I'll never forget how I got the bad news...letter from Alexa about our mutual friend who went to the Seattle Arboretum and took a shot-gun to her heart. And almost 16 years later, we still don't know exactly why she did it. RIP Tanya Lippe.
This song, from the time I heard the news, always makes me think of her...and my Dad, who died also (though not by his own hand), about a year later. The 15th anniversary of his death is coming up (7/24/1996), and so I can't help but think of it.
I love you both, I wish you were still here with us. Why did you go? I still don't understand.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_E-Jd_HRoIU
"River"
by Natalie Merchant
Young & strong Hollywood son
In the early morning light
This star fell down
On Sunset Boulevard
Young & strong beautiful one
One that we embraced so close
Is gone
Was torn away
Let the youth of America mourn
Include him in their prayers
Let his image linger on
Repeat it everywhere
With candles with flowers
He was one of ours
One of ours
Why don't you let him be?
He's gone
We know
Give his mother & his father peace
Your vulture's candor
Your casual slander
You murder his memory
He's gone
We know
It's nothing but a tragedy
Lay to rest your soul and body
Lay beside your name
Lay to rest your rage
Your hunger and amazing grace
With candles, with flowers
You were one of ours
One of ours
I saw cameras expose your life
I heard rumors explode with lies
I saw children with tears
Cry and crowd around the sight
Of where you had collapsed that day
Where your last breath & word
Had been sighed
Where your heart had burst
And where you had died
Where you had died
I saw how they were lost in grieving
All half-believing you were gone
The loss and pain of it
Crime and the shame of it
You were gone
It was such a nightmare raving,
"how can we save him
From himself?"
Saw how they were lost in grieving
All half-believing you were gone
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Love Song For A Vampire
Tonight, after watching the movie "Let Me In" (and having watched the original "Let the Right One In" on advice of my sister), I found myself telling my husband "If I were your vampire girlfriend, I would TOTALLY kill any bullies who beat up on you when you were a scared skinny 12 year old kid."
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reRRAEVHq8E
Is that LOVE or something else entirely strange & twisted? :)
But either way, I do love me some Annie Lennox - her Love Song For A Vampire always takes me back to England, and probably informed some of my poetry from that time (see "The Taste Just Slips Away" blog post). I think Spring of 1993 is when the song (and related movie) came out. A long time ago but it feels still relevant:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhG8zC4npsE
Come into these arms again
And lay your body down
The rhythm of this trembling heart
Is beating like a drum.
It beats for you, it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds.
For it is the drum of drums
It is the song of songs.
Once I had the rarest rose that
ever deigned to bloom.
Cruel winter chilled the balm,
And stole my flower too soon
O loneliness, O hopelessness
To search the ends of time,
For there is in all the world
No greater love than mine.
Love....Still falls the rain.
Be mine forever...
Let me be the only one
To keep you from the cold.
Now the floor of heav'n is laid,
Its stars of brightest glow.
They shine for you.
They shine for you.
They burn for all to see.
Come into these arms again
And set this spirit free.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=reRRAEVHq8E
Is that LOVE or something else entirely strange & twisted? :)
But either way, I do love me some Annie Lennox - her Love Song For A Vampire always takes me back to England, and probably informed some of my poetry from that time (see "The Taste Just Slips Away" blog post). I think Spring of 1993 is when the song (and related movie) came out. A long time ago but it feels still relevant:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhG8zC4npsE
Come into these arms again
And lay your body down
The rhythm of this trembling heart
Is beating like a drum.
It beats for you, it bleeds for you
It knows not how it sounds.
For it is the drum of drums
It is the song of songs.
Once I had the rarest rose that
ever deigned to bloom.
Cruel winter chilled the balm,
And stole my flower too soon
O loneliness, O hopelessness
To search the ends of time,
For there is in all the world
No greater love than mine.
Love....Still falls the rain.
Be mine forever...
Let me be the only one
To keep you from the cold.
Now the floor of heav'n is laid,
Its stars of brightest glow.
They shine for you.
They shine for you.
They burn for all to see.
Come into these arms again
And set this spirit free.
Sylvia
I don't exactly remember what
the voices were like in my head
that first semester of my final
year at the college I was
so lucky to attend.
I only remember that I felt distorted,
trapped in a bad dream
and scared to death
during that brief bell jar period.
But I had so many more choices
than she did! Was not expected
to conform to a certain model of
womanhood: marry a doctor and
start having armfuls
of cute
babies to fill a suburban home
immediately post-graduation.
And for this, I should have been
grateful, I should have been so
excited about the future and
completely sexually liberated,
feeling free, confident.
I should have been having
the time of my life and able
to make those next-year
career decisions, but instead
I couldn't even concentrate
on conversations I tried to have
in the women's locker room among
those irritatingly athletic voices
discussing everything to do
with the trivial & perky present:
papers we were writing, parties to go to,
our next game against Cal-Lutheran.
And at those endless soccer practices
there was so much exhausting
movement in that great green
sunlit expanse, and me just dying
to be lying down in beautiful
shadow of nearby trees
turning toward the dark side
of my nature, escaping
the Southern California heat
and smog and finally coming
to full sweet rest.
The Taste Just Slips Away
Series of poems I wrote while/after studying abroad in England - January to June, 1993. And some music from that time too.
Ride - Dreams Burn Down
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5zTuVhNs5c
I
Breathing Places
Even though my heart hurts and
in places my skin pounds so
strongly that I am scared
I continue to breathe this smoke
and the scent on your neck.
I do not choke, despite the fear
for I am enchanted by this.
I take you into
a safe secret place
and if you will be
just what you are
you are welcome here.
And in these pounding moments
we talk-connect-see the world
whole and intact.
It shines on, despite the fear.
And we continue, and I am telling you
everything there is to know.
Even from within my sleep
my mind reaches for you
my hands touching
something sweet and brandnew
my tongue caressing
these thoughtful words and you
tracing your stories on my back
as we lie like spoons
and I begin to spin and lose
perception of the room
and ask you: please.
I did not expect but I wanted so much
to touch someone like this and be touched
like that, there, in places
that swell and tell all there is to know
about me
and shiver and tremble
despite the fact that I'm not cold or scared.
One hand hesitates and does not want to, and yet I do,
one part wants not to start
to find these places but it is already begun:
a dialogue, a connection, a conversation
between separate and different spaces.
And you are necessary, for
however many moments or months
we may have,
almost involuntary, like this pulse in my neck
the beating in my wrist, here:
feel this.
I breathe
and have no regrets.
II
In breathing places we talked
but we forgot the stories, misplaced the thought
we looked past the other’s shoulder
at anything more interesting outside
of whatever the lover
had to give inside this room.
That is when the conversation faltered
and the dialogue stopped.
I continue to breathe and feel my pulse but
we don't talk
about what happened in the darkness
we don't talk about what
darkness lies between us, when we love without
feeling love, what separation feels like after
white light and heat of fusion
and we don’t realize the chasm
we try, nightly, to bridge
we don’t recognize the darkness within us
that throbbing mass of life
a place so mysterious and hot to the touch
pounding with hunger and fear that makes
us bite each others skin, and fight
in the darkness every night
and soon it will be too much.
III
The Meanings of Words
Underneath the surface
of your skin
love tells me
that words have many
meanings, they resound
bound outside of their definitions
become throbbing muscle
in my head
like the beat, the drum in your neck
your wrists, your thumb, your hand
in the pretty oblivion of your bed
love tells me
about your skin, that paper-thin covering
your eyes, those inscrutable depths
that pound and echo
these words:
I love you.
And I have been
underneath the surface
of where I have lived
not telling you my light and darkness
not using these many-colored
words to etch upon your back
a picture
stained glass
of what I am and what I could
give and what I will leave
with you when I go
what sort of quiet, pounding thoughts
in your head.
And I forgot
to stop talking and listen
to your words, to everything
you said, what sort of love you had to give
and your memories of moments you have truly lived
and your dreams, tell me
can we make sense of this oblivion,
can we love each other, when we are outside
the lovely darkness of your bed?
I want so much
to transcend
what holds me underneath
the surface of your words
your skin, and love
which is a pretty monster
only inside my head.
So tell me everything
and I will tell you:
here is my many-colored heart,
here is my skin.
IV
Remember to Smell
it's an ache
it's a thought
which starts
above your lip
and goes on down
makes a trail like sweat
like memory but it doesn't
help me to truly remember
how it felt
impossible to place myself back there
in England, with you
when I am, undeniably in the U.S.
here, in this audience of patchouli
oil and beer and cigarettes
and so many people wanting
things to fly away, melt
so many people wanting things
to be unfelt
and I remember the feel of your sweat
but the memory doesn't
help me to truly remember
how it tasted and smelled and felt
the salt and skin
upon your neck
the tears upon your eyelids
that staring blame and silent threat
the smell remembers more than the memory:
deceit and disappointment smell like cigarettes
it's an ache
that wanting to go back
and do it better
wanting it all to be different
it's a thought
it's a regret
V
That Was the Thing I Forgot to Say
About how the rain sounded on the top
of the tent outside your window
of your dormitory on Jesus College campus
in Cambridge, England
the morning after the June ball
that all-night revelry, and dressing up
like we were royalty, or at least adults.
That was the morning after it all
and in the comedown and in the midst
of the (barely felt) loneliness
of two people
my voice filled in the quiet spaces
and to my ears sounded slightly self-indulgent,
even arrogant but I couldn't
stop because I love it:
those moments, not ever recorded
only remembered sometimes with the help of music:
a dark, imagining space sounding
across years.
But even the music doesn't remember
how it felt
the coffee-cigarettes-and-beer we consumed
how we consumed each other
and the way we talked
only the poetry I wrote, about all of it
remembers how
the taste of your room smelled
remembers only this:
two bodies touching, turning, hearts sounding
like thunder in our ears.
I hear it in my dreams sometimes
my voice, arrogant, with the rain coming down
(no tears, this is barely felt)
full from this flood of conversation
my voice, smooth and spilling over into spaces
filling the memory
with how good the lonely last taste of you felt.
Ride - Taste
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APqGzOD0fUk
Ride - Dreams Burn Down
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5zTuVhNs5c
I
Breathing Places
Even though my heart hurts and
in places my skin pounds so
strongly that I am scared
I continue to breathe this smoke
and the scent on your neck.
I do not choke, despite the fear
for I am enchanted by this.
I take you into
a safe secret place
and if you will be
just what you are
you are welcome here.
And in these pounding moments
we talk-connect-see the world
whole and intact.
It shines on, despite the fear.
And we continue, and I am telling you
everything there is to know.
Even from within my sleep
my mind reaches for you
my hands touching
something sweet and brandnew
my tongue caressing
these thoughtful words and you
tracing your stories on my back
as we lie like spoons
and I begin to spin and lose
perception of the room
and ask you: please.
I did not expect but I wanted so much
to touch someone like this and be touched
like that, there, in places
that swell and tell all there is to know
about me
and shiver and tremble
despite the fact that I'm not cold or scared.
One hand hesitates and does not want to, and yet I do,
one part wants not to start
to find these places but it is already begun:
a dialogue, a connection, a conversation
between separate and different spaces.
And you are necessary, for
however many moments or months
we may have,
almost involuntary, like this pulse in my neck
the beating in my wrist, here:
feel this.
I breathe
and have no regrets.
II
In breathing places we talked
but we forgot the stories, misplaced the thought
we looked past the other’s shoulder
at anything more interesting outside
of whatever the lover
had to give inside this room.
That is when the conversation faltered
and the dialogue stopped.
I continue to breathe and feel my pulse but
we don't talk
about what happened in the darkness
we don't talk about what
darkness lies between us, when we love without
feeling love, what separation feels like after
white light and heat of fusion
and we don’t realize the chasm
we try, nightly, to bridge
we don’t recognize the darkness within us
that throbbing mass of life
a place so mysterious and hot to the touch
pounding with hunger and fear that makes
us bite each others skin, and fight
in the darkness every night
and soon it will be too much.
III
The Meanings of Words
Underneath the surface
of your skin
love tells me
that words have many
meanings, they resound
bound outside of their definitions
become throbbing muscle
in my head
like the beat, the drum in your neck
your wrists, your thumb, your hand
in the pretty oblivion of your bed
love tells me
about your skin, that paper-thin covering
your eyes, those inscrutable depths
that pound and echo
these words:
I love you.
And I have been
underneath the surface
of where I have lived
not telling you my light and darkness
not using these many-colored
words to etch upon your back
a picture
stained glass
of what I am and what I could
give and what I will leave
with you when I go
what sort of quiet, pounding thoughts
in your head.
And I forgot
to stop talking and listen
to your words, to everything
you said, what sort of love you had to give
and your memories of moments you have truly lived
and your dreams, tell me
can we make sense of this oblivion,
can we love each other, when we are outside
the lovely darkness of your bed?
I want so much
to transcend
what holds me underneath
the surface of your words
your skin, and love
which is a pretty monster
only inside my head.
So tell me everything
and I will tell you:
here is my many-colored heart,
here is my skin.
IV
Remember to Smell
it's an ache
it's a thought
which starts
above your lip
and goes on down
makes a trail like sweat
like memory but it doesn't
help me to truly remember
how it felt
impossible to place myself back there
in England, with you
when I am, undeniably in the U.S.
here, in this audience of patchouli
oil and beer and cigarettes
and so many people wanting
things to fly away, melt
so many people wanting things
to be unfelt
and I remember the feel of your sweat
but the memory doesn't
help me to truly remember
how it tasted and smelled and felt
the salt and skin
upon your neck
the tears upon your eyelids
that staring blame and silent threat
the smell remembers more than the memory:
deceit and disappointment smell like cigarettes
it's an ache
that wanting to go back
and do it better
wanting it all to be different
it's a thought
it's a regret
V
That Was the Thing I Forgot to Say
About how the rain sounded on the top
of the tent outside your window
of your dormitory on Jesus College campus
in Cambridge, England
the morning after the June ball
that all-night revelry, and dressing up
like we were royalty, or at least adults.
That was the morning after it all
and in the comedown and in the midst
of the (barely felt) loneliness
of two people
my voice filled in the quiet spaces
and to my ears sounded slightly self-indulgent,
even arrogant but I couldn't
stop because I love it:
those moments, not ever recorded
only remembered sometimes with the help of music:
a dark, imagining space sounding
across years.
But even the music doesn't remember
how it felt
the coffee-cigarettes-and-beer we consumed
how we consumed each other
and the way we talked
only the poetry I wrote, about all of it
remembers how
the taste of your room smelled
remembers only this:
two bodies touching, turning, hearts sounding
like thunder in our ears.
I hear it in my dreams sometimes
my voice, arrogant, with the rain coming down
(no tears, this is barely felt)
full from this flood of conversation
my voice, smooth and spilling over into spaces
filling the memory
with how good the lonely last taste of you felt.
Ride - Taste
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APqGzOD0fUk
Tired of the Gender Politics of Things
Soooooooo....things today are unfortunately not so different from 1994, when I wrote this (or maybe 1960s when dear Anne wrote hers), that I feel it's still relevant to post this.
I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the pots,
tired of my mouth and my breasts,
tired of the cosmetics and the silks.
There were still men who sat at my table,
circled around the bowl I offered up.
The bowl was filled with purple grapes
and the flies hovered in for the scent
and even my father came with his white bone.
But I was tired of the gender of things.
-Anne Sexton
I was tired of being a feminist
tired of the rooms of my own and the endless
impassioned yet ineffectual talks,
tired of my voice and my fists,
tired of the plain face and the frump.
There were still books that sat at my table,
circled around the mind I offered up.
The mind was filled with plans and goals
and the world waited for the changing
and even my father expected me to do that work.
But I was tired of the politics of things.
-Michele Hirning
I was tired of being a woman,
tired of the spoons and the pots,
tired of my mouth and my breasts,
tired of the cosmetics and the silks.
There were still men who sat at my table,
circled around the bowl I offered up.
The bowl was filled with purple grapes
and the flies hovered in for the scent
and even my father came with his white bone.
But I was tired of the gender of things.
-Anne Sexton
I was tired of being a feminist
tired of the rooms of my own and the endless
impassioned yet ineffectual talks,
tired of my voice and my fists,
tired of the plain face and the frump.
There were still books that sat at my table,
circled around the mind I offered up.
The mind was filled with plans and goals
and the world waited for the changing
and even my father expected me to do that work.
But I was tired of the politics of things.
-Michele Hirning
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Ruminating on Love
Ruminating on the "fact" that
we as human beings, like
cows, aren't supposed to eat
grains, should eat at least
something like grass - he's
so sure he's right and I am
so fragile like glass
I can't breathe
it feels like he's always
stepping on me, forcing
his opinions to be
and sometimes taking over all
the space in conversations
But frail at the same time
like the bones in his wrist
while searching for the third
seat belt in the backseat for
my friend and he can't find it
and is less than sure
and I suddenly love him
again
And he makes me
chicken soup when
I can't eat, rubs my
back when I can't sleep
and I don't want to leave
him yet I can't take
the criticism, the anger out of
nowhere like my father
the feeling that he's trying to
control or change me and
I'm never good enough, when
I always try and have such
good intentions
I am just struggling to survive
these days, this world with all
its danger and want my heart
intact and never to go back
to such vulnerability again
we as human beings, like
cows, aren't supposed to eat
grains, should eat at least
something like grass - he's
so sure he's right and I am
so fragile like glass
I can't breathe
it feels like he's always
stepping on me, forcing
his opinions to be
and sometimes taking over all
the space in conversations
But frail at the same time
like the bones in his wrist
while searching for the third
seat belt in the backseat for
my friend and he can't find it
and is less than sure
and I suddenly love him
again
And he makes me
chicken soup when
I can't eat, rubs my
back when I can't sleep
and I don't want to leave
him yet I can't take
the criticism, the anger out of
nowhere like my father
the feeling that he's trying to
control or change me and
I'm never good enough, when
I always try and have such
good intentions
I am just struggling to survive
these days, this world with all
its danger and want my heart
intact and never to go back
to such vulnerability again
Monday, July 11, 2011
Gone Baby Gone
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WI-bHenF3L0&feature=related
"Where I Stood"
by Missy Higgins
I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And honey you know me it's all or none
There were sounds in my head
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end
Oh and I found myself listening
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
See I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
And I won't be far from where you are if ever you should call
You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all
But you taught me how to trust myself and so I say to you
This is what I have to do
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
Oh, she who dares to stand where I stood
My riff on this song and because of all that I am thinking in my life right now, is that....
all I know is that I know who I am
I am a woman & I have
a woman's body
a woman's legs & breasts
a woman's life
a woman's memory & mind
a woman's heart
that, as wonderful a man
as you truly are
you don't always
understand
but we fight
each other
and we fight
to understand
each other
and keep this love going
as long as we can make it
until one day
we will both
be gone
************************************
More Missy Higgins - song called Warm Whispers ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZthGfwQnTI
Your warm whispers
Out of the dark they carry my heart
Your warm whispers
Into the dawn they carry me through
And I'm weeping warm honey and milk
That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me
Your warm whispers
Letting me drown in a pool of you
Your warm whispers
Keeping the noise from breaking through
And I'm weeping warm honey and milk
That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me
Yeah I'm weeping warm honey and milk that you
Stay surround me, surrounding me
Honey stay surrounding me
And a hyperlink below to a compilation on YouTube with a great live version of the above song...she is SO like a young Aussie Tori Amos I almost can't believe it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KixC3qTvWjg&feature=autoplay&list=AVGxdCwVVULXerbUl3oWF3UjkKPmb-R5mW&index=6&playnext=6
The power of "and you're gone and you're gone and you're gone and you're gone" just haunts me. And it just goes on & on...
Hence the title of this slightly bizarre blog post - sorry that I'm sort of ripping off the title of a great movie! But creative license and all that, you know? Hopefully it's not trademarked....
"Where I Stood"
by Missy Higgins
I don't know what I've done
Or if I like what I've begun
But something told me to run
And honey you know me it's all or none
There were sounds in my head
Little voices whispering
That I should go and this should end
Oh and I found myself listening
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
See I thought love was black and white
That it was wrong or it was right
But you ain't leaving without a fight
And I think I am just as torn inside
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
And I won't be far from where you are if ever you should call
You meant more to me than anyone I ever loved at all
But you taught me how to trust myself and so I say to you
This is what I have to do
'Cos I dont know who I am, who I am without you
All I know is that I should
And I don't know if I could stand another hand upon you
All I know is that I should
'Cos she will love you more than I could
She who dares to stand where I stood
Oh, she who dares to stand where I stood
My riff on this song and because of all that I am thinking in my life right now, is that....
all I know is that I know who I am
I am a woman & I have
a woman's body
a woman's legs & breasts
a woman's life
a woman's memory & mind
a woman's heart
that, as wonderful a man
as you truly are
you don't always
understand
but we fight
each other
and we fight
to understand
each other
and keep this love going
as long as we can make it
until one day
we will both
be gone
************************************
More Missy Higgins - song called Warm Whispers ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IZthGfwQnTI
Your warm whispers
Out of the dark they carry my heart
Your warm whispers
Into the dawn they carry me through
And I'm weeping warm honey and milk
That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me
Your warm whispers
Letting me drown in a pool of you
Your warm whispers
Keeping the noise from breaking through
And I'm weeping warm honey and milk
That you stay surrounding me, surrounding me
Yeah I'm weeping warm honey and milk that you
Stay surround me, surrounding me
Honey stay surrounding me
And a hyperlink below to a compilation on YouTube with a great live version of the above song...she is SO like a young Aussie Tori Amos I almost can't believe it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KixC3qTvWjg&feature=autoplay&list=AVGxdCwVVULXerbUl3oWF3UjkKPmb-R5mW&index=6&playnext=6
The power of "and you're gone and you're gone and you're gone and you're gone" just haunts me. And it just goes on & on...
Hence the title of this slightly bizarre blog post - sorry that I'm sort of ripping off the title of a great movie! But creative license and all that, you know? Hopefully it's not trademarked....
Saturday, July 9, 2011
And now for something completely political
On July 6th, some members of Congress sponsored the introduction of HR 2411, the "Reduce America's Debt Now Act of 2011."
HR 2411 states that every worker in America should be able to voluntarily have a portion of his/her wages automatically withheld and sent directly to the Treasury Department for the purposes of paying down the federal debt. WOW. How do they come up with this stuff?!
"Every employer making payment of wages shall deduct and withhold upon such wages any amounts so elected, and shall pay such amounts over to the Secretary of the Treasury..."
Even better: HR 2411 stipulates that any contribution made to the Treasury in order to pay down the federal debt IS NOT TAX DEDUCTIBLE.
"The [Treasury] Secretary shall include. . . a reasonably conspicuous statement that any amounts deducted and withheld from wages. . . are not deductible as charitable contributions for Federal income tax purposes."
There's a great quote from Atlas Shrugged that I think of:
"[W]hen you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing; when you see that money is flowing to those who deal not in goods, but in favors; when you see that men get rich more easily by graft than by work, and your laws no longer protect you against them, but protect them against you. . . you may know that your society is doomed."
HR 2411 states that every worker in America should be able to voluntarily have a portion of his/her wages automatically withheld and sent directly to the Treasury Department for the purposes of paying down the federal debt. WOW. How do they come up with this stuff?!
"Every employer making payment of wages shall deduct and withhold upon such wages any amounts so elected, and shall pay such amounts over to the Secretary of the Treasury..."
Even better: HR 2411 stipulates that any contribution made to the Treasury in order to pay down the federal debt IS NOT TAX DEDUCTIBLE.
"The [Treasury] Secretary shall include. . . a reasonably conspicuous statement that any amounts deducted and withheld from wages. . . are not deductible as charitable contributions for Federal income tax purposes."
There's a great quote from Atlas Shrugged that I think of:
"[W]hen you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing; when you see that money is flowing to those who deal not in goods, but in favors; when you see that men get rich more easily by graft than by work, and your laws no longer protect you against them, but protect them against you. . . you may know that your society is doomed."
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Song to the Siren - whatever it was - it was GOOD
I've loved this song since I first heard it at about 16 years old (I think).
Elizabeth Fraser - all dreamy dance-about-love, mystical can't-remember-what-I-thought, when-I-first-heard this song, but whatever it was - it was GOOD. Still don't know for sure what it all MEANS, but have some ideas & some internet-contributed thoughts about all that too below...with the original sang by someone named Tim Buckley? Have you ever heard of him, me neither, but I apparently know him now. :)
"Song to the Siren"
~ by This Mortal Coil/Cocteau Twins
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mUmdR69nbM
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."
I guess this is the original, by Tim Buckley, I never knew before now, but lyrics changed some, as some comments say ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMTEtDBHGY4
http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3458764513820543170/
...the actual symbolism and lyrical content is derived directly from Homer's book the Odessey. But it's really a matter of unresponded love. It is also one of the most covered/remade/remixed songs ever.
The real magic of the song is in those last two lines. Singing to the siren who enticed him and broke him, the sailor becomes a siren himself, enticing her to swim out and return to him. Breathtakingly perfect.
In greek mythology sirens are female deities who draws ships to shipwreck. I think this song closely relates to this mythology. Tim makes it sound so mystical and this is one well written song.
I heard james yorkston's version and thought it was good then found out it was a tim buckley song, listened to it and....... WOW!!! so much emotion. we can all relate as well. who hasn't been lured on to the rocks by a beautiful siren, left there and then begged for a second chance. its about falling for someone who doesn't reciprocate the emotion, maybe feeling used at the end of it all.
And Robert Plant's rendition - meh, not so in love with it but he tried ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKaNksCdSI0
Elizabeth Fraser - all dreamy dance-about-love, mystical can't-remember-what-I-thought, when-I-first-heard this song, but whatever it was - it was GOOD. Still don't know for sure what it all MEANS, but have some ideas & some internet-contributed thoughts about all that too below...with the original sang by someone named Tim Buckley? Have you ever heard of him, me neither, but I apparently know him now. :)
"Song to the Siren"
~ by This Mortal Coil/Cocteau Twins
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mUmdR69nbM
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."
I guess this is the original, by Tim Buckley, I never knew before now, but lyrics changed some, as some comments say ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMTEtDBHGY4
http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3458764513820543170/
...the actual symbolism and lyrical content is derived directly from Homer's book the Odessey. But it's really a matter of unresponded love. It is also one of the most covered/remade/remixed songs ever.
The real magic of the song is in those last two lines. Singing to the siren who enticed him and broke him, the sailor becomes a siren himself, enticing her to swim out and return to him. Breathtakingly perfect.
In greek mythology sirens are female deities who draws ships to shipwreck. I think this song closely relates to this mythology. Tim makes it sound so mystical and this is one well written song.
I heard james yorkston's version and thought it was good then found out it was a tim buckley song, listened to it and....... WOW!!! so much emotion. we can all relate as well. who hasn't been lured on to the rocks by a beautiful siren, left there and then begged for a second chance. its about falling for someone who doesn't reciprocate the emotion, maybe feeling used at the end of it all.
And Robert Plant's rendition - meh, not so in love with it but he tried ~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKaNksCdSI0
Sunday, July 3, 2011
My Wedding Day
It's gonna be so great
It's gonna be so great
It's gonna be just like my wedding day
~ Rosie Thomas "Wedding Day"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gGSfHn0CxCk
I love this, my sister's speech as Maid of Honor at my wedding, a long long time ago. 8 years ago on Tuesday actually, in fact. It was a great day, but what made it great was the people we loved who were there. And my sister's speech is all about that love.
It was a beautiful day, July 5th 2003 and this is what Stephanie said:
When Michele was five or six she had this really cute conversation with our Dad all about the injustices of life. Fortunately it was recorded on audio-tape and it’s become a great family joke, or treasure I should say. There is even a t-shirt you can buy (made by David Hirning) with a famous quote from that recorded conversation. Michele will show you – It says, “It’s not very good, really.”
This conversation was about our older brother David having nicer things – a better colored bike, better legos etc., and getting to stay up later at night. I think this moxy – as my dad would say – continues in Michele. Throughout her life she has questioned the way things are, stood up for herself and what she believes, and lived justly.
This is evident through her work with feminist organizations, nurses union, nonprofit volunteer groups, the subjects of study she’s pursued…But mostly this is clear through how much she loves her family and friends, how much she shows this, and how much she strives for perfection in her life. She’s my super-sister and whether she’s aware of it or not she’s always helped me to be a better person.
Another person who lives this way is David Munroe. The two of them are great thinkers with an enormous amount of energy for life. This makes for a lot of intensity. You can feel it. It’s all around them and around our family, I think. It’s from this intensity that beautiful things grow. I know they will continue to live with great intensity and love and I’m glad that I get to experience this through observing them and being a part of them.
I said earlier that Michele helps me to be a better person. I just wanted to say that all of my siblings do this. David Hirning reminds me to work hard like our dad and to pursue things that interest me in life. Chris reminds me to be humble and real and kind. And Michele reminds me to be a great thinker, to share, and to live justly. These are just a few of the things that I love about them.
In this audio-recorded conversation between Michele and our dad, Michele says she wishes she were adopted into a new family. The thing that is so precious is the way they are communicating in this moment, the caring way our dad is listening to her and discussing her list of complaints. “List” is the correct word – in the conversation she actually numbers her grievances – “#1 David has a better bike, #2 David gets a bigger allowance, #3 My legos are lost, #4 I have to sleep with Stephanie and she snores sooo loud (whine), #5 David gets to stay up to like 10 or 11 at night.”
One thing I’ve always felt in my family is that I can be completely honest, like Michele is being so honest in this conversation about her wishes for adoption into a new family. This is very freeing to feel you can be so honest. I’m grateful for the closeness that allows that to be possible. I know that that closeness exists for Michele and David Munroe as well. And I’m grateful to be able to be here today to celebrate it with them.
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