A little more from me, this time about the Hammersmith cover.
This is one of the first of Kate's photos I ever saw. The title, Live at Hammersmith Odeon, intrigued me even before I knew what the performance was like - that must have been around 1986. Then in 1991, I think, I got the video and was awed by the stunning originality of the show. Doing this picture now is my tribute to what must have been an amazing experience for all those lucky (and old!) enough to be there.
Again, I'm reasonably satisfied with it, I believe it has a lot of 'Kateness' in it without being a photographic copy. Anyway, the photo I used was a 200% version of a scan from the tape, which means many details were suggested rather than seen. But I think in the end it achieves the right impression.
This one proved easier than I had anticipated and more or less came out right first time. The jacket was a bit of a trouble as I had never done a black outfit before. I decided the best way to go about it probably was to give it all a uniform black shade, then use an eraser to bring out the highlights and darken the rest. That's what I did and it was straightforward enough.
It is difficult for me to get a decent photo to post because, first, some angles of view tend to distort proportion (but I don't know which, so it's very much hit-and-miss), and second, it is impossible to get the whole image in focus, although it is all on one plane. That's a shame really, as there is a lot of detail that ultimately gets lost. I focus on the face each time which unfortunately means that the feet will always be blurred, and there's good detail in the shoes, and the hands, too. I took about 20 pics to get a decent one to post, and even that one is half-decent.
There was some physical discomfort with this one as well: I always fix the paper on a plywood board with clips and do most of the work sitting by a window. The height of this one, though, meant that when doing the top half I could not reach that far out whilst sitting, and had to put the board on a table and lean on it or kneel on the chair and bend over. Try doing that for ten hours as I did last Sunday and you are guaranteed to need an osteopath, as I felt I did. But it was all for Kate, so that's not so bad.
I don't have any plans for a new project right now. Unless, of course, I happen to come across the right (Kate) picture…
More ramblings from me, this time about the picture called 'TWS-Experiment IV', as it was taken around the time of the release of that single.
True to myself, I couldn't leave it alone. As the picture description says, it was first done according to a printed image on regular A4 paper that was pretty flat in tone. Then I had it properly printed and there was a huge difference (I should have done that from the start but didn't think it would matter, I guess). The drawing had to be retouched to show the correct tone. I did this over the weekend. Then another problem appeared.
Those of you who are really observant might have noticed that the uploaded image of the retouched drawing in the gallery has changed four times in three days… The reason is that the camera tends to exaggerate the contrast and the face looked rather smudged, although in reality the retouched drawing looks better than its first version. I tried (and uploaded) various tweaks but none looked good enough – then today I took about ten shots at different angles to the light and quite by chance I got a good one. Ironically, this was not corrected at all, just cropped.
So now I have an improvement over the initial drawing. Of course, the search for the best result is ultimately futile, because all works will contain mistakes or less-than-perfect elements, no matter how much effort I will put into them. But what is feasible is a happy (?) compromise at what is close to that level. A work is also compromised by practical considerations. Unlike with music, where you can always go back to your first idea if your second idea isn't better, with drawing every change is final, it negates any previous versions and stares at you with indisputable authority. It feels almost like a living thing, changing ever so slightly with each stroke, until the sum of so many infinitesimal changes is one big change. But the better a drawing is, the less likely it is to be improved, because there are very few ways to improve it and many ways to ruin it, sometimes irreparably. Do you dare to erase, not knowing what the next attempt will look like? I sometimes don't. The important thing is to know when good is good enough, but it is easy to lose sense of proportion and pay a lot of attention to what probably are invisible details and faults.
I have said elsewhere that I don't get much enjoyment out of this process. I liken it to walking along a low, narrow corridor – the going is uncomfortable, but what keeps me going is the knowledge that at the end of it is a large, nice room. When you lie down on its soft sofa and stretch your arms you tend to forget about the discomfort and how you got there. My large room is the moment that a drawing is ready, I forget about the worry and the stress and it is worth everything it took.
I would like to say a few things about the Kate-on-the-kite drawing, probably very boring stuff but I don't mind even if no-one reads it…
I am (reasonably) pleased with this one. I am never completely happy with any of this stuff, and even when they are 'officially' finished I keep going back to them and adding a line here and some tone there. One reason I have them framed is to leave them alone, although I have been known to open frames, or use a pencil on the glass! But one has to know when to leave alone even if something is not as good as it might optimally be, and I'm not so good at this. Equally, if I don't leave them I'll never do another, so there's another reason.
Perhaps my approach is wrong to start with – I'm always striving for what's the best result within what's possible for me, but 'the best' is a very elusive concept. Difficult, too, because there's one way to achieve the best but many to be not-so-good. Perhaps I should be happy with whatever comes out, but that would feel like cheating and not a very honest thing to myself.
It actually took me less time than I had originally thought because I tend to become obsessive when I start something. This is limited by my daily schedule of course but I make up at the weekends.
I will spare you the tales of worry, I will only mention that the parts that looked challenging were not so difficult after all (like the wheel patterns) and others that looked innocent were quite difficult (the dots or 'cherry' shapes) because although they look like they are in lines, these are actually curves both horizontally and vertically as the fabric stretches or hangs loose. It took the better part of a day, and a lot of erasing, just to get these done (more or less) correctly so that they go with the tension. Likewise for the cherry 'stems'.
I would have preferred it to be larger and easier to work on, but it was compromised by the width of the kite. As it is, it's 36 cm (about 14'') square, the kite fitting the width of the paper with little to spare on either side. This means that, in proportion, Kate's figure isn't much longer than a tablespoon. Fitting all the detail in was a bit of a task. The original is smaller still, and to see some of the detail in the pattern and the face I resorted to a magnifying glass.
You can't expect a lot of resemblance at this size (the whole face is less than an inch high) but there is at least enough of a suggestion of Kate, I hope.
Red and black are very different colours but in greyscale they are similar, so I used some artistic licence as regards the tones. Same about the dragon, it's more subdued than in reality because if it was darker it would compete with Kate's figure for attention. I feel it already does this to a small degree but if it was fainter it would not stand out against the background at all and Kate would be too prominent.
A problem with this type of paper is that one must be somewhat sparing with erasing (i.e. think before you draw) because repeated erasing over the same area makes the paper rough and 'furry'; as a result even if you get it right eventually it won't look good. I use very soft lines and tones to start with, so if they are wrong they just disappear (blend in) with the correct and darker tones. Even so, some furry paper is unavoidable.
All this thinking and distress just for a drawing? you might say. Well, it's not about a drawing, it's ultimately about doubt. Can I pull this one off? Every drawing is a test. Some people will climb a mountain. I do this. I go to such lengths because I want to see the finished image and because I would like people to say they like it. This is probably selfish but most art is.
I used to dream a lot about living in a communal house, often it was made of glass or had a lot of windows. I haven't had a dream like that in a number of years. This morning I was deeply asleep, I must have been, not only because the dream was so vivid, but because I woke up flat on my back with my arms weirdly crossed over my chest, on the sofa. I haven't been able to sleep in my bed since Casha died.
I was in a giant old house filled with things, knick knacks, miscellany, everything, including a lot of things made of iron (I suspect because I have recently gotten very interested in the chemical properties of metals).
I moved into this house as a kind of outpost. With people I know. Although I have not one idea who the people were. I can't remember. And that is unusual for dreams like this. I do know that there were close people, possible family, kids and adults, and pets. The pets were of some concern, because they go outside (and once a pet is used to going outside, it is nigh impossible to convince them to stay inside again). I can't remember why we all moved into this house, except that it was somehow related to some sort of supernatural threat. I don't think it was zombies, it was more like people who had become part of some kind of tribe of supernaturally-enhanced spies...I seem to recall there was a very dignified, stern, tall, fairly hirsute but well-kempt older man who was fairly important in this group, there was something very ghost-like about him. They were dangerous and they were out to get ... "others"? I can't quite remember. All I remember is that living in this house was because of this, and one had always to be mindful of who or what was lurking outside the house. No one could go outside without proper protection... ammo, chemicals, antidotes (to what? I don't know). In the dream we spent time trying to avoid being captured, sucked in, devoured, and fighting these other things/people off. I for some reason was very hung up on this tiny gun I had or discovered, that at first was meant to hit precision targets, but had a weird kick that messed up your aim AND it turned out actually made the people/things STRONGER. I did a lot of hiding. There was one segment where there was a kind of Ophelia-like person, who was clearly a friend of mine but I've no idea who, that I needed to hide from... I had some kind of blanket over me, and that appeared to be enough... this lady swept through the room looking for anything and as long as I was covered (under a table, against a wall, covered) she had no idea I was there. Then there was the part with the pets. It's a bit of a jumble. I just remember we were beginning to get worried about pets being a target, and the possibility that they could even be used against us. There is a lot more around this but I can't get a clear picture of it... something about men I know, movies, paint, possibly opiate paint, one last chance, a lot of running. It became clear that they had implanted something in Casha's left forepaw, on the underpart of his leg. I had to get it out, it was urgently important that I get this thing out. I found the wound where they put the thing in, I had to reopen the wound and get it out. I don't understand anymore what it was. I just remember the experience, the panic, the conflict of feeling like I was doing what I had to do versus the pain of causing my friend, who is dependent on me, pain. I sort of understand what that was about but I don't get the rest of it. The context. It was all very graphic and very vivid. It was a weird dream.
Weirder than the one I had a few weeks ago where some guy, who was running along side my car, no matter how fast I drove it, shot me from behind in my chest... with a flat gold bullet that somehow only lodged itself in my skin. It hurt, it was numb, I remember telling everyone I came across in the dream they would have to excuse me, I had just been shot, I hate to be selfish or demanding but I was going to take a day for me and lay down and hope I recover alright. Which was a pretty weird and vivid dream, but not as weird as this one this morning.
I know that many of you here have pets that are very important to you, and I know some of you have also lost important pet friends in recent years. I am grieving the loss of my cat Casha, who I had put to sleep two days ago. He was the most important everything in my life for the twelve years we had each other. He chose me at the adoption center when he was 6 weeks old. We have been nearly inseparable ever since. Even now, I think, in some way, we are not entirely apart. Part of me died when he died, and part of him lives on in me. But this hurts like hell. I miss him so terribly, and even though I know factually, scientifically that he is not coming back, I just cannot grasp that I won't see his little big eyes looking up at me in the morning, I won't ever hear his sweet little voice again, I won't ever be able to touch him again. Living in a world without Casha is unimaginable to me, even though I am picking through just that now since two days. He had become very very sick, and he actually way outlived anyone's predictions. At the beginning of this past week he had moved into a cabinet, and didn't want to come out after a day--despite having a healthy appetite. He ate, he slept. In the cabinet. On the day he didn't want to come out of the cabinet I knew he was ready to be at peace. It was hard, but at the same time not hard--my best friend was suffering, he wanted to be asleep, and suddenly it was not hard to make that call, and take him to his vet. I was there when he died. He died with me right by his side, just like I promised him when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I have wept more and harder in the last few days than I have in my entire life. But I feel no bitterness, no regret, no anger, no guilt. I know this is best for him, and he had been quite sick for a lot of his life, so this was not sudden. I wish I still had him with me, but at the same time I know if he were still here he would be suffering unimaginable pain, and I would not ever want that. So I am happy that he is free of the pain now.
But good god I miss him.
I can't bring myself to mess with the cabinet. I can't face parts of the kitchen. I can't stand silence. I go back and forth between waves of intense grief, and waves of complete numbness. Since the day he died I can't face eating, and I can't sleep in my bed. (I realize I will come round to food again, but I am not ready yet; I just can't do it) The past two nights I have had to put on a DVD and let it run continuously through the night and I try to sleep on the sofa.
Fortunately Casha and I have Tony, also a siamese cat who came to live with us three years ago (an adult cat someone had abandoned, who wanted a new family) and also a little stray cat I call Rolf who adopted us in January of this year. Tony and I became much closer watching over Casha in the last month of his life, and now we help each other through the grief. Rolf comes to see us every day, and he plays with Tony and me, and together we take care of each other. I know they miss Casha too. I am glad we have each other.
It is helping me to work through this to write about it, and especially talk to people I know have been through the same thing. It has only been two days and I know it is going to take a very long time. Casha was with me from 6 weeks old, he and I were together through graduate school, early jobs, good and painful relationships, a huge move. He was my whole life.
He liked to sit outside with me in the snow. He loved to watch birds. He loved children, he loved parties, he loved people being together. He was the most good-natured cat I've ever known.
I miss him terribly.
I know I will move past the grief, over time. But I also know I will never entirely get over this loss.
I think there is a picture of Casha in my photos here. If there is not, I will put one up today.
Whenever I am writing something academic, I fall into a kind of bubble. The rest of the world has to be shut out, I cannot be distracted by anything outside of my most selfish needs... writing is not just about writing, it is about watching other people create, listening to other people create and talk about creating; it is about ordering pizza and eating it distractedly all day, breakfast at noon, dinner at midnight, but eating all day, anyway; it is about 8-10 cups of coffee and no alcohol; it is about pacing around high tables and lying in the sun; it is about listening to the same song or movie for hours. I am not kidding, I mean HOURS. As my subconscious mind turns over whatever I am working out, my more conscious mind muses over other peoples' creations. I am writing an email to my friend the Austrian playwright. I am telling her her work is amazing, it says things I wish I could think to say, they seem like things I could, if I could find that in myself... but I have become an academic writer, I left creative writing behind me over a decade ago.
As I write that I wonder, was I ever much of a creative writer? I think about Monty Python. I think about 2 weeks in Barbados, writing Life of Brian. How do people do that, dedicate all their energy to creating something that never was before the same way I dedicate all my energy to writing books, articles, reviews...that has an anchor. I can hang on to that. How to create, how to create? I think of Terry Jones and Michael Palin, my two favorite Pythons. I muse over the Amazon List of Terry Jones's work. It is astonishing. The man has been turning out creative and very, very weird work since the late 1960s. Now he writes academically. He also wrote things like Spam. And Labyrinth. How to go into the office, shut out the world, and create... and how to do that and then have, you know, any connection to things and people outside? How can one bear to leave the creative bubble behind and re-enter that world of pulling weeds and visiting ATMs? Talking to people about door frames or curriculum revision? Entering the bubble isolates you completely, and it is the only way to write; leaving the bubble is hurtful. So is entering the bubble, though, because you have to have reached a state of being in which you NEED to shut out the everyday world, and that usually occurs as you find yourself looking around at everyone and everything and thinking, you know, f@$% all of this. I am checking out. I have concentric circles to push out.
I close my eyes, both hating and relishing this isolation, pushing through a psychological analysis about my tendency to self-isolate, to a tunnel into my past. 15 years ago. ? Longer? Living in a little medieval town in central Europe. Falling away from people I know, distracted by some other plane. How much time elapsed? I don't know. It didn't occur to me. Why do we always take so much f@$%ing time to learn things we already know about ourselves? It was not therapy. It was not cathartic. Not entirely. Cut off from my everyday life anyway, I started sleeping less and less. 6 hours a night. 4 hours a night. By the end it was 3 hours a night, and let me tell you, when you don't talk to anyone, and sleep three hours a night, the 21 hours left are long. I became prolific. I read and read, I wrote poems, plays, short stories. None of them were any good, but all of them were practice. Good lord, this is how I've always been. It drove my poor parents round the bend. My first priority is the bubble. It always has been. All other things take a distant second place to the remote possibility that that bubble may spring up. Every so often I feel very lonely about that. But given the opportunity to change it, I will pick the bubble without a second thought.
I will return to more creative writing someday. That seems very certain. I am in the bubble right now, and things that seem certain in the bubble often are--because they are unavoidable? Because this is the place where I really really know what I want?
Why am I sitting here writing this now? No idea. Self serving. But I was so compelled to do it, I can't help but think it is clearing out some corner of my mind to make space for something I am trying to get to. Or that it will lead me to something I am trying to get to.
Sort of like a yard sale! Thank you for browsing, don't feel compelled to buy. I'm just going to take a photograph and then chuck it all in the fire, whatever is left.
I've just written the title. I f@$%ing love it.
Ack-shirley these blog pages look quite pretty must be said ~ after having sorted out the stylesheets for them.
Another minor bijou problemette, the standard smiley icon won't show in any of the editor toolbars. Dunno why that is cos all the code is in the page for it, but still refuses to show. Nope, I've no idea
It was my last question to IPS
It began last fall. It's escalated since. Now even my students know I have a seriously academic fascination with not one, but TWO culturally distinct pop phenomena: Kate Bush and Lady Gaga. You may be gasping and sputtering. You may be nodding. Distinctive as they are, Kate and Gaga have aesthetic similarities that appeal very much to the poet voyeur in me, and if Kate Bush ever came to town, you can bet I'd fork over any amount of cash to see it; Gaga IS coming to town and I've forked over a reasonable amount of cash for kick-ass seats to a concert I will doubtless be one of the oldest people attending (that is, of those not accompanying minors). I am not the lone academic persona with an eye on Gaga. She's captured even the eyes of the legitimately snobby "New Yorker" and I doubt we'll have to wait long before some cultural theorist publishes on her work.
As I said, Kate and Gaga are quite different. But how they work is quite similar. They both managed to do something that few do, and that is to mostly remain in control of their production. One of my favorite distractions in graduate school was Gaffaweb, in particular the logs from the era of "The Dreaming," where one gets the distinct impression that Kate Bush and her brothers and their friends were basically indulging in artistic projects they'd been dreaming of doing anyway, just now there was also an audience for it. Not so different the "Haus of Gaga". The twist is that the main sujet is the figure of fame and a vested interest in embracing what is usually dismissed and denigrated as "pop culture". Lady Gaga is not an uncritical observer or devotee of fame--she is a pastiche of fame, a burlesque act lampooning its own cause celebre, and it just keeps getting more fun to watch.
The video for "Bad Romance," the lead single from her not-yet-released album "The Fame Monster," is the work of someone with big ideas who finally has the resources to realize them; as ever tongue in cheek, the vampire imagery--from the Monster capsule caskets in the cellar to the grimacing bat headdress and the enhanced spines, ribs and eyes--is mostly IN Lady Gaga, suggesting much of what transpires is within her grasp. She is her own victim and savior. The shoes, masks, unabashed sexuality of her act got her into this mess (in this case sold off in an auction to the Russian mafia; in "Paparazzi" pushed off a balcony by her Swedish "boyfriend") and in the end it is this very camp that saves her, as she fortunately has a bra that is also a flamethrower--a great stage prop but it turns out also a handy item for destroying potential rapists. As she stands defiantly in front of the raging flames, draped in a stunning faux polar bear wrap and made up to high heaven, I can't help but get the feeling the artist Gaga (as opposed to the fictional character Gaga) is smirking as the flames blow absurdly higher, having created this artwork, at once beautiful and ridiculous, thoroughly enjoyable and collaborative. Not unlike Kate darting her eyes back and forth, you know, in case any demons are lurking off camera.
Silent film actress Louise Brooks made a career out of her own failure. From bad personal and professional decisions to a self-devouring aura, Louise Brooks was a victim of her own Fame Monster, but managed to reforge a legacy reflecting on and embracing that failure. Lady Gaga's project takes all this from a distance Brooks didn't have at the time she was creating her hot mess and parades it in grand parody up and down the catwalk. The obvious pastiche element prevents it from being just another pathetic fashion victim or witless slave to celebrity; Lady Gaga is having fun with this object called fame, and the act exudes legitimacy in its lack of pettiness or agenda. Underneath the direction of the Disco Stick is a thoroughly critical, non-partisan examination of every aspect of "Fame", rife with material to analyse for those who are given to analysis and just fun to dance to for everyone else. Walter Benjamin wrote of Charles Baudelaire, "The depiction of the confused is not the same thing as a confused depiction." Many pop acts are confused depictions; Gaga gives a thoroughly calculated depiction of the confused. It's fabulous, it's cerebral, it's pop. And while I don't entirely agree that pop culture will never be low brow, I do absolutely agree that Lady Gaga's conception of pop culture is not low brow. And I can't wait for "Monster Ball." Maybe I'll go in my Academic Robes and Hood...and 6 inch platform heels...
Re the previous, Internet Explorer 8 does it properly. So yes IE7 was just having a tantrum. "Can't do it too complicated" *throws in towel*. Or, IE7 is sh*te (as some will tell you).
However what IE8 won't do (but which IE7 does beautifully) is narrow groove borders. Which is why I spent two hours yesterday afternoon making image box versions to display instead (these are the 'Reply' 'Multiquote' etc. boxes). Invariably the case with browsers that one has to resort to pictures to achieve a particular effect...
So, it's all gone a bit wrong again. It's been on it's way the last few weeks, each weekend a little worse than the last. I sat this evening telephone in front of me, wondering who I could call, but all the time, in my ears there's than sound..... that terrifying sound... how can I call anyone with that noise going on - but I can't stop it ..... I stand up again, pace the room.... tight little circles, head in fists, eyes too hot, breaths too short - each one forced out brings with it another short grunt or cry... then that sudden sharp deep insuck that stops me in my tracks.... motionless, silent, 'f***' I try to form the word but no breath comes, the only sound is the 'k' then silence again, but something is growing under the silence, uncontrollably it starts again that awful noise that doesn't sound like me.... and I can't stop it getting louder .... it's f***ing scary... I put my hands over my mouth but still can't stop it... I start to panic, the tears are burning, I'm thumping my chest... and I'm so scared of that f***ing scream... I'm scared that I might just f***ing' die - and then it stops and I look at the phone again......... and I think I'm on a loop..... and I think 'f***' .........................
Is anyone else using Microsoft Internet explorer 7?
Spent two hours yesterday poncing about trying to get the 'My Information' box on members profile to not look like a bad accident in the rush hour. The two columns either side have virtually identical coding and styles and display perfectly OK. ...?
I've come to the conclusion it's just IE7 doesn't want to play, like
Or can anyone not using IE7 see it as well?
I should update this because it's been over 2 years since my last update.
Also, I really ought to change my name, too. I forgot I ever went by Silent Wind River (what was I thinking!? :lol: )
So... I should be finished uni... we'll get the results in soon so I can know for sure. But it's looking good.
I'm moving to East Sussex in with my boyfriend in February. Am excited to be playing English. I like it there. I feel at home. Even though I stick out like a sore thumb when I say silly things like "cell phone" and "corn chips". We'll see how that all works out.
After that major life changing event, as if that wasn't enough, we're getting married in June. Oy Vey Meyer! I usually think people who get married when they're 22 are crazy and way too young and will regret it for the rest of their lives... and here I am. Funny how that works out eh? But what can I say? It feels right. I've found a great love and that's all any of us can ever hope for... I'm a pretty cynical person, but I honestly can't find a reason to convince myself it's a bad choice. And I have the support of friends and family, which is lovely.
I'm very calm about this all at the moment but I'm sure it's going to scare the sh** out of me as the major-life-changing dates move closer... Oh well.
In the meantime I'm killing time in Canada being a "barista", or perhaps more accurately put, a "corporate tool" at my local Starbucks... which is actually rather fun. Nice staff, nice clientele. So I can't complain much.
Let's see... what else is new... Hmmm...
I saw Ponyo last night, and it totally lived up to all the hype.
And Jasper Fforde is my favorite author.
Our syphilitic mad epistemological uncle Fred (Nietzsche) gave a lot of thought to the iniquity of humanity in its own mirror stage, the moment when society became aware of itself in relation to its own history (from which it had been blissfully unaware of its tethers, like a child is unaware of itself in the supermarket or unaware that its parents are actually people, with personalities)...he sat in his chair, aware of the long line of syphilitic madmen that made it possible for him to ask if God was not a metaphor, and whether humanity had outgrown that metaphor, which perhaps he thought while ingesting hugely quackey doses of mercury salts... Ecce Homo, he thought, as he swallowed a medicine that poisoned the illness off into the distance, away from the nerves it was systematically deadening...Menschliches, allzu Menschliches...human, all too human.
The grave injustice of finding that most human side of yourself through the things that make you most mortal, most vulnerable, most pathetic. It might be that most beautiful thing, the instant you are unaware of what you see, which you then realize is a human being being all too human. It hurts to see and it's beautiful in its inescapable truth. Like art is its own death, those moments where we are most human are maybe the best and worst, we enter into a state with full knowledge of our mortality or vulnerability, because we can't do otherwise; we are in that moment aware only of mortality, natality, aware of our selves and yet so aware that we cease to be self-aware. The stage after being Suspended in Gaffa.
Heinrich von Kleist wrote this great thing on Marionettes as inhuman machines... the perfect pirouette. But not the most beautiful, for its lack of menschliches, allzu menschliches. Unaware of himself, the interlocutor's young friend dances; as soon as he becomes aware of the beauty of that moment, it fades; he attempts to recreate the moment, and that in itself relinquishes it from the realm of beauty. Flashback to a moment in college, a late night in the dorms, the halls of residence, I sit in a chair in a poorly lit room with a friend, we'd fallen into silence and I sat fumbling with a children's kaleidoscope with an Alice in Wonderland motif. I slipped away from that space, having become fascinated with the project of lining up lines in the drawings. My friend was watching me intently. I didn't notice. Something drew my attention back, I don't know what. My friend was smiling at me in a very peculiar way and I said "what?". She said, "you were completely in there, weren't you. You looked so innocent, you just became this little kid again, working out a puzzle. It was beautiful." I had been part of a beautiful moment for a second and wanted desperately to be beautiful. I knowingly fumbled with my project again. "No," she said, "it doesn't work anymore. You know you're doing it." I was curiously sad and frustrated that I had missed a moment of beauty. I was at an age where I needed to know the world had beauty in it and desperately felt the need to be part of that. I had been, and I'd missed it. I was 18, I was just coming into my own epistemological mirror stage. I had a lot of need and I was aware of it. It was a project of display. It was not beautiful.
Flashforward to last night. I was reading Papa Denny Doherty's transcript of his show "Dream a Little Dream: The nearly true story of the Mamas and Papas"--a show that answered Mama Michelle's book "Dream a Little Dream: The true story of the Mamas and Papas". In it he pointed out that some of what he said was true, some not so much, but hard to distinguish because, hey, it was the 60s and Papa Denny was so tuned in that he turned off. So, true...not true... what difference does it make? It was how he remembered it. And mostly, the show came across to me as atonement...for having so profoundly misunderstood and misfollowed his own humanity. And the object of that atonement is clear enough from the title. Papa Denny was filled, it seems to the very end, with a lot of regret. It was the way he described one particular moment that made me stop short, becoming aware that THAT was a moment of humanity. One filled with injustice, one of a person so overwhelmingly human that she scared the living daylights out of people she wanted to be close to; in being deeply human, she became sort of superhuman, an impenetrable force of life who seemed too far away. And in this moment she was desperately hurt and vulnerable...
Cass Elliot carried a very bright and burning torch for Denny Doherty, and this is the moment where he broke her heart. Whether it's real or not, this is his story, this is his vision, and in it is this impenetrable force of life, scrunched in a corner crying. So aware of her own humanity that she is unaware of herself. It's an amazingly human moment. Love is such a weirdly unfair thing.
What's one to do with the people who love so deeply, so intensely, that they scare people off? You can only hope they find someone or some someones who can love them as deeply, as intensely as they can love. But of course, when they do, they can't be together, for X and Y reason. And for years they fight with destiny or ethics or destroy themselves asking questions until they've been questioned into little meaningless pieces, only to come back to the original realization that, unfair though it all is, that's the way it is and you can either be miserable and filled with regret or you can find a way to make whatever strange thing you have there--this force that no matter how hard you try to escape STILL finds you and knocks you *** over head--work in your favor. You can't be 18 or 20 and have that work. You need years of losing things and fighting for things, of becoming aware of yourself in relation to your own history, to sit down and start carving that niche the way you want it. Human, all too human.
"I was pretty unattractive for a few years there."
"I didn't really notice."
"I don't know what's coming. But I like the future."
Bloody Hell was I really THAT miserable this time last year? Came in here the other night when I was feeling down about Chris, it kinda put things in perspective for me...this is a walk in the f***ing park! I'm still pretty sad about losing my beautiful sadist, but more concerned over the bigger picture, and what caused it. At least I still have him as a friend...just as soon as my head can cope with that...and it makes it easier to imagine that somewhere down the line if it was really meant to be - it will be.
Am hoping it was just too soon, I know I'm over the ken, it's his past actions I'm having problems with... need to work out what to do about that. I've gotten over 'hang-up's' much worse than this, been trying to work out what laid those ghosts to rest. There must be a lesson in there somewhere.
I'm certainly not ready to throw in the towel just yet where relationships are concerned - although I do intend to give them a wide birth for a good few months, need to be stronger in my own mind .... I think playing the scene is the answer....or at least part of it. Build some more self confidence - avoid that 'needy' thing that rears it's head every time I think I like someone, find the ability to share without feeling any less valued.
If I can separate the 'play' from the intimacy, I'll have it sewn up.... just not sure yet if that's in my nature. If I can find a willing top this Saturday I intend to give it a go. All this week I've been thinking I need a bloody good 'beating' to get it out of my system! :P I met a lovely couple last weekend -they have extended an open invitation to me whenever I feel ready, or just friendship if I prefer, they are well respected in the scene and safe players, I am pretty sure I'm going to accept - just a matter of when. :)
So yeah, moving on again - discovering the good with the bad - it can't be separated. Acceptance is the thing, and I'm almost there.
THANK YOU so much for your very kind messages! :)
Everything's okay here, have just been very busy with a few things, work [exam prelim season...], writing/editing/photography... G2G... world Poets & Writers Registry, RedBubble, FB...
I just wish i could stay awake 24 hours a day, lolll!
Hmmm, am currently co-writing a chapbook with a Canadian Poet that should be published later on this year;
that takes time, a lot of time ^_^ ... My co-author is based in Moncton, New Brunswick and we are celebrating our Atlantic connection :) . It's very exciting!!! So things are moving forward a bit :)
Also am getting ready for my first two readings this year at local level, Jen's this coming weds. night and Gordon's and James [Robertson, the man behind Gideon Mac] on fri. 20th feb...
meanwhile Dave and Lissa have been playing quite a lot in the garden... well, more than peerie I and new flowers are gradually emerging!
Octavia's Dream has been flying to Vancouver lately as a mp3 file for a radio show....
Although have been spending less time on the forum, have been playing Kate really loud around the hut [LOL!] / on my headphones /iPod on my way to school and back!!! ... and i just hope you're all keeping warm in this boreal deep freezer!!! ^_^
Kate's music keeps us this way ;)
so are the news from 60N! :)
all the love, always :group_hug:
Good monring all from a rather humid but sunny HK. ended up going out last night and getting a bit P***ed. probably due to the fact i went straight out from work and didnt eat much!At my age you'd think I would know better. Anyway, just been on ebay bidding on a kate item.Bit suspicious that the seller is putting his own bids in just to raise the price. who knows.
hope you guys are well and behaving yourself!
It's been a while,
Have kept in touch with a few of you over that post-Gathering "storm" and i come with a white flag.
Firstly, i wish to kick myself in the butt for keeping away from the Forum.
Over the year, have made some tremendous friends, including YOU and have shared my love for Kate's constellation. This is the prime reason why i joined in 2005.
Secondly, i shall always treasure this memorable Gathering this summer. It was a dream come true to re-live a Kate Fan Gathering and i did not mince my words when i evoked my sincere gratitude to "Kate's magic".
Now, in the light of what happened, let me apologise [although this seems so little] for all the harm you have endured.
Never i thought negative vibes could turn this way.
David is not dark or nasty by nature, otherwise we would not be together. His craving to befriend people can distort his personal feelings.... Meeting Paul in the flesh this summer confirmed a few things. Have discussed this at length with Pat. We shared a friend's house an entire weekend and i saw the "two sides of the coin". Paul shares a same passion for music, like Dave, who believes he's been defending a "good friend" in the autumn.... This as far as i can comprehend. Repeatedly, I have asked, begged David to let go of things, telling him others' problems were NOT his. Have also begged David to focus his energy onto positive things. [ie. music].
At this stage, have been far too embarassed to step back into the Forum in an open manner. [Have explained this to the gang]. I feel torn apart by the hurt and harm inflicted to the Forum and my silence to friends i've come to know and appreciate.
Above all, i feel absolutely dreadful for KATE HERSELF.
God help us if this mayhem has reached her in any way... The KBF has already survived blows... I can only hope that this storm will pass and that the bonds that unite us as a community is stronger than those recent events.
This kind of things goes against the grain of my own convictions as far has friendship and human relationships go.
I miss the Forum very much, however, I too have have been hurt by those negative energies. It is not what it should be about. Like Lissa and the vast majority of the KBF members, I joined in to celebrate Kate's music, world, my joy of life, love, friends and share it with similar folk.
I feel for you all, believe me and am working at home to make David see light again. David, like all of us, is no saint. However, he has to cultivate friendship, true friendship and he must learn to let go of things.
I will fully understand if you wish to disregard my message. However, please know it has taken me a while to fully comprehend what's been happening from various echoes.
I hope peace and light are gradually filling your hearts again .
I miss you all very dearly and i hope to be accepted again some day .
All the love, Nat xxx
Okay, have been playing [though not intentionally] kinda invisible and am not looking for excuses to justify it... After all, they don't work.
Back to 60N life... mini- [though fab'!] adventures... contemplative moments on my hilltop... I really love Mossy Hill!!!
... it gives me that sense of serenity & solace my heart needs so often... stepping out...
The beauty of the Garden - this sanctuary that keeps us creating, safe and happy; your beauty in Kate's world :)
This world is our oyster!!!
So, :group_hug: to you all!!!
This weekend has been a bad one but that's no different to all the rest (apart from Oxford of course).
I'm trying to figure out what it will take for me to make me happy. Is it actually going to be possible for me to be happy on my own? I mean ... sure I could fill my time with 'stuff' ... I've already tried filling my house with 'stuff' but it doesn't mean sh** with no one to share it with.
So OK - I should try to fill my time with 'stuff' that seems to be every ones advice on the subject .... "get out the house" " join a club" " start a hobby" .....ect..ect
This all sounds like perfectly good advice to me. But something is stopping me and until I can figure out what that something is I'm kinda f***ed <_<
Some days, getting out of the house might as well be a trip to the moon, it's just not happening. I can just about make it to the corner shop (3 minute walk if that) but today so far I've not managed even that.
I'm not sure what it is out there that scares me, I try not to think about it mostly - but today ................ well today I have to think about it, becos today I totally realized this really, really can't go on. This ain't living. And one way or another it has to stop.
I feel a whole lot lighter with this thought.
So I'm single again but really it's fine, you now when things haven't been right for a while but you don't say anything scared of change well that's been the last six months for me. Not sure when it all changed or what caused it but a really sceptical side of me thinks that maybe we don't have (or at least I'm not capable of) a lasting passion and that ultimately all relationships turn to friendship, still at least they've never turned bitter.
I'm really happy with the decision this time and to be honest if my Dad didn't have his accident we probably would have broken up sooner. Some thing's in life give you a different perspective though and the weekend I got back to Brighton me and Chris agreed it was time to end the relationship and work on the friendship. We are still going to live together, we still want to do what's best for the animals, it's cheaper and we do have a laugh and enjoy the same sort of things. Things may change if either of us meets someone else as I suppose they might not be too keen on going out with someone who lives in a one bedroom flat with his ex but we can deal with that as and when and to be honest I'm in no rush, I'm actually looking forward to being single for a while.
so YAY single life