Wednesday, April 30

Santogold, L.E.S. Artistes

here is my desire to become a renegade artist of some sort:
(don't know if I'll go through with it)

art. honesty. would we need violence if we had artistic outlets instead? we should embrace the determined (destructive?) artist in us, and build a more enjoyable world. men can create aesthetics, art pieces, music, doing away with what we do not need as well as they can hold guns and destroy things. we can construct inequitable class constructions and exploit others for resources as well as imitate their art, their spirit, incorporating their beauty into our lives by artistic co-option.

Santogold's lyrics for the song "Creator":
Got no need for the fancy things
All the attention that it brings
Tell me no, I say yes, I was chosen
And I will deliver the explosion

Can't say it's gonna get me far
Do no good to say what you are
I run the streets and I break up houses
River runs deep and the flame devours it

Me, I'm a Creator
Thrill is to make it up
The rules I break got me a place
Up on the radar
Me, I'm a Taker
Know what the stakes are
Can't roll it back, it's understood
Got to play our cards

Sit tight I know what you are
mad bright but you aint no star
polish up til you make it gleam
your M.O, I know what you mean
Tail ridin' and I know it's true
while they screamin' I love you
Down deep you know there aint no flow
a soul decay, was D.O.A

I know what you here for now
Words out you're an idea whore though,
now don't you crush on me
I'll see you in your pipe dreams
whether or not you know it's true
You're who they dictate to
That shit must hurt real bad
fakin' what you wish you had

Here all the folks come ask about me
Band wagon, know they used to doubt me
Blind side tend to hit real hard
you should heed the warning, get a body guard
Steady friction in this bitch
Creepin' in just like an itch
so far I got the last laugh
still the rich rise up, still I live fast
wouldn't know it face to face
Got no soul and got no taste
Moving in speed up the pace
I got it locked though, what a waste
All the talk is standard fare
Walk the walk if it gets you there
on the grind til the gig is up
Im 'a smash 'em down
put a muzzle on them like "what!"

Lyrics for Santogold's "Go Ahead"
Go Ahead, you know you want it
You'll have no other way
you just want to take us down
go ahead,
I'll be the one hit
If I can take you, boy, it just might throw this town
Oh, you want to get it
You make us bleed, it'll prove there's life somewhere
And oh, no, I want to yell it
but do we speak or are we just nodding our heads
No way, not me, what you got,
it's not for me, but you'll find a way
no way not me, what you got,
it's not for me

Don't reach too far
You will fall over
Don't be surprised what you discover
Don't fear your call
Can't pull us under
You better watch out, run for cover

We see right through it
You get what you give, you get what you give

Go ahead
I'll be your junkie
I'll be deplete you can heap all rubbish here
Go ahead, now dump it on me
if I go quiet will the itch go down with me
Oh, you got to get it
nevermind that it was never there nowhere
but oh, no, not for a minute
for now you'll make your bed
and it will wait, I swear

No way, not me, what you got,
it's not for me, but you'll find a way
no way not me, what you got,
it's not for me

Don't reach too far
You will fall over
Don't be surprised what you discover
Don't fear your call
Can't pull us under
You better watch out, run for cover

We see right through it
You get what you give, you get what you give

Tell them that they'll get what they wanted, tell them
Tell them that they'll get what they wanted.
'Til then....

Saturday, April 26


I am not what you expect,
But I am no alternative.
I do not live for the world's approval.

I am dignity.
There is no other.
I am your clearest thoughts.
I am decisive action. I am irrefutable sense.

I am like the gazelle, softly, strongly moving over rough terrain.
As we chase, in great bounds haunches flex and hurl me forward-
Yet in the calm, cool shade, this hide is supple, these steps are light-

I am protective mother, I am fiercer than any storm gale,
My freedom is no lack of duty--
For in me is both abounding action and tender creation.

Plant in me your inspiration, and watch it grow.
And I in turn, will share words that burn your heart,
And reflect your dignity, in turn,
A subtle dance of sophisticated sirens,
Our attraction, embracing all that is natural.

Reaching through every barrier,
Watch your inhibitions fall.
This is your time, your place, your stage.

Wear your dignity with all the ease that a lion carries his mane.
Bear it as part of you like a woman with child.
It will lend you strength and long life,
It will lead you to the prize.

It is Peace without resting,
Confidence without complacency,
Love without necessity,
Beauty expected, yet un-assumed.

Your greatest free ride,
A steed on a quest,
The inner rhythm during dry times of no outer inspiration,
Your thirst quenched on parched desert trails.

Come, drink, and remember this always.

Tuesday, April 22

When I was 13 years old, my parents sent me on a coming of age quest. So I left suburban Massachusetts and was sent into the New Hampshire wilderness. I encountered there the woodland spirit-force of Uncle Otter, who led his energetic charges through our individual valleys and up onto a new mountaintop. We chose spirit names. I was Owl. (The first sentence I ever uttered, I am told was, "Owl flies.") There were other spirit names for each of the boys, and we made masks which showed our spirit. We reflected as we swam, and celebrated flying through the air into the water. We made a sweat lodge, a hot-house which we made ourselves from fresh saplings bent over in a frame, and heated with stones laid on sections of a once towering tall-standing, deeply-rooted one over a fire lit by fear-fire-fire-fear. Our old selves sweat and discharged their accumulated poisonous contents and we were born anew, naked in the cool air. We learned about honor. We learned from elders ways of navigating through life's stages. We heard how our elders had overcome their fears and built their lives. Uncle Otter and his adopted-son Wren modeled for us the correct living of the archetypes king, soldier, fool, magician and lover. We spent a night in solitude, with only the flicker of light in the leaves above us reminding us that the circle of men was still strong. At the end, we received our Excaliburs, and as we ventured forward we knew that we had many battles to fight.
Sylvie Guillem, Modern and Ballet dancer


Here Sylvie Guillem shares her philosophy of dance. It is important to doubt what you are going to do, what you have just done, in this way you share something of yourself. One can hide behind choreography, form, ideology covers over the vitality of a person.
"If you doubt, you portray yourself," and what more could be said? This is a stance of vulnerability and power, faith in the skill of your body wavering on its edge, pushing its way forward, forming something new out of a rediscovered honesty.

This piece is called "Wet Woman" The music is a bit strange, I recommend muting it. Listen to her voice from "Evidentia" perhaps. I especially love the juxtaposition of her fine form and the embodied resistance, her weightless pointed tips versus her strength as the water pours into her mouth, shoots at odd angles on her body.

It seems to reference Pablo Picasso's Woman Ironing 1904:

And here are some bits from a piece called "Sacred Monsters" by Sylvie Guillem, Akram Khan, Lim Hwai Min
Modern Dance Performances from China

This solo act is breathtaking. What is she telling us? Is she bringing us in or pushing us away? What has happened to inspire this?

I think that this captures the longing, camaraderie and story-telling of a good dance performance. The music is a bit odd, but the forms these women can make are amazing. You can trust and love these women, the weight and effort of their bodies carries their story forward.

there's a story behind bluejays which I have a hard time telling right now. But if you know it, and there are some who do, imagine sitting with me in a Gender Sexuality Xyz meeting, and watching as the Quaker campus minister stitches a finger puppet for her five year old child who she is raising with her female partner. As she adds the wings, the crest and the beak, it becomes clear that the light-blue felt is meant to be a 'jay.

Monday, April 21

_God is a Dj_ by P!nk

Verse 1:
I've been the girl with her skirt pulled high
Been the outcast never running with mascara eyes
Now I see the world as a candy store
With a cigarette smile, saying things you can't ignore
Like mummy I love you
Daddy I hate you
Brother I need you
Lover, hey, "Fuck you"
I can see everything here with my third eye
Like the blue in the sky

If God is a DJ
Life is a dance floor
Love is the rhythm
You are the music
If God is a DJ
Life is a dance floor
You get what you're given
It's all how you use it...

Verse 2:
I've been the girl - middle finger in the air
Unaffected by rumors, the truth: i don't care
So open your mouth and stick out your tongue
You might as well let go you can't take back what you've done
So find a new lifestyle
A reason to smile
Look for Nirvana
Under the strobe lights
Sequins and sex dreams
You whisper to me
There's no reason to cry...


You take what you get and you get what you give
I say don't run from yourself, man, that's no way to live
I've got a record in my bag you should give it a spin
Lift your hands in the air so that life can begin
I have healthy, unlustful masturbation when I meditate on my seed as Abraham's seed, and see it being planted in the ground to grow a garden, a new paradise for the next generation.  It is good, I find, to avoid masturbation when it is simply playing on loneliness and latent needs and attractions.  Relief can be found in other ways, like a glass of cold, watered down OJ.  
If you can't place yourself among the chosen people, don't beat it.  I'm not sure that's the most Godly attitude, but how will we ever really know?

A vision I had of Jesus Christ while in tantric yoga breathing meditation in which I felt energy like none before, like spring rapids of fire on my arms, through-chest, back... back to Jesus.  
He, as men recline, was cast upon a coming of age wilderness, deserted, alone.  As one arm propped his upper carriage he, in wide-eyed wonder (or was it horror?) witnessed an erection.
An ejaculation.
touched by angel? (witnessed, was not creating, that is the Father's job, is it not?)
Here am I, quaking as I am, asking myself, is this a calculated, liberalizing demonic possession? Or Divine Truth?
Jesus, being led to orgasm by a host of angels who are invisible beside his humanity.  Laudeum.
I think that the sensation one feels in church with a congregation surrounding you, swaying in their hearts, minds and feet to a Truth that you can no longer believe must be a little like what it feels like to get high.  I mean I've never smoked pot, but one of my friends told me it's like you get really huge and float out of your body, watching yourself and your surroundings.  They say it helps you think about things, those incessant noises in your head grow quiet and deeper truths work their way to the surface.
That's probably why I keep coming back.  It's free and totally legal, and if anything you leave smelling like floral perfume, quiche and coffee instead of that acrid-type of smoke that so signifies a punk.  I love that feeling, coming off cloud-9 from heavenly worship, stepping into the flow and satisfying your munchies on chunks of bread that your bro says is someone's dead body that gives you life, and washing it down with the contents of little plastic cups that inspire you to consider the laws of cohesion and how they might be affected by the solutes of grape juice as opposed to pure water or wine with alcohol.  That shit is fucked up.  I read the scripture, and hear it repeated again and again the stories of how Christ could get you high on wonderment, on logic-defying miracles, on healing power as you stand and wait your turn for the healing touch to come your way, sweating slightly in the hot desert air, and feeling your head spin because you're just a little dehydrated, waiting your turn for that sensation which quenches something deep down and washes you clean of anxiety and anticipation.  Yo, Hey-sus, hit me up with that shit!  Halle-lu-jah!

Tuesday, April 8

And there he sat
There he stood,
And in a gaze
I saw in him
And deep
Sensed in the spread of his iris
The fresh, chilling air
Embracing, forcing each leaf in a dance
Yes, the wind was in his eyes,
Blowing over the many-hued landscape
And whistling across the caverns ‘round the tree roots.

In his cheek was the consistency
Of bark that stops, catches,
And bark aspen smooth.
And in his brow an embracing canopy
That folds you in the larger landscape
At once for you and at once for the land,
For the order that beats in our hearts,
Each of us
With toes pressing in the pine needles
With wrists, busts in the breeze.
Here, standing in each other’s eyes.