartment 2007, downtown vancouver, every detail of my little piece of cheap rent shithole independent paradise. The light of the late summer afternoon. The breeze, the birds. The cats. The sound of my mirrored closet doors. The dark. The drunkenness. The insomnia. The fire (yes, real fire). The taste of lychee. The sensitive plant on the windowsill. All my books.
Muddling Through Life.
15 Nov 2011 Leave a Comment
in Doing Good, Mental Diarrhea, Personal, Uncategorized
Really, what do we all do but muddle through life to the best of our abilities? Here and there we pick up something new – a pine cone, a new skill, a shiny bit of ribbon, a half-cobbled together something we can use, and we try to make that a part of us, so we can be a little bit better, and do more cool things.
How can I use this crumpled bit of tin? Oh hey! I can do _______ with it – that’s neat!
You need to do _________ ? Well, I can help you do ____ and _____ and ______ … not perfect, but sort of!
Yes I have a _________ … do you need it?
But it’s not perfect. There’s only so much I’ve acquired, only so much I can do with what I have. I try to do as much as I can, but the resources are asked to do more than they’re supposed to know how. Overclocked. Off-label. Which is pretty cool. But not perfect.
So when I make mistakes, forget, screw up, disappoint, forget…
Forgive me.
Old Blog Posts are Rather Depressing.
13 Jan 2011 Leave a Comment
in Being a Woman, Mental Diarrhea, Personal
Blogging’s so great for remembering just how you felt during those times that you’ve since tried very very hard to erase, delete from memory. So incredibly fucking depressing. Such a great way to bring back all the incredibly vivid memories, in dated detail of chaos and pain, the where/when/why and more than anything, the I DON’T KNOW WHY what the hell is going on times, or the blessed instances of divine inspiration, only to look back and read the mad ramblings of a _______________ .
Delete.
Delete. Delete.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
But no, I am not going to delete.
I am going to see how I’ve changed. I’ve grown.
I sound different. I am different. I am not who I used to be.
And then there are the silver lining moments in the darkness.
And then there are days of great learning.
And then there are records of great personal accomplishments.
There is no past, because I choose not to remember it.
There may not be a future, because I don’t know if I will live to see tomorrow.
There is only today. I will live today in a way that, should I see tomorrow, will make it all that much better.
More obstacles?
More challenges?
More opportunity to practice challenging those obstacles.
Perfect takes practice.
And today, I will practice.
I’m Afraid
26 Oct 2009 Leave a Comment
in art, Mental Diarrhea, music, News, Sounds like Poetry Tags: art, fear, music, poetry
I’m Afraid
I’m afraid that it’ll be cliche
I’m afraid that it won’t be art
Maybe i’ll never be
The centre of controversy
Public enemy number one on the hit list
Something remiss? The look in your eye says
You’ll never be the first in line to buy
Because it’s just not good enough to be
Art, I’m afraid…that it’ll be cliche.
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