Scherzando - I've been dreaming again...

How youthful the actions of the early afternoon within this sunlit lair. There's a crisp air to this room in which we quickly and excitedly remove these wrappings. Each one the other's present. As our ribbons become entangled, we energetically play...explore...act as the children we still are, but as one. Such lively activities are fueled by our curiosity of each other. Hands, lips, shoulders, back, neck, chest...oh, how captivating this beauty! Both of us tasting and savoring every bit...complete. Laughter and cries of delight can be heard, but no one else dares to join. For these games are ours, and this creativity is one not to be shared. This rush is only for two, and oh what a rush it is.

Björk - My Spine

Feed your curiosity, energy, passion and playfulness...then collapse, out of breath, onto the soft sheets beneath you. I'll fall back beside you, for your chest is always a good pillow.

Naturale - This is what love feels like.

I had an incredibly unique and personal experience the other day...

Lately, I've found it difficult to listen to my favorite band...feeling reminded of things I'm trying hard to put away for now. And as much as I love the beautiful melodies, the flowing loops, the ass-shaking rhythms and the delicately placed samples, I'm not quite ready to confront the emotions I've attached to them. For a person like me, who uses music as a sanctuary, this has been slightly devastating. Almost a feeling of loss and even emptiness...something missing. Strangely poignant that this should happen to me, one who fully believes in the soundtrack of life's experiences.

This scene wasn't any different; it was a regular early evening commute on the train surrounded by people with a similar destination...home. But on this particular day, though nothing had changed with my situation, I decided to delve into an album which I knew could either bring me incredible joy or unbearable regret. Immediately a roller coaster of emotions charged through me...one memory after another riding piggy-back with each song. Record player dust, dirty hostels, park singalongs, smokey rooms, and lyrical debates...

And suddenly, it all stopped, and my entire being, both body and mind, felt at peace. All that mattered was this song. This one song. A song that since first heard by my ears has just drawn me in...precisely like this. Sober or stoned, happy or sad...this song had always been able to move me, sometimes bringing so much glee I shed joyful tears. A song that has no attachment to anything in my life, but me. Never until this moment had I ever felt such passionate ownership of music that I didn't create. But I felt it...this song is mine. There is a friendship and love so pure between us that goes deeper than emotions... Now some may think that me having a "friendship" with a song is going a little far, but with the limits of vocabulary...this is the only way to describe the relationship. Simply perfect.

Animal Collective - Banshee Beat

From the first chord movement until the fading snare, I'm holding hands with the beat the entire way. This is, in my highest opinion, all that is beautiful in music.

Lacrimoso - This pain must be for a reason

I can't shake this blanket of awkwardness that covered our last encounter. With words that fell short of a conversation and caresses that went ignored. The leering reality of what is to come has soured our time, and the distance growing between us, both physically and emotionally, has now become increasingly apparent. These pillowcases soaked with makeup-stained tears are proof of the sorrow that permeates this room, and I can't stop these feelings of loss from flowing within them. Two hours later, your smell is still here, but it has lost its usual intoxicating effect. Instead this fragrance stabs painfully at my senses and evokes memories that feel so far in the past that they may be lost once this aroma fades. Sometimes I feel I could have stopped these feelings from happening, that if only I had guarded my heart I wouldn't be in this situation. But why put up guards against something so superb?

If I got the chance I'd do it all over again.

DeVotchKa - How It Ends

I don't know how it ends, but I'll try to have faith that everything will be fine. I hope you, reader, cannot feel with the experience of this post the emotions I felt whilst writing it, for though I share them with you, I wouldn't wish them upon anyone.

Espressivo - Inspiration

And now for something a little different...

"But when our own pettiness is suddenly revealed to us, where do we flee to escape it? From debasement the only escape is upward! So he sat down at his desk and opened the little book (that precious book the painter told him he never lent to anyone else) and tried hard to concentrate on the poems he liked best. Once again 'the sea that bathes your eye' was there, and once again he saw Magda before him, the snowball in the tranquility of her body was also there, and the sound of the water entered the poem as the murmur of the river entered the room through the closed window. Jaromil was overcome by a languorous desire and closed the book. He picked up a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write - in the manner of Eluard, Nezval, Bield, and Desnos - short lines, one under the other, without rhythm or rhyme. It was a variation on what he had read, but the variation contained what he had just experienced: there was the 'sadness' that 'begins to melt and turns into water,' there was the 'green water' whose surface 'rises and rises until it reaches my eyes,' there was the body, 'the sad body,' the body in the water 'that I pursue, I pursue through endless water.'
He read these lines aloud several times in a melodious, pathetic voice, and he was enthusiastic. At the core of the poem was Magda in the bathtub and he with his face pressed against the door; he thus didn't find himself outside the limits of his experience; he was high above it. His distaste for himself remained down below; down below he had felt his palms become sweaty with fear and his breath speed up; but here, up high in the poem, he was above his paltryness; the keyhole episode and his cowardice were merely a trampoline above which he was now soaring; he was no longer subordinate to his experience, his experience was subordinate to what he had written." - Milan Kundera, Life is Elsewhere

The Books - Excess Straussess

The power of inspiration, realization, separation and negotiation within oneself. The ability to control one's emotions and experiences to rise above it all. What is your method of escape?

Sognando - Such a strange place to rest my weary head

A day gone by running on empty, and my minds beginning to shut off from last night's insomnia. The sway and pump of the train as it slowly creeps down the track is calling me to slumber. Everyone looks exhausted, but no one will allow themselves to drift off. Eyelids heavy, air condition lightly blowing, this unconventional place could become my next bed. Peaceful, relaxed, no longer tired, but calm. I no longer feel the cold hard seat or see the crowded subway car. I only hear gentle whispers and embrace the slow sway as if the wind was carrying my sailing ship on a calm sea. Deep breathing and body melting...true, weary comfort.

Animal Collective - The Softest Voice

And with a knock in the arm and a jolt of the train, my body comes away from this euphoric state. I awaken to zombie walk my way home.

Dolce - Let the light in...who needs sunglasses

I'm gazing out the window at a beautiful day, and I decide it would be a waste if I don't enjoy it. This apartment I have now made my own provides the haven I have been looking for. I drag myself out of this comfy papasan chair into the blindingly sunny outdoors. The birds are chirping a delightful welcome, and everyone is dressed for the summer weather - colorful skirts and dresses flowing. A feeling of euphoria explodes throughout my body as I realize, I'm here. This is my neighborhood. These birds will welcome me every morning, and these people are my neighbors. Oh glorious city how I missed your smiling face. This is how I remember you. We had a rough reintroduction, but now that I've found my feet I feel our friendship will resume from where we left off. After a day enjoying all the splendors you have to offer I will willingly collapse back into my comfy papasan. I'm so happy to see you in this light once again.

Air France - Collapsing At Your Doorstep

With a skip in your step enjoy the sunshine and smiling faces. Embrace the reality of this dream-like world, for you never know when the rain will come and wash it all away.

Pizzicato - Wrong turn...again

Walking the dark empty streets of Brooklyn with this deep feeling at the pit of your being. So dull it feels like it's eating at you, plucking and prodding at your thoughts. Loneliness...isolation. With a pulse so loud you can hear it from within, you pass several lofts full of art and artists with their intense gaze and steady hands. If only you had such a passion to take your mind away from this feeling. Something to immerse yourself in. But nothing will suffice when you're left alone with your thoughts. Broken, scattered thoughts to go with a similarly disheveled life.


The Flaming Lips - The Observer

Steady and constant throughout, feel the lonely beat within you as you float in and out of your thoughts.