"I want to be my own design" Clive Barker - Imajica

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Phil the Fan

Pretty much anyone in Denver who has ever been to a live show or to a goth night is familiar with Phil the Fan. They most likely don't know his name, most people have never talked to him but as soon as they see him they know exactly who you are talking about. Phil was always there doing what made him happy, listening to music and dancing, just doing his own thing and always being himself. There isn't anything I can say that hasn't already been said. There is a memorial service set up for him on Thursday the 30th at 10 a.m. at Amazing Grace Chapel in Englewood (3325 South Federal Boulevard). Rest in peace Phil. Keep those dancing shoes on.


photo courtesy of Westword, Laura Bond circa 11/30/00

story about Phil from the Westword from 11/30/2000

http://www.westword.com/2000-11-30/music/shine-on/
and a blurb about his passing
 http://blogs.westword.com/backbeat/2011/06/rip_phil_the_fan_hamon.php

Monday, June 27, 2011

It isn't all about you, except when it is.

There are times when it suddenly occurs to you that for right now, this moment it is all about you. These moments NEVER happen when you attempt to make it all about you. They never happen when you try to force the attention to yourself. Sometimes the people you are with shift their energy in order to feed you and it's usually when you particularly need it. And it feels great. To have people you love feeding you their energy and knowing that they are happy to focus entirely on you and to feel that particular connection with them is a very blessed moment. Always try to appreciate these times because they are exceedingly rare and seriously? There isn't much better than being the center of attention. DUH.

With that said, more people need to learn that while sometimes it is indeed all about you, more frequently than not it is NOT all about you. There are times when your friends need you to pay attention to them. They need you to feed them your love and your passion and your energy. Learn to be in tune with the moods and the flow of energy in your relationships. Learn to read your friends and know when to feed them. Learn to figure out when they need the energy more than you do.

It'll pay off in the end. Promise.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

I forgot how much I love Michael Ondaatje


"We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography – to be marked by nature, not just label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. ... All I desired was to walk upon such an earth that had no maps." — Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient
  "How we are almost nothing. We think, in our youth, we are the centre of the universe, but we simply respond, go this way or that by accident, survive or improve by the luck of the draw, with little choice or determination on our part."
Michael Ondaatje (Divisadero
 
" I wanted to find one law to cover all of living. I found fear...."
Michael Ondaatje (Anil's Ghost
 
"we live with those retrievals from childhood that coalesce and echo throughout our lives"
Michael Ondaatje (Divisadero
 
"And as the music ended, he saw her, like a woman in a romance, pull from her cotton sleeve a note that she pushed into his breast pocket. It would burn there unread for another hour as he danced and talked with in-laws who did not matter to him, who got in the way, whose bloodline connection to him or his wife he could not care less about. Everything that was important to him existed suddenly in the potency of Marie-Neige. He could tell what the shallow freize of the wedding party that surrounded them would continue to be, and yet the one he knew best-he could not conceive how she would behave or respond to him in a week, or even in an hour. She had stepped into more than his arms for a dance, had waited for the precise seconds so it was possible and socially forgivable-the sunlit wedding procession, the eternal meal-and she had passed him a billet-doux as if they were within a Dumas. The note she had written said 'Good-bye.' Then it said 'Hello.' And then it reminded him that 'A message sent by pigeon to The Hague can sometimes change everything.' She had, like one of those partially villainous and always evolving heroines, turned his heart over on the wrong day."
Michael Ondaatje (Divisadero
 
"I thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. And I thought if I was going to die I would die with you.
Someone like you, young as I am, I saw so many dying near me in the last year. I didn’t feel scared. I
certainly wasn’t brave just now. I thought to myself, We have this villa this grass, we should have lain
down together, you in my arms, before we died. I wanted to touch that bone at your neck, collarbone,
it’s like a small hard wing under your skin. I wanted to place my fingers against it. I’ve always liked flesh
the colour of rivers and rocks or like the brown eye of a Susan, do you know what that flower is? Have
you seen them? I am so tired, Kip, I want to sleep. I want to sleep under this tree, put my eye against
your collarbone I just want to close my eyes without thinking of others, want to find the crook of a tree
and climb into it and sleep. What a careful mind! To know which wire to cut. How did you know? You
kept saying I don’t know I don’t know, but you did. Right? Don’t shake, you have to be a still bed for
me, let me curl up as if you were a good grandfather I could hug, I love the word ‘curl,’ such a slow
word, you can’t rush it..."
Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient
 
"I have spent weeks in the desert, forgetting to look at the moon, he says, as a married man may spend days never looking into the face of his wife. These are not sins of omission but signs of preoccupation."
Michael Ondaatje (The English Patient
 
"A man in a desert can hold absence in his cupped hands knowing it is something more than water. There is a plant whose heart, if one cuts it out is replaced with fluid containing herbal goodness. Every morning one can drink the liquid amount of the missing heart."
Michael Ondaatje
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The Cinnamon Peeler

"If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
-- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said


this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.

And you searched your arms

for the missing perfume.

and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter

left with no trace

as if not spoken to in an act of love

as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.


You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler's wife. Smell me."

Michael Ondaatje

Monday, June 20, 2011

30 Helen's agree that you should properly maintain your vehicle

Because if you don't you are totally fucked.

So yeah, on my way to the club from the 1940's ball in Boulder my car broke down on the side of Hwy 36. SUCK. Thank god for Uncle Shitty who was the first person I called after I called Mr. S to let him know what was going on. I felt bad about calling Uncle Shitty since he, Mr. S and the Gingers had just returned to Colorado after playing a show in Austin on Thursday but I really didn't know who else to call. He got there about midnight or so and proceeded to check pretty much everything he could on the side of the road. Two hours later and about 10 different possibilities marked off we ended up just calling a tow truck. Uncle Shitty is fairly certain that the engine needs to be replaced.

And I myself am certain that this was caused due to my own improper maintenance on the vehicle. So yes dear readers this is entirely my fuck up and here I am with a broken car and needing to find a way to come up with about $700 to get it fixed. Two of my loathed things to do are asking for help and borrowing money and it looks like I will have to do both now. I don’t really know what else to do. My credit is terrible so a short term bank loan is most likely out of the question but I am going to double check with my bank just in case. I would much rather do work for my friends to earn some money rather than borrow anything so you know… if you have anything, keep me in mind.

So yeah, the point is that I am sure the reason my car is broken is because I didn’t take care of it properly. I am dreading any lectures from friends about how important it is to take care of your car. I know it’s important. Trust me, I don’t need the lecture, I have the proof of it in front of me. And you can bet your ass that from now on, I will be on top of car maintenance just like I am on top everything else.

I’m sorry grandpa, I totally let you down.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Just make peace with this, it's happening.

So I was kvetching about how I hadn't gotten over about 5 hours of sleep a night for the last two weeks and the Zen Archer pointed something out (as she is wont to do). Maybe those 5 hours is what my body needs on those nights and the nights when I sleep more than that it's because that is how much sleep I need that night. Instead of fighting against it and thinking that I have to try to get 8 hours a night I just need to sleep when I sleep and be awake when I am awake. It makes sense. I do okay on the days I only get 2 or 3 hours and I do okay on the days that I get 7 or 8 hours of sleep. Instead of whining so much about wanting more sleep I need to learn ow to work with my body gives me because in this case I suspect it knows better than I do what it actually needs. Another JUST STOP IT to add to my ever growing list.

I'm comfortable with that..


Thursday, June 9, 2011

Has it really been 14 years?


Monday June 9, 1997

I was sitting on my bed reading or rather pretending to read until Taylor called after his court ordered counseling session was over and we could commence making our plans to rendezvous for the evening. I looked at the clock and thought “5:30 he should be home any minute” the phone rang. It wasn’t Taylor, it was his mom, Wendy. She sounded very calm but asked to talk to my mom which immediately alerted me to the fact that something was wrong. I brought the phone into the living room of the mobile home my mom and I were living in at the time and after I handed it off I stood there with arms crossed listening. 
As soon as my mom asked “what happened” I knew. I knew with every fiber of my being. Taylor had killed himself. I stood there repeating “Taylor’s dead, isn’t he?” until my mom finally hung up the phone. She hung up the phone and tried to get me to sit down as my tears started to flow but I refused until she told me what happened. I had to hear it from her. Until I actually heard the words I felt like it was still unreal. “Taylor killed himself this afternoon.” It was then that I started to lose it, to let go, to shake and weep like I had never cried before. Huge, wrenching sobs. Taylor. My love. The person I had made up my mind to spend the rest of my life with. Gone. Forever.

I paged my friend Lynn over and over again until she called me back. I haltingly told her what happened and explained that my mom and I were on our way over to Taylor’s house because the police needed to speak to me and I needed to find out if it was true. It couldn’t be true. This was all some joke right? Sure a cruel joke but better a cruel joke than harsh reality. We drove to their house in silence only broken by me sniffling and desperately trying to hold it together.

We pull up in front of the house I’ve been to a million times and it’s almost like I don’t recognize it. There are 3 police cars and an ambulance, I stop to think - wait, why is that here if he is dead? Surely that means that there is still hope right? We get out of the car and Wendy and Steve come up to us, both strangely calm but red eyed and hoarse voiced. Wendy hugs me but I barely register it. All I keep thinking is “where is Taylor? I want to see Taylor. I need to see Taylor. He can’t be dead.” Suddenly Lynn arrives. It’s good to have a friend there. Someone who knows Taylor and I differently than our parents ever will. I feel… relieved to have her there but still anxious. They tell me I can’t go inside because his body is still in there. In his room. He’s up there? I want to see him, I want to go to him and have him take me in his arms and apologize for the joke they are playing on me. All of a sudden a vehicle marked crime lab shows up. They explain to me that crime lab had to come because there were drugs and alcohol involved. And now there are more cops and they are pulling me to the side of the house because they are about to bring the body out and they don’t want me to see it. I need to see it. I need proof that he’s gone. Until I see it, I will believe he is there somewhere. They bring the body out on the stretcher inside the body bag so I can’t see anything but a long shape in a black bag but I still won’t believe it. 

A male cop starts to question me about the last time I saw Taylor. I explained that the last time I saw or talked to him was when I dropped him off at his house the night before. I remembered Taylor hugging and kissing me with tears in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong and tried to get him to talk about it he just shook his head and said he didn't want to talk about it but that he would call me the next day. He said he loved me one more time before getting out of my car. The cop started to get shitty with me, treating me like some young piece of ass that has no feelings, I start getting agitated, fidgety. A female cop notices and comes over to finish the questioning. She is much nicer, more sympathetic. When I tell her that Taylor is my first love she gets a little teary herself. When I tell her that he and I had discussed getting married in the fall she shook her head and gave my hands a sympathetic squeeze. They explained that I was the last person other than his little brother to talk to him or see him beforehand. His little brother was off with a friend of the family. Apparently he had discovered Taylor's body. Poor Cameron. What a horrible thing to see. What a horrible image to have burned into your already troubled 9 year old brain.

I talked to Wendy and Steve, about what I don't recollect. That memory has thankfully gone dim over the years. I don't remember what I did that night. I do know that I was in a haze of denial over the next week. I refused to believe that Taylor was gone. I couldn't believe it. I kept having dreams about him where I would wake up and I could smell him and my hands would tingle with the memory of his skin. I'd wake up and realize it was just a dream and the tears would start again. I know I spent a lot of time with Cameron, I spent a lot of time with many of Taylor's friends and even with some of his ex-girlfriends.

I still had trouble believing he was really gone. His parents arranged for me to have a private viewing of the body prior to cremation so I could get some closure and say goodbye. My mom came into the room with me. I had never really had to deal with the death of someone close to me before. I remember being pissed off that they had washed his hair. He rarely washed it because it so curly that he would look like a pouf ball when he did wash it. I was adamant about the fact they should not have washed his hair until my mom explained that they had had to wash it to get the... fluids out of it. He lay there on the gurney in the funeral home dressed in his Bauhaus shirt with the long velvet skirt and those stupid Chuck Taylors that he loved so much. The neighborhood kids had brought a jar of Kool-aid and a thing of sushi to be cremated with him. The lights flickered and made it look like he was breathing for a minute. It almost broke me. I had to get out of there and try to process it. It was starting to hit home. Taylor was really gone. Forever. 

 I found out later that when they found him he was wearing the clothes I had given him for his birthday, he was holding a copy of a god awful piece of poetry that I had written for him and he had this silly lion that I had given him for Valentines Day next to him. His parents gave me a copy of the letter he left behind in his journal. He explained his reasons for doing what he did.  He said that he loved me very much but that he could not face what was coming. He was on probation and had had two dirty urine tests which meant that he would be going back to jail.  I was one of the only people that really knew what happened to him the one time he had been in jail previously.  I knew that if he actually went back to jail it would have killed him eventually maybe not physically but emotionally, spiritually, in every other way he'd be dead and he couldn't face that.  There are 14 pages in that letter. He quoted from his favorite Joy Division song. 
 
Mother I tried please believe me,
I'm doing the best that I can.
I'm ashamed of the things I've been put through,
I'm ashamed of the person I am.

Isolation, isolation, isolation.

But if you could just see the beauty,
These things I could never describe,
These pleasures a wayward distraction,
This is my one lucky prize.

He tried and ultimately he failed at surviving the world in all it's harshness and he failed to see the beauty and the happiness that is there alongside the awfulness and the pain. Even at the time I understood why he did what he did. I missed him, I wanted to join him so much but I never once hated him for doing what he did. I only hated him for leaving me behind. Leaving me alone. The pain was so overwhelming for so long. Gradually as time passed I started to heal. I started to let go of all the baggage I was carrying in regards to Taylor and his suicide. As even more time went by I started to let go of Taylor himself. It's been 14 years and I won't deny that I still miss him sometimes. His smile, his sense of humor, his passion. 

But I have finally and fully moved on with my life. I have Mr. S, I have my friends that are much more like family, I have my blood family and most of all I have me. I survived. Something I never would have believed all those years ago.   I'm still here and I'm happy.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Oh shut up.



Tobias: “You know, Lindsay, as a therapist, I have advised a number of couples to explore an open relationship where-where the couple remains emotionally committed but free to explore extramarital… encounters.”
Lindsay: “Did it work for those people?”
Tobias: “No. It never does. These people somehow delude themselves into thinking it might, but– but it might work for us.." **from the fail blog website**



It is always so easy to blame being in an open relationship for a relationship failing. But you know what the only common denominator in all of your failed relationships is? YOU.  Stop trying to place blame on outside forces and other people and deal with your own issues.

Also? Monogamous relationships fail all the time too. Why is it that when someone changes their asinine FB relationship status from "In a Relationship" to "Single" no one says anything about how being monogamous caused the relationship to fail? Quit being so biased against relationships that don't fit into the pre-programmed ideals that society and your parents have fed you. Just because it doesn't work for you doesn't mean it doesn't work for anyone else.

[END RANT]
for now..

Friday, June 3, 2011

Fat Bottomed Girls

I found this article on Jezebel today about Vogue Italia putting 3(!) plus size models on the cover today and all I can say is WOW. Oh and HAWT. I also discovered that Vogue Italia has a specific website for curvy women and again I am blown away by the content. Not only does it celebrate the curvy woman it encourages them to dress to show off the curves rather than hiding them away. Damn there are some beautiful curvy women out there and thanks to Vogue Italia for introducing me to ladies I hadn't heard of before like Caro Emerald.






and if the pictures aren't enough, listen to her voice. Lovely.



Oh and Bishi who says she is like the illegimate child of Grace Jones and the character Joan Holloway from Mad Men...





Did I mention that she is also a musician?



I think I have found my latest obsession...
correction
obsessions