Re-done, and better than ever!

 

Schoenen, 1886, Vincent Van Gogh.

Dear Y'all,

I think I have spoken of the sublime sad & long goodbye of The Load Out, but Somebody's Baby, well, it wasn't my baby, until now, because this is The Greatest!  It puts me in mind of another couple of songs.  Like this song, an odd conflation of feeling: the lyrics are about confusion, questioning, maybe even begging, but listen to the sound-  it is surely the most upbeat song ever, as in Hurray!  I want you but you maybe don't or I maybe don't and this muddied misunderstanding is so great!

For contrast, try this song, on a similar theme; the tick tock regular rhythm of it pounds out a yes/no yes/no.  The confusion is deep and aggravating- "esta indecisión me molesta"- and the steady banging beat sounds like frustration.

This one,* on the other hand, is nostalgia incarnated; the sound and the lyrics.  Nothing I have ever heard feels as nostalgic as this, and I tell you, it felt exactly the same hearing it in 1977.  I really love this one, but it's kind of junk food, isn't it?  Sort of empty calories, like pink frosting, but ooh, it sure is nice to feel your teeth hurt like that, isn't it?

*  Also note that his Marianne has walked away- I am so proud of you, Marianne!  Amie should probably have committed more fully to walking away; I know they'd both be somebody else's baby in a trice!  And so would you, if you find yourself constrained, held, or pinned in some way that you aren't sure about anymore: walk on.

PS  Maybe you like to geek out a little bit on culture and meaning, and you wonder about the dates of these songs' first releases?  Somebody's Baby- 1982.  The Load Out- 1977.  Amie- 1972.  Should I Stay or Should I Go- 1982.  More Than a Feeling- 1976.

four

 

Dear Whomever is Listening,

That greeting isn't meant to be pert, I just sometimes don't know who all is out there, you know?  It's been a lot of years of writing you here, of calling that lonely phone booth on Mars, and I know you are busy with other things, and you don't always have time to write and reassure me that you care.  It's okay; I know that the wheels are turning, that atoms are zipping all over, willy-nilly, and who knows where they land or what they might mean to a person.  I don't want to be one of these humans who needs endless validation, but still, occasionally I wonder who is in this big electronic void that I am whispering/yelling into on the regular.

Anyhow, what I wanted to tell you is that it takes just FOUR pages for me to fall in love with another beautiful memoir!  Four!  I have always been impulsive and lightening fast to crush on people and things;  I was Boy Crazy and a Clothes Horse when I was younger; I chased boys day and night, it embarrasses me now to think on it- worse, the few times I managed to corner a hapless boy, I had no idea what to do with him- I didn't see the right kind of movies, you see?  I was raised on all these films where the boy leans over to kiss the girl; the boy edges closer on the sofa, the boy puts his arm over the back of the theatre seat.  I would get them in range, and then freeze, dumbly, waiting for a move from them.  Waiting.  All through the picture.  All through the drive.  All through the night.  

Of course now, I think what a little idiot I was, just to stand there looking at the fruit and never trying any, but that was a long time ago, and riding my bike past your house late at night just to see if you'll notice me seems shamefully stupid now; so don't bother to go to your window; I won't be there.

I was very poor reader of boys and men in any case; I always thought their hungry, starving eyes were for me alone, when actually, half of them were high, with unseeing eyes, and the other half were hungry for any attention, from anyone.

Now, the beautiful love I have for this book, though, it is quite another thing!  It is pure, unspoiled by my insecurities, it is Real.  Also, who the hell is Viv Albertine, anyway, and why, why, why didn't anyone tell me to ride my bike by her window???  How did I miss this powerful life force up until now??  I feel sure that if I had listened to the Slits I would have known what to do with these cornered boys, or better even, I might not have chased them in the first place.

PS  I know, I know!  I loved it before it arrived in the mailbox; I loved it when I saw the title; and who in this entire world would not love a book titled To Throw Away Unopened?

in motion

 

Dear Passengers,

I take a lot of these blurry photos out of the car- there are reflections of the inside, and smeary roads, bright halos, all kinds of un-photogenic artifacts.  I get a real thrill taking crappy photos, because, well, you know, I was kind of raised by a pack of shutterbug snobs, and boy! did those folks hate an an out of focus shot!  Whooee!  Like it was a cardinal sin.  I don't usually send you any of them, because it is hard to step out of the known and into the 'that isn't any good.'  By the known here, I mean the tenets of 'good' photography these vociferous wolves raised me to believe in, and by 'isn't any good' I mean all of, everything in the world that ever was or could be that doesn't fit into the tenets.  It's a lot, come to think of it, all the pictures with the heads cut off, the ones with crooked horizons, the poorly exposed, the low contrasted, the out of focused.  Maybe this is something you want to address yourself, all the dogma of what is good in photography.  Maybe you want to grab that camera and take a snapshot of your feet, or a picture of a tree while you wave your camera.  It might feel good to you, too.

Hightail House

 

the heat

 

Tropical Tidbits.

Dear Unseasonably Warm,

In time, we won't use 'unseasonable' as a qualifier for the weather- right now, we can say something like this:  "In a warming climate, what we think of as summer weather will extend well into November, and it will begin earlier, as well; making for nine months of summer temperatures."  Phooey on that, it is too soft for me on this roasting afternoon:  "During these early years of the human caused climate catastrophe, we will have to endure much hotter days, and a hell of a lot more of them, than we used to."  

With the facts in mind, and with intention to adapt, mourn, and witness the disruption of these patterns, check out Weather West- especially the very interesting Office Hours live on YouTube.  Also, please have this, your song for today, The Rosarita Beach Café.

voice & notice

 

Buzzard, from Dog Ear series, Erica Baum, 2016.

Dear Reader,

Why, or how, are there voices in written words?  I was reading an article, and I recognized the voice, or maybe style?  It's not the one I hear in my head, it's not just the sound of my own lips moving.  I was taught to read silently, and not to move my head across the page- why the fuck, anyway, I wonder?

I am moving my lips like mad these days, and yes, I am pretty sure it is The Texbook Indication of The Right On Time Signs Of Dementia*, but what matters now is that I even catch myself making sounds- I have been a talk to myselfer for as long as I can remember... and when my brain talks to me, it says things like:  get a horse.

So, what gives a series of words, a sentence, a particular voice?  And another thing, I know you don't need me to tell you what the genius of a song is; I know you have noticed it too; so why tell you?  I guess because the verb to notice, the word notice as verb is a kind of affirmation;  I sometimes worry I won't get it all noticed in time.  In time, you know, to die.  It's a kind of weird and personal form of reverence, but for me, just noting it isn't as good as writing it, too, and what about the voice of that written noticing?  I wonder.

*  The Signs of Dementia is a pretty good band name!  "SoD" printed on the bass drum!