Teen Dream

the full moons drama queens | the bar as the stage
whiskey and water | every man's teen dream

spin in circles to find | where it was we were
before | before this place
where there is no cure

the howling of your throat | against rock and silt
carnal passages | we commit to our notes

spin in circles to find | where it was we were
before | before this place
where there is no cure

And I've been sure | for how long to hold on

And from where we left off | 2am empty
alone and stumbling | our self induced turnoff

turn in circles to find | where it was we were
before | before this place
where there is no cure

And I've been sure | for how long to hold on
to that teenage dream

Christmas, that Mysterious Beast

Sharon Van Etten

I've been a horrible blogger lately. I never update this thing, and when I do, I think it will be a turning point in which I will miraculously start posting like I once did, everyday. Well, this is another post of that sort. I was digging through some photos that I hadn't taken off my camera from summer and found these of Sharon Van Etten when she came through Salt Lake City with Tennis. It was a wonderful show. Sharon Van Etten is a joy and her music is like the perfect mis of comfort and complexity. If you haven't yet fallen in love with her, I suggest you start today. Hell, today is a day for starting.

Take Away Show #109 _ SHARON VAN ETTEN (part 1) from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.

DECEMBER IN SLC

Sometimes I make calendars for my friends. If you live in SLC, come see my band December 9th with Wovenhand. It will be a blast. Promise?

Snow, Sleep with Me.

Growing up in Southern California and living in Utah always begs the question: WHY? My answer is always this: SNOW.

Snow is the most amazing substance on earth. I can't explain the silence. The glow. Night becomes day. The world slows down. My anxiety vanishes. I am at peace. The only comparable silence is that of the ocean. Of being underwater. And it's not so much a silence as it is white noise. Like closing your eyes and going under. Except with snow, your eyes remain wide open.

Cowgirl in the Sand

I had never paid much attention to the lyrics of this song before even though I've listened to Neil Young's Everybody Knows This is Nowhere about a zillion times, and today while reminiscing and shuffling through old photographs, maps, foreign museum plans, I heard it for the first time. I've never had a song resonate so much in my life. This is saying a lot. A whole fucking lot.

What is also amazing about this is the interpretation of this song could mean a million different things to any given person. And what resonates with me is something so deeply melancholy and sad that I'd hardly imagine anyone drawing the same inferences. So, while on this path, I looked up the song in wikipedia and there are, indeed, many interpretations. Surprisingly, there are 2 aspects to its interpretation that are coincidental:

1. Young wrote the song in a flu induced fever while in his home in Topanga Canyon, which happens to be my hometown.

2. Young said the sand in the song was about beaches in Spain. Which, at the time I was listening to the song and hearing it like it was the first time - I was riffling through old photos from when I lived in Spain.

Coincidence aside. The song is amazing and regardless of what it means to you or me. "It's the woman in you that makes you want to play this game."

Hello cowgirl in the sand
Is this place
at your command
Can I stay here
for a while
Can I see your
sweet sweet smile
Old enough now
to change your name
When so many love you
is it the same?
It's the woman in you
that makes you want
to play this game.

Hello ruby in the dust
Has your band
begun to rust
After all
the sin we've had
I was hopin' that
we'd turn bad
Old enough now
to change your name
When so many love you
is it the same
It's the woman in you
that makes you want
to play this game.

Hello woman of my dreams
This is not
the way it seems
Purple words
on a grey background
To be a woman
and to be turned down
Old enough now
to change your name
When so many love you
is it the same
It's the woman in you
that makes you want
to play this game.

*photo is one I took in Donostia (San Sebastian), Basque Country, Spain.

These arguments we have are a mark of our liberty.

FUCK YES.

Dreamland

I imagine that if I were to ever have a wedding, I'd imagine myself in a dress like this. Just sayin'. This might be the first and only dress with a peplum I've EVER liked.

METZ

If you don't already have the new, self-titled Metz album, what are you waiting for? This is the kind of album that makes me want to put my ladies punk band, The Jackie O'Nasties on supercharge so that we can play with Metz. Honestly though, not since Jay Reatard have I felt so good about the state of Rock n Roll for now and the future.

If you live in Salt Lake City, like me!, they are playing Urban Lounge November 11th. So, put on your Sunday's best and party.

Woods

Naturally, I was looking for a book on wilderness survival and came across this gem of an album cover. Good work boys, good work.

Swingin' Part II

Again, this A-line proportion is really doin' for me.

Swingin'

I love this silhouette so effing much.

Time moves slow until it stops and it seems like a blink of an eye

Time moves slow until it stops and it seems like a blink of an eye. It just must be life. Its ways. The idiosyncratic nomenclature of its demise. Time. What a mind fuck.

Solo has been with me from 1997 until Sept 10, 2012. This includes: High School graduation, moving to 2 different states, 2 college degrees; boyfriends, apartments; happiness, drunkeness, complete and utter despair; attempts of suicide; parties, christmases, Hanukahs, Thanksgivings waiting for something to drop from the table. Outlived my mother and the house I grew up in.

Long walks in the city. Adventures in the mountains, rivers & lakes. Climbing, hiking, fishing, camping.

The snow. Her favorite. My favorite. I wish she would've lived for one more winter. One more long pause in the cold air. One more time to bury her head in the magic.

I've lost my best friend. My companion. My rock. I am lost.

My mother found Solo in a creek. Wounded.

She clung to me. For why, I have no reason. She was my savior and my shadow. Also, my mirror. Her neurosis, were also mine. Calm, gentle, and excitable when provoked so.

I loved this dog with all of my heart and a piece will always be missing. Solo Lady - The Best. You are missed.

Cheetah Speak

Finally got the proud/stoic cheetah tattoo I've been wanting. It's a nice reminder. I only have one other tattoo that serves as a reminder purpose, and I'm quite please to be reminded of cheetah power everyday - especially on my measly weak, surgery ridden left leg.

In other news, I organized my closet, which felt extremely amazing.

And, lastly, I went backpacking/camping with a bunch of amazing women and these are some of my favorite moments:

Little Satchel of Loud Roars

Gimme. This. Bag. Now!

Mona Lisa, The Cecilia Gimenez Method

I seriously about died laughing when I saw the story about the 80-something year old Spanish woman who thought restoring a 19th century fresco was a good idea. I thought it might be an even better idea to give other classic works the "Gimenez touch".

And Though I've Found the World of Light in the Rabid Hand of the Night

Burt Reynolds once asked me out. I was in his room.

Ultimate sadness. Thank you for being funny. Genuinely. No strings attached, save for this one. Thanks for my middle name.

Wildwood: A Sad Story Up Until Now

A Watched Pot Never Boils

Revolution makes time move
faster than any measure of skill.
We will prove

this with truth
tied as bundles of unmarked bills.
Revolt makes time move

arms full of
leather satchels full
of proof

and however we’ve
begun to feel,
this revolt has made time move

past ourselves
into barrels of jet fuel
soon lit to prove

that regret, and our relationship
to the revolution make time move.
I am near you. I am well.
This is proof enough.

-Curtis Jensen

A friend wrote this poem. I'm pretty sure it was written with love in mind, but how quickly that can change. And the trust it takes to carry it through. It was 2004. It was the same year the moon pushed the gigantic wave through the Indian Ocean. It was 2004. The same year my mother fell into the pool and drowned. Not to worry though, she pulled through. She lived. 2008, it's mother's day. My mother tells us she has cancer. It's 2009. She dies.

I'd love to tell you all about my mother. Her graces, her unspeakable class. Her standard of expressing the highest level of character. Though, she faltered. She succumbed to abuse. She fell victim to a lesser man. This same man, she thought, what harm would it do to leave him in charge of distribution of my estate? How much harm can one do under the protection of a document - of an unflattering law? Much damage as I've learned.

Let me preface this: I am passive. I am discerning. I don't jump to conclusions. I'm calculating. I've calculated this situation now for 12 years. She first met John (the lesser man) in 2001. He was doing construction for her. SHe loved a blue-collar man. A man that could fix things. And, make her laugh. He did these things, and she over=looked his lower social status. He lived in his van, mostly, however, he seemingly held various residences, here and there. All of this is trivial. What matters is that since the day she met John, she declined. He called her a cunt. She pandered to him. The proud lion that was my mother turned into a crippled cub. He remained proud.

My mother left him as Trustee & Executor of her estate. See, she had a knack for investments. She acquired a property conjointly with her business partner and long time friend. He passed away in 2008. He left everything to her.

I'm not sure where this is going to get me, but this is a war cry, this is me not being passive. The lesser man I describe above has squandered hundreds of thousands of dollars from the estate. We mediated. We thought all was well. He squandered more. He dilapidated a prime property. It's a property my sisters and I are trying to save. It's our last hope. It's hope for a community.

My mother owned a 1920s era summer camp in Los Angeles: Camp Wildwood.

John, the lesser man, has left it in shambles. My sisters and I have done a hell of a job to repair it. It's beautiful. It's in my hometown. It is home. John wouldn't allow us on the property for years. Since being allowed on the property we have found oohing but sadness and deceit. We've been trying to buyout his 1/4 beneficiary status and don't know how or what to do. We're getting (presumably) low ball offers. We'd love to keep this property in the family. The list of atrocities goes on and on and quite frankly it's too exhaustive a list for this. However, I can say with a level of certitude that this man deserves nothing. He has taken everything from my family with complete disregard and while I would never wish suffering upon another human, I wish him to be devoid of benefit. My blood has begun to boil at the thought of this man being entitled to anything my mother cherished, such as any part of her home.

Here's a transcribed letter written by my mother to John, the lesser man:

John,
You will no doubt, tear this up!
It is over, (cannot, will not), done, I refuse to live this way, intimidated, insulted, called dirty names! Strange way of caring (in my mind) for someone!!
Cannot communicate verbally - what is left??
You are giving me no option - I did try - ("I cannot give you my blood - "the old hag" can only die - or be left in pool to die - ") Threats you should have left me in the pool!
Yes, you have done many things at Wildwood (above + beyond) However, at my risk as well - lawfully! You don't understand!
I cannot write anymore - you have done your own wrong doing.
I would really like to know where you think you are soooo superior than average man????
John, a little kindness goes a long way.
- The lunch (no dinner) Whore!

For whatever reason, my mother allowed him to remain and allowed for him to push her family away. I was the one that had to quit my life to take care of her during her chemo & radiation because he was too inept. He cashed out an early annuity that was to be divided amongst her daughters - we received no such annuity. He squandered at least $700,000 in 3 years. He has let my mother's house become infested with rats. He abused animals. He was violent with my sister. Violent with our mother. He is, and I don't say this lightly, a horrible human. And, if all this amounts to is a public rant, then so be it. I keep this locked tight. I go to work. I hang out with friends. I try to not let it get to me. I let my sister fuel the good fire. It's gone on too long, and perhaps it's too late. For all that is good in the world, I thought I'd give it a chance.

The property is set to sell this week and we have rejected the offer, not even knowing what it is, because we assume it's an insult to our intelligence. We need help. If you have any advice on this matter, I would greatly appreciate it. We've been run through the ringer. We've paid $900/hour lawyers that have done nothing for us but gotten us into more shit. I need honesty and valor. It's what my mother would have wanted. As a testament to being kind - just do it. Be wonderful to people. Be kind. Be generous, be humble. Honor love above all else. And most important of all - let others love you in return.

Never have I been so open and candid about issues in my life and part of me thinks my mother would scoff at the idea that I put this out there. She always thought I would have made a great journalist.

Nacimiento - Light Black

So, a very large dream of mine has been in progress, and I can't keep it a secret for much longer. I, lucky enough, have found some amazingly talented people to play music with and I believe, the results have been pure greatness. The band is Light Black. Levi Lebo & Josh Asher of New Transit Direction, and Carri Wakefield of The Wolfs, Azon & others, and then me. Woo! So, that's what I've been up to lately. We played our first show last month and it went pretty well. We got a write-up in SLC City Weekly and it seemed to be well received.

I can't begin to tell you how excited we are to play with one of our contemporary heroes - Chelsea Wolfe. She's radness beyond raditude. Basically, we're honored and think it will be an amazing show. I'm such a dork, I drew up a flyer for the show. If you're in SLC on Aug 29th and want something mystical, something real, come to Urban Lounge and watch us wang noodle. You can buy tix on 24tx.com.

& Here's a video of Chelsea Wolfe in case you're not convinced.

Diane: Meet Danielle

Do you find that this approach usually works? Or let me guess, you've never tried it before. In fact, you don't normally approach girls - am I right? The truth is that you're a quiet sensitive type but, if I'm prepared to take a chance, I might just get to know the inner you: witty, adventurous, passionate, loving, loyal. Taxi! A little bit crazy, a little bit bad. But hey - don't us girls just love that?

This pretty much sums up my 20s.

This movie, more than any movie from the time I saw Trainspotting in the theatre in 1995, until now, no other has been so influential. Which is strange to say. I have never done heroin or hard drugs, I'm not Scottish. I don't know what it was. It was the film, not its content. I love(d) the scenes, the styling, the music. Everything about it - I loved. I was 14 when this film came out. I was reading Zamaytin, Orwell, Goldstein, I wanted rebellion, or more so, something to stand for. Throughout my 20s I argued with professors, just to get deeper answers. I rebelled by getting a degree in something dry, just to prove I could be just as academic despite my creative side. God, being young was great. The greater thing, is that I'm still young. I'm in another phase.

I feel like a hermit crab. You get old. You've got baggage. See, how Diane becomes my mid-life hero too? She's got parents, rules, school. She's repressed by any means. Me, I'm independent, choose have to work a 9-5 (freedom within limitation type of reasoning), have no real rules, and yet, I feel burdened? What has happened? How are adults viewed so independently? We've set ourselves up to follow the same system we've known. Complacency. Shit! I've been duped. The same fucking schedule I followed in high school, I now follow, save for longer hours and less breaks. WTF. Now I rebel quietly, with what I wear, what I choose to believe in, what I choose to eat for lunch. Fuck.

I spend my time differently, but I'm still rebelling, even with my 9-5 and my mortgage. Now I know the premise for a mid-life crisis. This is why grown men buy hookers, drive expensive cars on the wrong side of the street, and why affluent women still shoplift. I know that I can find better avenues. Thank the universe for granting me the gift of creativity. If I didn't have a creative bone in my body, then I'd probably be stealing eyeliner and boxed wine from CVS. Instead, I find rebellion in quiet places, in my mind, and that, I will never let die.

Horizon for Spells

The shadows lay us down spread us out across the breeze and I feel at home
believe in us all
we breathe into the fire
discoveries with a fine tooth comb

we speak slow
grossly
gestalt we gather the motions
hide below

The sun burns us flattened and immoveable prairie of light
horizon for spells
we gather the dust swarms
don't leave without a fight

And you speak of the power of might
but I might disagree
and the moon sets slowly
with a subtle fade
and you might believe in what I disagree
But it won't matter much
when the light fades
and we're left with sand and sadness that we wash away with
the day light

we speak slow
in pattern
sideways in motions
hide below.

A Modern Day Mummification

I'm in lust all over your summer skin
shed around me like a snake shake your face that sin inspired grin
Wince at the light that wakes us from behind the blinds
The piece of glass pivots, catches us off guard as it hits our eyes

Bodies and brine, a modern day mummification
Wrap ourselves in each others shedded skins
Purification from the depths
Steal the rubies and emeralds to fashion our beating hearts, gleaming eyes
gold and rust, the markings of elegance and age

I hope we grow old under a grove
because we both know.

And Just Like That, You're at Sea

And like that, you're at sea

with the world

with me

And just like that we're meaning to be

the other people

we've tried to be.