We are each of us angels with only one wing, and we can only fly by embracing one another. -- Luciano de Crescenzo
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself - Oscar Wilde
See That My Grave Is Kept Clean....
"The liner notes in Harry Smith’s compilation Anthology of American Folk Music states that this song was recorded by Blind Lemon Jefferson in February of 1928 Paramount...many claim this to be Jefferson’s signature recording, as an excerpt from the song adorns his gravestone: "Lord, it's one kind favor I'll ask of you. See that my grave is kept clean."
The simplest of requests, may we all be so favored...
The only version I truly wanted to post is Dylan's version, originally recorded on Bob Dylan 1962, and then recorded once more on the Genuine Basement Tapes, once in his hands, it is a tune that rips your heart strings free and ruins your ears forever. Even better, on the Genuine Basement Tapes, as the music fades and you begin to question your sanity, the next track to follow? She'll be Comin' Round The Mountain!!!! Insane, that is all I have to say. Pure, insanity, which of course, is the best kind (;
When you leave, I mourn endlessly. My treasures have all been spent and my heart becomes a hollow swimming hole. With your silence I do perish a thousand times a day, the ticking of the clock a mean-eyed dog that marks its way. I never wished to long as such, so content was I to simply slumber. Yet you awakened me, this sleeping giant, who roams these hills alone...I escape these days to dreams and the supernatural, my prayer a simple one -- that it be your face I shall greet at every silvery corner, for reality I fear shall drive me mad as the dusk turns its feathered wings to dawn...
"I think if the devil doesn't exist, then man has created him. He has created him in his own image and likeness." "Just as man created God, then?" observed Alyosha. - Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov
"I brush my hair,
waiting in the pain machine for my bones to get hard,
for the soft, soft bones that were laid apart
and were screwed together. They will knit.
And the other corpse, the fractured heart,
I feed it piecemeal, little chalice. I'm good to it."
"Out of the cage came Eve,
escaping, escaping.
She was clothed in her skin like the sun
and her ankles were not for sale."
I fear I was born deaf and mute, unaware of this startling condition. My soul a vessel of longing, as all souls are, fought fiercely, pleading with my mind to let go and be free, to sacrifice my self to the world of music and all its wonders.
Now, I am an addict, beats awash, lyrics pulsing, a junkie with no end in sight. Who knew this affliction could be so right, so true, so just? No longer is my world filled with silence, but rather startling cries, both old and new and all that filters in between. I long to lay within a field of spring sprung daisies, summer sun a brilliant golden halo, as the sounds of the world wash over me...and so, my journey has at long last begun...
I am captive to their beats....Bob Dylan. Dock Boggs. Blind Lemon Jefferson. Harry Smith's Anthology of American Folk Music. The Smiths. The Faint. Reeve Carney. Ryan Adams. Marilyn Manson. Goldfrapp. Imogean Heap. Sondre Billie Holiday. Ella Fitzgerald. Jeff Buckley. Jesus and Mary Chain. Mazzy Star. Joy Division. Madeline Peyroux. Sigur Ros. Tegan and Sara. The Band. Mamie Smith. Psapp. Nick Drake. Portishead. Cat Power. Joanna Newson...
give me a bango and moonshine stars hollowed out with shotgun sighs in the sky above...
Secretary. Fire. D.E.B.S. Practical Magic. Waking Ned Devine. Chocolat. Shaun of the Dead. Fried Green Tomatoes. But I'm A Cheerleader. American Beauty. Maria Full of Grace. Count of Monte Cristo. The Fog (original please!). Brokeback Mountain. Amy and Jaguar. Nearly anything with subtitles, this truly pleases me, save kung-fu flicks, I just do not have the damn dexterity to read and absorb all that ass kickin'! We all have to strive for something....
The L Word. Curl Girls. Hell's Kitchen. So You Think You Can Dance. Top Chef. I am a dork. I watch dorky shows on the history channel and history international. A lot of dorky shows.
A home without books is a body without soul - Marcus Tullius Cicero
Flannery O'Connor. Nietzsche. Hemingway. Plath. Wilde. Freud. Regardie. Crowley. Dion Fortune. Blavatsky. Mathers. Runyon. I cannot live without these minds of genius. I treasure books more than I treasure any other material object and would live quite happily indeed locked away in a giant library with a roaring fireplace and thousands of books in piles all about me. This would be pure ecstasy.
Sinners, Saints, Addicts, Demons, Angels, False Idols, the ones that have been downtrodden and still walk their weary bones on home. The children who hunger for a better world and the rebels who still believe we can deliver this to them. Those who follow their heart, and their dreams, even if it means eating out of a tin can in a new city each week or dressing in rags for their purpose. My heroes are the ones that don't let life live them, nor do they live life with one eye closed, but the rare souls that life cannot contain. Those souls that stand up and scream with all their might and tap dance to insane tunes that only they can hear -- for life is not meant to be lived within bounderies -- rather, to truly live is to destroy all bounderies, man-made or otherwise. So live and be merry and most importantly, be free -- now go and fly....