Bon Iver

Seasons are becoming inconsequential and irrelevant. I definitely got intense thrills from the few absolutely beautiful days we have had our way lately, but going from snow flurries to 90 degrees and then back to 45 degrees and cloudy all in the matter of a week in April is not what you would consider a typical Spring Season. Other things on a more theoretical season changing front are more consistent. People come and go and old tunes resurface to their place as favorites on an eye level shelf. She is dating him?! And he has put down the bottle. I finally got settled and now I have to move again. This is life…if things remained stable for too long I suppose it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting. So even in the blossoming of Spring, whether it’s a season of theoretical or practical proportions, in this day and age, it can still be appropriate to wish you a ‘Good Winter.’

Kitsch

It is definitely not October anymore. People always say that time passes faster and faster as you get older, and I believe whoever those people are. If you’re one of those people that has ever said that- I believe you.

Point is the holiday is over now, and leavened bread is once more the friend of all those who shunned it for eight days. I spent happy days reading nonstop. See, now instead of searching ways to escape the time I spend at home on holidays, I embrace it and do what I never allow myself to do in the normal crazy days of life. I read The Unbearable Lightness of Being and Middlesex. Both books were amazing just as she said they would be. I think it’s interesting that both books managed to speak of psychology, history, and politics all using a novel as the foundation. I also find it interesting that the word Kitsch made cameos more than once in each book. So here’s to Kitsch!

So yea…There is nothing wrong with just sitting and reading. And drinking lots of wine. Of course there is something off about drinking lots of wine if it’s to soothe the anger I felt a few moments for Mumsey. I am amused though by the way she sat not looking upset at all while I downed like 3 glasses in row, without stopping. (It’s definitely wrong to just drink wine down like that without even stopping to  pay the slightest bit of attention to the tastes). I’m officially moving (back) into the apartment with loads of stuff. But not loads and loads. I’ve already learned the lesson of bringing too much there, and I don’t need to learn it again. I can be mindful of what I really think I’ll want there. And I’ll draw the line there for now.

Deep Breaths

I feel every fiber in me wanting to complain often which is very contradictory to the way I perceive myself. I don’t perceive myself as a whiny complaining haggard female. I picture myself bright and happy with a sly smile and wandering through life making the best of it, and living fully. But working hard dulls the sparkly edges, and that’s why I’ve been feeling myself ready to complain so. However, tonight was another night for me to start breathing again. Patti Smith came to play with Philip Glass, and from the moment she walked into soundcheck I felt like some of my worlds; past and present were colliding pleasantly. I know I’ve been told I’m an old soul. And I know I believe it very deeply. Seeing Patti walk into the place where I work made me feel like things were finally connecting and times and experiences I feel like I’ve had in the 60’s and 70’s long before I was born, were calmed. I felt calm knowing that in this day and age I still get to reach out and feel part of the better life it was then. I confess to have teared up while she read bits of Allen Ginsberg’s poetry and told tales of his deathbead. The way the words flowed off her tongue with the piano playing in the background made the words live. Someone wrote those words (whether it be Blake, Ginsberg, a songwriter…) People write words, in the most sincere passionate way- directly from their heart. And hearing it tonight made those words live. And let me Breathe.