words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Wednesday, October 23, 2002
I am still listening to Joan Osbourne's recent release, though it is not playing. Her voice and interpretations of these soul songs have snuck into my life, tuned to me because I need them, their solace, passion, and calm. She sings with just enough grit in her voice, a bit of gravel perhaps, like when my friend Bippy jumped off of a swing thinking I would catch her but instead fell on the ground when I couldn't hold on. She pulled dirt out of her teeth for an hour afterwards. I can hear it in Osbourne's voice, revealing she too has been dropped in the past and has hit the ground because she gave her trust. The electric guitars, the horns, the music together still works through me, turning How Sweet It Is into a lonely ballad, and War, What is it Good For into a quiet protest, demanding an answer from each of us, not just from the politicians who we so conveniently blame. I didn't know all of the songs, but I will now, loving them as they work into me, calming me, comforting me, reminding me of pain. A few other albums have done this, have been so poignant when I bought them, that they stick in my memory as a piece of healing for that moment. Yo La Tengo's "And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out" played when my dad left me before his visit was over, too furious about my sexuality to even talk to me about it, when my parents turned their disgust on me and opened up more pain by including my grandmother into their derision of me. The songs of Percy Sledge still bring back memories of the guys I have separated from, the hurtful feelings that I still feel I caused, unable to stop myself or to even explain my cruelty. Bjork's Vespertine sounded like a holy church bell during my depression last winter, when I finally woke up to death everywhere and couldn't handle such weight. I invited them in to my head when I needed something I couldn't explain, and each cd's melodies flooded through me with their own healing. I am glad for them, thankful for their help. I am glad to let Joan Osbourne in now.
5:49 PM
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