Caye Caulker, Belize

In a motorboat skimming across Caribbean

Blue, the shirtless Islander pilots like a pirate.

One-hand on the wheel, he tells today's tourists

Stories of his Great Barrier Reef Boyhood.

Listening with lust, novice young snorkelers

Adjust their unfamiliar equipment, and awkwardly

Await their turn in the turquoise below.

A ceiling fan revolves, whirs, hums, delivers

Tiny breezes across naked bodies, sprawled

Like already forgotten suburbs. From the wall, a lazy

Lizard watches the only movement in the room–

A single thumb stroking a satisfied cheek. Outside,

The regularly-scheduled afternoon thunderstorm

Tells the stirring lovers in Neverland: Go back to sleep.

Escaping through make-believe walls, the sound

Of reggae rhythms, melodies.  At sunset, lured
By unbroken beats, sandaled feet wander from boats
And beds toward the bar. Reefer floats on the sea air.

Barefoot and nearly bare-bodied, American girls sway

With Rasta boys on floors of sand. Sometimes,
They stay, and raise beautiful blue-in-the-moonlight babies.

But most times, they manage to barely not miss the boat,

the bus, the plane, and end up in a gray airport, inadequately
dressed, asleep on a cold seat, waiting for a ride home.

Vespers for the Voiceless

If I were to commission a stained-glass window for my Church,
It would be a single Nightingale upon a beech branch in springtime.
Her tongueless trills would be the Hymns we would sing at sundown—
No noticeable pattern, only an algorithm inherited from the Ancients.

Our Priestess wears her sandy plumage as a sacred vestment,
Her legitimate lineage endows her with the power to Pardon.
Her mutilated blessings would help us to forgive our Tereusian Trespassers,
And dare her Congregation to turn laments into Praise.

Ghost Ship Blues

I've never been there, yet I know this place.  It has had incarnations across the Earth, and in all eras. The one I knew was in Portland, Oregon in the early 90's. I was in my early 20's.

I don't remember its name, or even if it had a name.  There are things I do remember, but I don't think I can put them in any particular order.  (Besides, the order of things, once you can read Heptapod.. hmmm... I find myself thinking about the dialogue that might have happened around the table during the making of Arrival...was there an Agenda Item 2b:  Hepta vs. Septa,  or was it just a discussion that began organically, where someone had an idea and the other person said, "Yeah, and..." my money's on the latter...  all the good jobs in the future belong to the creative class anyway... as I get older, I find I have less and less tolerance for meetings with agendas, real or hidden... whatever, my point is that somehow or other they decided to use Greek instead of Latin...and oh yeah, I forgot it was a book first, so the decision was actually probably the original author's, so never mind).

As I was saying:  the order of things, once you can read Heptapod, is less important, and your linear thoughts may well start talking in circles, just like that parenthetical non-sentence above.

The List of Things I Remember in No Particular Order

1.  The Mezzanine that came alive at night
2.  The beyond-handsome Mexican poet
3.  The openness of the kitchen -  every pot, pan, dish, glass on makeshift shelving
4.  The vintage sofa with warm crocheted afghan
5.  The slight chill.  Hence: afghan
6.  The smell of tobacco and herb
7.  The random communal drum kit
8.  The long hair and knit sweaters and trench coats
9.  The gloves with the fingers cut off, on whose hands I longed to have hold me
10.  The sketchy neighborhood (that would become gentrified in ten years)
11.  The openness of everything
12.  The awkwardness of everything

Awkward because I wanted to belong, fully, completely; there was a heady mix of nostalgia for the past and promise for the future that led to art, and which I understood at a cellular level.  But I Didn't. Quite. Belong.  Not Totally.  I was a first-year teacher, trying to adult for the first time, head still full of revolutionary educational ideas, but also full of an MAT degree, lessons to plan, meetings to attend, and students to be responsible for.

I loved it though.  I loved the company and the conversation most of all.

There are so many moments in your hazy young 20's you forget.  But you never forget dumpster diving with the artist boy/man crush (and that one time you found and hauled out your favorite teak desk that is now in your 16-year-old's room), then returning to his cluttered/clean apartment in the warehouse, and smoking cigarettes, and having a 26-year-old Mexican poet drop in to read to you from his journal.

I was never quite sure if it was safer to take the stairs or the elevator.  They were both adventures.

I don't mean to idealize this life, either.  Some of it was filled with drugs, some with despair. But I would venture to say that it wasn't much different than your average home at the time, just less hidden. And it was alive.  Of that, there is no doubt.  I'm also certain that people will start looking for someone to blame, and that the owner of the building is going to have to "own" his part of the tragedy.

Anyway, that's just a whole lotta words to simply say, no matter what the circumstances:
I mourn the loss of the Ghost Ship, its people, its heritage, and its future.

Exquisite Meadowgrass Corpse

Written by nine people between the ages of 11 and 55, in blue and black ink on one side of a ripped out page of a composition book, while sitting in lawn chairs under the yellow and white striped tent, being entertained by the Chimney Choir, which wasn't a choir at all.

Transcribed here by me in nine different colors.  Remember, in an Exquisite Corpse, the writer can only see, and therefore respond to, the line right before his/hers, as the paper is repeatedly folded over as it passes from person to person.

NB:  All spelling, line breaks, punctuation, and capitalization have been retained from the original.

"Am I really going to desicrate
this grave forever? Of course
I am."

I smiled as I lifted the shovel and
lowered it sharply on the grave

The body of the innocent fell
sharply into the freshly dug grave

Innocence was murdered.  Without a care.

In one shake of a storm

A lonely crow burst through the clouds

Exploding into feathers and
dust, black as the darkest night

that flew into the air

Like a bird dropping on a
windshield.

i'm playing the trombone!

So there I am, standing in the kitchen trying to clear off some counter space so I will have room to prepare the lasagne that I've been planning on making now for about a week. It's that after school time, when I make sure the boys have had a snack, and then Grant buries his nose in a book and Bennett wanders outside with a pocketknife and a stick.

I knew Grant was having his first band practice that day, and I also knew that he was all set on playing the flute. Or so he told me. But on this particular afternoon, Grant wandered into the kitchen, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Hey kiddo. Did you have band today? How'd the flute playing go?
Grant: Oh no Mom, I'm not playing the flute; I'm playing the trombone!

I just started laughing... poor kid, he thought I was laughing at him. It was just so unexpected, and the instant visual of my firstborn in the living room with a slide trombone in his hand just cracked me up! Parenting is an adventure, and you just never really know where it is going to take you.

After I calmed down, he explained to me that the band teacher had pulled out the instruments and let the kids try them all. (Thank god the piggy flu hasn't hit quite yet, I suppose, but still... eewww). Grant said he couldn't make a single sound come out of the flute, but "I can do this really well!" and he puckered his lips and made that raspberry sound we use on babies' bellies. I'm sure there's a more technical term for it.

Yeah, upon hearing him, I laughed again, realizing that the trombone really is the perfect instrument for him. I just wonder how he's going to get it to and from school on his bicycle.

the perfect yellow

My best friend in high school had this poster on her wall, right where we could lie on her water bed and stare at it, dreamy-eyed, for hours. It was 1983. I wonder if she still has it, stored away in some dark place with all the other relics of youth. Seeing it now, I can almost feel the adolescent idolatrous idealist inside of me.

Last night, I danced with two friends to a whole set of nothing but Michael Jackson tunes, at a Denver club where most of the patrons were half our age. They ate sushi; I ate edamame. We were overdressed and didn't give a shit, because we were all wearing something that made us happy. The young men could tell we were dancing in our own little worlds, and they mostly seemed to respect that somehow, even as they joined in. Smiles and just plain fun all around.

Tonight, my sons and I stayed up way past our bedtimes, watching videos of "Beat It" (followed, of course, by "Eat It", at which they laughed hysterically), "Billie Jean", "ABC", and others. A cultural history lesson via youtube. Tomorrow morning, when night has turned to day once again, and the world feels just a little bit safer, we will watch "Thriller". Zombies. Dancing. How could that NOT be good?! Revolutionary, even.

It's all pretty messed up, I know, what with the whole Michael Jackson corpse extravaganza thing and all. Believe me, I KNOW people die every single goddamn day from all sorts of causes: some naturally tragic, some insanely stupid, others completely preventable.

But I really can't get all worked up about either the fanaticism of it all, or the criticism of it all.

All that matters to me, at this moment, is that he be remembered for his music. And the memories he has gifted, at great expense to himself, to an entire generation. That was some kinda magic. Let us all be judged on what we did well. On whatever bit of magic we managed to bring into the world.

I have been contemplating my beige-walled kitchen for awhile. Someday soon, I will go out and search for the perfect yellow: the yellow of Michael Jackson's sweater vest.

i wish i knew more about opera

Just click the little triangle, take a thank-god-it's-nearing-the-end-of-winter-but-isn't-the-white-still-beautiful deep breath, and close your eyes for about as much time as it would take you to empty the dishwasher and wipe down the counters.

Happy Valentine's Day. I love you.

In my early morning internet link wanderings, here's the best thing I stumbled upon:












via

best. concert. ever.

Michael Franti and Spearhead played a matinee at The Fillmore for families today.

Cherine Anderson borrowed my sons' friend's hat for a song. She fucking rocked.

Word was that if you had the craziest hat, you might be chosen to go backstage. Or something. Anyway, here's Elise and me. I decided to go bald with a pink tiara. (thanks, Olwyn!)

After the show, Michael Franti kissed me. Then he asked me for my name, and the names of my children. He bent down and pulled two yellow picks out of his pocket and placed them into Grant and Bennett's hands. He chatted with them for awhile about music. Then he hugged and kissed me again, looked me in the eye, and said, "Shine on." A secular blessing that felt rather holy.

There's more I could write, but what else is there to say, really, after "Michael Franti kissed me"? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Here's what I wrote about them back in September, if you want more.......

moving meditation

I've been trying to meditate lately........to no avail. Sitting quietly and peacefully is attainable, but it's my mind that can't sit still.

Contradancing, I believe, achieves the same effect: an inner calm, an outer joy, a mindful mindlessness. There comes a moment in the dance when you are so focused that you become lost, and all attachment to rational thought ceases. Linear history dissolves into timelessness, and smiling faces abound. It is as close as I have ever come to the divine. (Well.... except for maybe that Dead show in Eugene about 20 years ago!)

There are many different definitions and descriptions of contradancing, but this one is by far my favorite:
"A contra dance is like an amusement park ride we make for ourselves." --Unknown
I like this one as well:
"Contra dance is a form of dance that thrusts a different person of the opposite sex into your arms every 30 seconds."

Here we are in Denver last Friday night.



And here's a short clip that truly captures the diversity of dancers and the spirit of fun. I dare you to NOT be smiling at the end of the next two minutes:



I sometimes believe that if the whole world would contradance, we just might have a shot at world peace.

Find a dance in your neck of the woods

song shuffle

I think this little game was invented by someone at least 20 years younger than me, but still, I think it's going to be fun. I first read Kate's answers many months ago, and at that time I thought to myself, "Hmm... I think I'd like to do that someday." Many things have come to pass between then and now, but the song shuffle has always been in the back of my mind. Now its time has come.

I love the way randomness often reveals truths. Or at least gives us another lense with which to see ourselves. Or makes absolutely no sense at all. Kind of like Tarot or Astrology or a Magic 8 Ball.

The way this works: Hit "shuffle" on your iPod, and the names of the songs as they fall in the random sequence are the answers to the questions. Here goes.......

1. How would you describe yourself?
Che Doce Simpatia.... Ecco Megl'orti Tuoi (Cecilia Bartolli)

Well, I guess what this means is that I don't really, even yet, understand myself! I'm still working on the translation.
Simpatia...... sympathy according to the translation site I just consulted. That makes sense. I seem to be sympathetic to the whole world.

2. What do you like in a guy / girl?
Vigilante Man (Burns Sisters)

Hmmmmmm...... perhaps I do like to be looked after much more than I would ever freely admit.

3. What is your motto?
Paper Kitten Nightmare (Margot & the Nuclear So and So's)

Now those are some absurdist words to live by. Perhaps I should make them my motto.

4. What do your friends think of you?
In the Garden (Dolores O'Riorden)

Not sure about this one. I keep thinking of biblical gardens (I can't help it, I was a religious studies major) ...... Eden....... Gethsemane...... they weren't exactly conducive to friendship now, were they? How about the garden in my backyard, then, where everyone is welcome.........

5. What do you think about often?
On a Freezing Chicago Street (Margot & the Nuclear So and So's)

Yeah, that's me..... just daydreaming away about being cold and lost in an unfamiliar city.

..... Actually, now that I think about it, being lost in unfamiliar places really IS something I daydream about. It's the cold part I can't quite handle.

6. What do your parents think of you?
Your Heart is an Empty Room (Death Cab for Cutie)

Well, my mom's dead, and I'm pretty sure she never would have said this about me. My dad, however, might very well try to enlighten me with some sort of wise saying that has this phrase in it.

7. What do you think of your best friend?
Cannonball (Damien Rice)

No idea.

8. What do you think of the person you like?
Different Names for the Same Thing (Death Cab for Cutie)

Hahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!! Over and over and over again.

9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Sleep Don't Weep (Damien Rice)

A good night's sleep would be most welcome.

10. What do you think when you see a person you like?
Lascia La Spina, Cogli La Rosa (Cecilia Bartolli)

I will tell you that listening to this song will tear your heart into a million little pieces.....

11. What song will they play at your wedding?
What I Be (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

Well, my wedding is now nearly 13 years in the past. I will say, however, that what is quintessentially ME was all over that ceremony, from the juggling to the candlelighting to the vow writing and reading to the contradancing.

12. What will they play at your funeral?
Now That You're Gone (Ryan Adams)

That's what turned up. I swear.

13. What is your hobby / interest?
Tell Me You're Alive (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

Interesting............ I have this "pillow" hanging in my bedroom made by my friend Marina. Painted in neon yellow letters is the word "ALIVE". She left it on my porch before moving to Brooklyn. Alive is one of my favorite words. I look at it every morning when I wake up. Most times, Alive is enough. Sometimes Alive is even more than we can handle. How dare we demand more?

14. What is your biggest fear?
I Found It (Klayton Kendall)

We search our whole life for "It". If we actually found it, then what would be the purpose of life? And having no purpose in life is my greatest fear.

15. What is your biggest secret?
We Used to Vacation (Cold War Kids)

Now this is NO secret at all! Of course we used to vacation. Before we had kids and were poor and settled in jobs and had a mortgage and ..........

16. What do you think of your friends?
Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelon Wine (John Prine and another guy named Mac)

This sort of paints a picture of hanging out with folks on the patio, or in the backyard of a summer eve. Yeah.

17. What is your theme song?
Punch and Judy (Elliott Smith)

Yes! This is the best one so far. "Huzzah, huzzah! I killed the Devil!"

18. What do you think of your family?
Blossom (Cold Roses)

Corny. But, really, what do our children do but blossom right before our eyes?

19. What is your best friend's theme song?
Yes, I Will (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

My husband has said, I don't know how many times, that he will be here, for me, for the boys, no matter what. Yes, he will.

20. What is your mood right now?
Crow Waltz (The Be Good Tanyas)

Waltzing. I love waltzing! I've waltzed three times in the past week. It makes me all happy inside.

21. If your heart could talk, what would it say?
What Sarah Said (Death Cab for Cutie)

Sara (no h) knows my heart about as well as I.

22. What do your co-workers think of you?
God's Promise (Burns Sisters)

Depends on your idea of "God" I suppose.

23. What does your future look like?
Brothers on a Hotel Bed (Death Cab for Cutie)

Um.... sounds fun, but...... I don't think so. Let's try that one again, shall we?

Streetwalker (Delta Spirit)

Uh, no, don't think that's it either. One more time.

You Can Close Your Eyes (James Taylor)

Ok, that's more like it.

song shuffle

I think this little game was invented by someone at least 20 years younger than me, but still, it was fun. I first read Kate's answers many months ago, and at that time I thought to myself, "Hmm... I think I'd like to do that someday." Many things have come to pass between then and now, but the song shuffle has always been in the back of my mind. Now its time has come.

I love the way randomness often reveals truths. Or at least gives us another lense with which to see the world. Or makes absolutely no sense at all. Kind of like Tarot. Or Astrology.

The way this works: Hit "shuffle" on your iPod, and the names of the songs as they fall in the random sequence are the answers to the questions. Here goes.......

1. How would you describe yourself?
Che Doce Simpatia.... Ecco Megl'orti Tuoi (Cecilia Bartolli)
Well, I guess what this means is that I don't really, even yet, understand myself! I'm still working on the translation.
Simpatia...... sympathy according to the translation site I just consulted. That makes sense. I seem to be sympathetic to the whole world.

2. What do you like in a guy / girl?
Vigilante Man (Burns Sisters)

Hmmmmmm...... perhaps I do like to be looked after much more than I would ever freely admit.

3. What is your motto?
Paper Kitten Nightmare (Margot & the Nuclear So and So's)

Now those are some absurdist words to live by. Perhaps I should make them my motto.

4. What do your friends think of you?
In the Garden (Dolores O'Riorden)

Not sure about this one. I keep thinking of biblical gardens (I can't help it, I was a religious studies major) ...... Eden....... Gethsemane...... they weren't exactly conducive to friendship now, were they? How about the garden in my backyard, then, where everyone is welcome.........

5. What do you think about often?
On a Freezing Chicago Street (Margot & the Nuclear So and So's)

Yeah, that's me..... just daydreaming away about being cold and lost in an unfamiliar city.

6. What do your parents think of you?
Your Heart is an Empty Room (Death Cab for Cutie)

Well, my mom's dead, and I'm pretty sure she never would have said this about me. My dad, however, might very well try to enlighten me with some sort of wise saying that has this phrase in it.

7. What do you think of your best friend?
Cannonball (Damien Rice)

No idea.

8. What do you think of the person you like?
Different Names for the Same Thing (Death Cab for Cutie)

Hahahahahahaha!!!!!!!!! Over and over and over again.

9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
Sleep Don't Weep (Damien Rice)

A good night's sleep would be most welcome.

10. What do you think when you see a person you like?
Lascia La Spina, Cogli La Rosa (Cecilia Bartolli)

I will tell you that listening to this song will tear your heart into a million little pieces.....

11. What song will they play at your wedding?
What I Be (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

Well, my wedding is now nearly 13 years in the past. I will say, however, that what is quintessentially ME was all over that ceremony, from the juggling to the candlelighting to the vow writing and reading to the contradancing.

12. What will they play at your funeral?
Now That You're Gone (Ryan Adams)

That's what turned up. I swear.

13. What is your hobby / interest?
Tell Me You're Alive (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

Interesting............ I have this "pillow" hanging in my bedroom made by my friend Marina. Painted in neon yellow letters is the word "ALIVE". She left it on my porch before moving to Brooklyn. Alive is one of my favorite words. I look at it every morning when I wake up. Sometimes Alive is even more than we can handle. And most times, Alive is enough. How dare we demand more?

14. What is your biggest fear?
I Found It (Klayton Kendall)

We search our whole life for "It". If we actually found it, then what would be the purpose of life? And having no purpose in life is my greatest fear.

15. What is your biggest secret?
We Used to Vacation (Cold War Kids)

Now this is NO secret at all! Of course we used to vacation. Before we had kids and were poor and settled in jobs and had a mortgage and ..........

16. What do you think of your friends?
Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelon Wine (John Prine and another guy named Mac)

This sort of paints a picture of hanging out with folks on the patio, or in the backyard of a summer eve. Yeah.

17. What is your theme song?
Punch and Judy (Elliott Smith)

Yes! This is the best one so far. "Huzzah, huzzah! I killed the Devil!"

18. What do you think of your family?
Blossom (Cold Roses)

Corny. But, really, what do our children do but blossom right before our eyes?

19. What is your best friend's theme song?
Yes, I Will (Michael Franti and Spearhead)

My husband has said, I don't know how many times, that he will be here, for me, for the boys, no matter what. Yes, he will.

20. What is your mood right now?
Crow Waltz (The Be Good Tanyas)

Waltzing. I love waltzing! I've waltzed three times in the past week. It makes me all happy inside.

21. If your heart could talk, what would it say?
What Sarah Said (Death Cab for Cutie)

Sara (no h) knows my heart about as well as I.

22. What do your co-workers think of you?
God's Promise (Burns Sisters)

Depends on your idea of "God" I suppose.

23. What does your future look like?
Brothers on a Hotel Bed (Death Cab for Cutie)

Um.... sounds fun, but...... I don't think so. Let's try that one again, shall we?

Streetwalker (Delta Spirit)

Uh, no, don't think that's it either. One more time.

You Can Close Your Eyes (James Taylor)

Ok, that's more like it.

i know i'm not alone......

because serendipity tells me so.

It all started about two weeks ago, when I heard an old Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy song on our local public radio station. I loved them, back in the day. Their one and only album still gets some play on my now old-fashioned CD player. Jamming out to "Television" on KRCC made me wonder what they were up to now.

Then a few days later, I read a post on the Newspeak blog about hip hop, and decided to ask about the Heroes I once loved. A kind blogger told me that Michael Franti (half of the Heroes) had gone on to form a band called Spearhead. Being fairly modern-musically illiterate, I had never heard of this band. The name stuck in my mind however. (No pun intended. Really)

Fast forward to yesterday. While driving home from a conference where I learned nothing new about teaching, but remembered a bunch of stuff I had forgotten, I turned on the radio and there it was..... an indescribable music that caused me to have a near religious experience right there in my car. Turns out it was, you guessed it, Spearhead. They were playing live on E-town. I waited through all the annoying chit-chat of the host with Michael Franti, to get to the next song. It was this one. By the time it was over, I was soaring with the people in the crowd.



Later that night, I'm googling and youtubing and itunesing Michael Franti and Spearhead, and John says, "Oh yeah, JJ was telling me all about them when I picked the boys up on Friday. He said something about them playing here pretty soon."

I looked it up immediately. Mancos. Fucking Mancos, Colorado! Small town middle of shale Mancos! A six-hour drive from here! And on a Wednesday night!

But it's outdoors. All ages. Free for kids under 12. I wanna pack up the kids and road trip it out to nowhere to see a band I've only just learned about. I just might do it. Anyone wanna go with? Believe it or not, I actually KNOW people in Mancos who I'm sure would put us up for the night.

I've been listening to a lot of music over the past few years that isn't exactly what you would call pick me up and dance me around music. It's more like punch me in the heart and make me melancholy music . I love that stuff, I really do. But sometimes........ it's nice to remember that it's ok to want to be happy.

It seems I have a new Hero. Or at least a resurrected one.

john prine with emmylou harris live at red rocks 2008 "angel from montgomery"

John and I were here last night:



You just can't quite capture the magic of Red Rocks Amphitheater in a video.... the sun setting, Denver city lights in the distance, the birds flitting in and out of their red sandstone cliff homes, the stars and crescent moon emerging as the night goes on.

And then there were the people: mesmerizing sexy hula-hoop girl, children and teenagers with their parents, old men in wheelchairs who knew every word to every song and sang along. The average age was probably 50, but there were plenty of 20 and 30-somethings there to give me hope. It was the most intergenerational crowd I've ever seen at a concert.

And the smells: the sweet aroma of marijuana drifting under your nose (although we never did see where it was coming from), the earthiness as you walk on the path in the dark to get to your car, the patchouli scent wafting on the breeze.

It was a manic-depressive show. I both wept and danced. Thus is the hallmark of a genius songwriter.

r.e.m. nightswimming

because all summers must come to an end

smalltown boy

I was listening to KEPC, 89.7, on my way to work yesterday morning, when this song came on. I started singing at the top of my lungs, physical memories of lights and people and my own dancing body flooded my world. When I finally came to, I found I had missed the left turn green light, at least eight cars having gone before me, and mine having gone nowhere. Luckily, there was no one behind to wake me from my revelry with an angry, "I have to get to work, bitch, stop singing!" honk. It has been playing in my head for the last two days.

It was somewhere in the mid-80's and music ruled the world. My world, anyway. I spent the latter half of that decade in college, with a semester abroad in Spain and a year abroad in England. All the while connecting myself to people who would go see The Cure in Madrid or Robyn Hitchcock in Manchester (I drove a van full of 15 students through the roundabouts of Manchester to get us to that show!), or Echo and the Bunnymen in Seattle.

Once upon a time, dance music wasn't just one tedious beat after another. "Maybe," she says with a sigh, "I'm just getting old and I just don't get it."

But when this song came on in the club, we were ALL there, rushing to the dance floor to work out our darkest fears, our dearest hopes, our lovers and friends all together in the same realm. Bronski Beat. I willingly confess to loving this band. Listening to The Age of Consent over and over and over again in my dorm room. Dancing as if my body or soul might explode at any minute. I miss that. There's no place for us of The Breakfast Club generation to dance that will play Bronski Beat. Or Simple Minds. Or New Order. Or Cabaret Voltaire. Or Bauhaus/Tones on Tail/Love and Rockets. No place that I know of anyway. Please enlighten-I desperately need to dance to something other than endless monotonous techno filled with teasingly painful reminders of my past. (I think they're called "samples").

this mortal coil

It's still rather magical to me how the internet can take me from here to here to here and then instantly, transcendently, bam! To 1987, age 20 (half my lifetime ago), wandering through campus in the drizzle and the dark at 2 am with It'll End in Tears by This Mortal Coil in my Walkman, mourning (to put it mildly) my lost love up on the 9th floor of Tingelstad Hall. Ironically, this music helped me keep my sanity during one of the lowest, most self-absorbed times of my life. The raw power of music in youth. The exponential power of the world wide web. Here's to the future: Gary (my lost love and now my found friend) and his wife Allison are expecting twins!


lyrics to "Song to the Siren" by This Mortal Coil

On the floating, shapeless oceans
I did all my best to smile
til your singing eyes and fingers
drew me loving into your eyes.

And you sang "Sail to me, sail to me;
Let me enfold you."

Here I am, here I am waiting to hold you.
Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you here when I was full sail?

Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken love lost on your rocks.
For you sang, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow."
Oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow.
I'm as puzzled as a newborn child.
I'm as riddled as the tide.
Should I stand amid the breakers?
Or shall I lie with death my bride?

Hear me sing: "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you."
"Here I am. Here I am, waiting to hold you."

if there were....

a wizard who could grant me a brain, a heart, courage, and the way home...... it would be Damien Rice. I hope he plays this song tonight at the Paramount.

oh my!

Post-reporting on the Out Loud concert.....
Jene and I found seats next to some gentlemen from the Denver Gay Men's Chorus; there were at least 20 or so in attendance. The love was palpable. We entertained ourselves before the show began by searching for dirty lyrics in the hymnal (not hard to do when you alter how you see). The first set was moving, relaxing, voices blending and washing over the audience like some sort of baptism by aural beauty. You don't have to be religious to appreciate a heart-on-your-sleeve Hallelujah. There was also a lively operatic duet from "La Traviata" (the only opera I have ever seen, incidentally) with a female guest which received a standing ovation. After the intermission came Dorothy and the green-faced Wicked Witch, singing, most metaphorically, "It's Not Easy Being Green". The crowd was energized by ABBA at the end, but not nearly as much as I had expected. I was one of the few dancing in the aisles. If you saw this show, and did not leave smiling, then you are truly not human at all.

rootless tree

I've been sitting here in the dark for hours watching Damien Rice videos... He'll be in Denver at the Paramount on May 5th. I'll be there. Will you?
This one's for you, 200 days.