30 Day Song Challenge... FIGHT!

I'm not that much of a Facebook junkie that I can't go a few hours or days without posting something, but I finally bought into the 30 Day Song Challenge. Most of the days are pretty basic... what songs make you happy, sad, do you listen to when you are angry, or remind you of something special. And since you don't get that much space on FB to go through all the reasons why you chose each song, I figured, what the hell?! I have a blog. I'll use it and for the next thirty days (well, give or take a few, as I may not be able to post everything on time... par for the course) I'll post my songs as well as more detailed reasons why I chose them! I'll be sure to link here via my FB every time I post a new song, that way we can keep the loop going.

DAY 01 - MY FAVORITE SONG
Cosmic Love by Florence + The Machine



I should explain. I have MANY favorite songs, and narrowing it down to one song over the course of my entire life would take far too much time than this challenge should require. So, I paired it down to the song that A. I have a major obsession with at the moment, and B. appears most often in playlists (sometimes two or three times, so when I shuffle, I get a double song surprise!) and is listed as my most played song on iTunes.

That being said, this song pretty much speaks for itself. Its heavy tribal beats coupled with her almost haunting A-tonal voice is enough to make my brain turn to happy cheese. I can listen to this song, sitting on the subway, laying in bed or walking down the street at four in the morning and transport my mind to a completely different place. It tears at me and I feel like if I can't emote then my body will rip in two and spill my emotion all over the sidewalk. Seriously... its that intense a reaction. Like putting salt on a slug. Needless to say, I listen to it often. So rare it is to find a song that completely fills you to overflowing with feeling that it made the perfect (at the current moment) choice for my favorite song.

I'll be back to this in a year and see where I stand.

There you have it! Day 01 down! Only 29 more to go until Rupaul's Drag Race.. has a WIN-NAH! Ok, not THAT dramatic but still. Check back often as I'll post my current and past day choices as soon as possible. Until then, what's your favorite song? Post a comment here or on my Facebook!

Ta!

A new direction...

Blogging. To so many this word has so many different meanings. For most, it is an interactive diary of sorts, a way to share thoughts, feelings, stories, etc. with the rest of the internet community. For others, its a cash-cow. Seriously. Places like Towleroad and The Awesomer, among MANY others, are not only fun, interactive, and informative, but they also boast advertising and sponsors which, without a doubt, create at least a moderate cash flow to the owners.

Then there are blogs like mine. Blank. Empty. Barren. A mish-mash of indecipherable nonsense ranging from quirky dreams to, well, darker dreams. It seems that my blog has become nothing more than a sporadic dream journal, where none of my true thoughts, feelings, likes, dislikes, or crazy stories come through. I get so downtrodden and lost in my own mire of emotion that my blog reads like a suicide note... and if I want to entertain people, that ain't good.

Now, this isn't to say that my dreams aren't interesting, as I think they shed a bit of light on the disturbing filing cabinet that is my subconscious, but lets face it... they ain't happy and they ain't pretty. They make for good inspiration, but standing alone, are no better a read than a Family Circus cartoon. How many different ways can I tell the same story? That I'm imaginative and incredibly fucked up?

So, from here on, I make a pledge, to, at least once a week, bring you the best of what I scrounge up on the internet, be it photos, videos, articles or just random musings about the world around me. It should make for a fun time. I might throw in a dream or two, but if I'm going to stay optimistic about my new life, then why not start with some optimism in my creativity?

For now, off to work, but I leave you with this. My favorite commercial of the day. This PSA puts humor and intelligence to work in opening the minds of kids to what the arts are all about. GUTEN TAAAAAAAG!!! I would have killed for Raisin Brahms when I was a kid, but I had to settle for Cracklin' Oat Bran. Grrrrr....

HEY! I've been to Saturn!

Usually, if I am going to devote an entire blog to a dream, or series of dreams, I can remember almost every tiny, insignificant detail. Except for songs... I have an incredible amount of trouble remembering tunes and lyrics to songs that I have written or sang within my dreams, but mostly, I think this is because they are not very good and would probably cause hemorrhaging and gingivitis to anyone within earshot were I to sing them in real life. So, it is the series of dreams that I had last night, not their level of detail or accuracy, that warranted my blog.

That being said, none of my dreams last night contained singing, though there were a few hymns struck out upon xylophones and timpani, as well as an AV car chase, two different versions of the same film, and a planetary explosion... plus the successful resurrection of Buffy (the Vampire Slayer).

Firstly, I believe that at some point I successfully realized that I was dreaming. After yet ANOTHER Zombie Apocalypse, I and a group of my closest friends, none of whom were real people, stood on the outskirts of a major city, discussing our next plan of action. In my infinite wisdom, and apparently finding this scenario to be so unbelievable, I decided to shift my dream in a different direction... which, of course, meant transporting the planet Saturn into orbit around Earth. And just for your information, Saturn is purple, not orange, like NASA wants you to believe. Anyways, as this wasn't enough, I felt it necessary to rotate the planet so as to get a better look a the rings, and in doing so, with such inexperience in my new God-like abilities, I inadvertently dragged a chunk of rock several miles wide through Earth's atmosphere, where it impacted the planet. We could all see the explosion, and in impending wave of hot, nuclear death that rushed across the face of the planet. My last words... "Well, at least now we don't have to worry about the Zombies."

What happened next is a bit fuzzy, and I can't remember getting from one place to another, but I ended up watching a movie with my mother, an English remake of an Italian film, the names of which I simply can't remember. A boy, about ten years old, saw something he couldn't explain, a creature that shouldn't exist and spent the entire movie trying to find it. I think that the creature was some metaphor for his happiness, seeing as how his mother was divorced and they were fairly poor, living in a small apartment in a less than pleasant part of town. Their neighbors were an assortment of societal rejects and the elderly, all of whom seemed to accept their positions, as well as the positions of those around them. No one was cruel, but all were unusual, and everything seemed a little less colorful than life should be. Eventually, the boy, who's one interest and activity for escape was rock climbing, eventually follows the "creature" to a small quarry near a set of abandoned apartments. The small quarry opens into a large chasm, the bottom of which couldn't be seen. The boy climbs across a rock wall to the alcove where he thinks he found the creature, but realizes, a bit too late, that it is not real. Working his way back to solid ground, the boy stops, slips, and as he falls, the screen goes black, leaving my mother and I to fill in the blanks. It was Easter in the dream. I just remembered.

So, having seen the English version, we popped in the Italian version, which was similar, except the main character was a young woman living on her own, using climbing as an escape from her dire reality. She finds herself in the quarry, which in this version takes a more structured appearance; instead of appearing next to abandoned buildings, the quarry and chasm were opposite raised concrete aqueducts. After climbing on the rock face, she worked over to the aqueduct, where it crumbled under foot and she fell, breaking her legs, several ribs and an arm. She landed in a bank of plants, screaming for help and leaving the audience knowing that none would ever come. The end...

Quite uplifting, eh?

After all this, I found myself in my old high school theater, playing xylophone during church, a small fat man, not unlike the Reverend in Porky's 2, gave his sermon, which we, the band, would punctuate with hymns, or timpani rolls, or random bouts of musical genius! This, of course, all took place after watching a video I had made in high school where I was the driver of a green-screened car, as my passengers and I acted through several environments, much like the opening of the Naked Gun films.

Now, one last piece to my dream puzzle, the piece of which aren't quite as pleasant.

As I lay waking this morning, I was delivered one last bit. I was in that delicate state of being both awake and asleep, aware of my surroundings, knowing that I was in my room, but narrating my dream to myself as it unfolded within my mind. I was telling myself a story. I was a student still in high school, and I had made a visit to a teacher's house. As I turned to leave, he was on me, and in my narration (which I shall omit for the graphic nature), I told myself how he began, and how at first, it was nice, but then I learned that I was not the first student he had approached. Suddenly, my yeses became nos, and the more I said no the more he thought yes... I leave the rest to you.

As a blog that started off so light and funny, it inadvertently became dark and series. Ah, well, such are my dreams.

VD... Make of it What You Will

Valentine's Day... either a horribly obscure horror movie or a day created simply to remind the lonely that they are just that... alone. Take your pick. It is on this day that I usually celebrate by wearing black, squirreling myself away and drinking myself into a stupor. However, it was this Valentine's that I felt the need to branch out, do something festive, remind myself of the friendships I do have and how one is never truly "alone"

A few weeks ago (and yes, I have been saving them for a couple weeks) I found myself at Target, picking through Valentines Day cards and a sundry of other items, when I stumbled across what I thought would be an amazing chance to give myself some extra "love karma" in the form individually packaged Play-Doh containers made specifically for distribution at Valentines. I couldn't resist... the spirit of Saint Valentine overcame me and I reached out, my hand trembling and excited to grasp the vestige of my long-lost childhood, that I might give the gift of youth and joy to my coworkers...

To put it shortly, I bought the Play-Doh valentines, and of course, as expected, my coworkers were quite impressed at my savvy for Tines of the Valentin... They loved them. As everyone knows, the best part of Play-Doh is the smell. It brings up memories long forgotten and most treasured.

So, I sit here, spending the last moments of The Day of Lovers drinking from a self-purchased bottle of Patron Silver and watching Harry Potter... I'm glad for making the day brighter for others, but I certainly was hoping to find the day brighter for myself... Ahhh, tequila... why do I love thee?

P.S. This was a short post...

My Skin is Not My Own

The new year is upon us. Strangely, I can't tell the difference between this year and last, as if there were much of a difference, other than a number: an hour, a minute, a day. One more year of life, counting down and counting up to whatever end or beginning my life has in store. One more year living in a world that at one moment seems both harshly real and maddeningly false. I find this notion sad and mysterious, and the thought of what my life should be but is not haunts and terrifies me and fills me with dread and missed moments of comprehension.

For as long as my recent memory allows, I have felt at home and out of place in whatever world I move through, like I'm skating on the icy surface of a lake, my present life above and the life I seek below. Every now and then, a break in the ice reveals the answer. I see someone staring back at me from the depths, both me and someone else, someone I long to be, and know I am, but lies just out of reach. Needless to say, I keep skating and the ice refreezes, the hole closed, my escape route shut off, my other-self retreating into his own existence, me stuck in mine.

This is not to say my way out is through some dark, cold rip in the fabric of space or time, or that to seek the future I so desire I must end this life to begin the next. That is not the point. That is not the answer. That is not the way...

My skin is not my own. This line comes from the novel Dune by Frank Herbert, and in many ways it perfectly describes the feeling I get from time to time. It comes when I don't expect it, triggered by a moment in a film, or notes in a song, or a passage in a book. It comes and goes and leaves me feeling a bit like a cup that has been filled to over-flowing. The rest of the water has to go somewhere, so it spills out, taking with it both the new and the old and leaving behind a mixture of two different worlds, mingling together but constantly at odds, swirling and crashing against the walls of the vessel that is my soul.

My skin is not my own. But if not mine, then who's? Who's face do I see when I look into the mirror? Who's voice speaks to friends and family and tells jokes and laughs and cries? Who's hands type this passage? If I do exist in two worlds, how do I decide between the two? All these questions, and so few answers...

So, I begin a new year. Time, the ultimate invention of man, marches on, its boots tracking across the people of the world, breaking bones, twisting bodies, bringing blood and pain. Time, our most cruel and vengeful lover. We are at its mercy as it holds the knife to our throat, ready slit. My time is far from over, but I only wish it to be better spent than wasted on thoughts of what could be and what comes after. This is the year to make the most of what I have, the first moments of the rest of this life to prepare myself for the next, and the next, and the next, if you follow Eastern philosophies.

A Happy New Year to all. As I draw closer to finding that which I seek, I intend to keep anyone interested informed... The moments of clarity are few, but astounding, and I long to experience the next.

Here Come's Santa Claus...

Holidays.

Though often viewed as a time of celebration, of family and friends and thanks and togetherness, of forgiveness and new beginnings, can also be seen as a time of over-whelming sadness, when we as humans are forced to examine our lives, facing our loneliness and the true nature of our fellow man, when greed and depression can so easily overtake the joy and spirit and blessings of the season.

I find myself torn between these two facets of my own personal holiday, deciding between two options that end the page of a Choose Your Own Adventure novel. Both choices are choices of extremes, one dark and moody and assuring danger and destruction, the other one of rejoicing and sentiment and cheer. But life isn't as simple as, say, turning to page 84.

I am in a city... a city full of strange places and even stranger faces, a city where the dark is alive with light and my days are spent in search of a future. Here is where I call home, home away from home, away from my family and friends and everything simple and common, lovely and lazy, and missed.

I'm making the most of it while I can. I find the light in the darkest places, and the life I've forgotten or lost or never known... It is here I find my holiday, my Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's Eve. It is here where I learn, after so many years, what it truly means to be thankful for all that I have, and not want for more: a roof over my head and a blanket on my bed, clothes on my back and food in my belly, knowing that however far from my reality I have come, that I am loved beyond measure and can love in return. I love those who need it, those who want it, those who deserve it and those who don't. To wake up in the morning and see the sunlight of a new day, and forgive those who have trespassed against me, and forgive myself for those trespasses I have made... That is what being truly thankful is all about... so far from all that is familiar yet finding myself all the same.

I am thankful, and hopeful and making a joyful noise.

So, as I sit here, typing this and flipping between pages 84 and 129, trying to choose my own adventure, I close the book in my mind. My life is an adventure, one big enough without having to limit my options to simply black or white. I think I'll stay grey for a little while longer. I look good in grey.

Happy holidays, wherever you are, whoever you are, from wherever I am. I love miss, forgive, cherish and thank all of you.

MY FIRST MONTH AND SUBWAY TALES

I have not written anything in quite some time due in most part to my recent exodus to the Big Apple... now, after having lived here for more than a month, it is high time I put thoughts to paper, or in this case computer, and fill the world in on my progress.

This is a hard city, towering masses of steel, glass and stone that I am constantly drawn to smashing my head against as though it might wake me from some dream... but no, this is no dream. It is real. It is my life.

After a short two weeks of job hunting, I've landed a part-time gig in reception at a great gym. This does little but to afford my weekly financial stability, and that is more attributed to the generosity of my family, with bi-weekly additions of cash to my quickly depleting bank account. But I won't give up... an exciting world of possibilities greats me every morning when I wake, and I can either grab it by both ears and make it my bitch, or I can let it consume me like it has so many before and will so many after.



Subways are still a great beast with which I do daily battle. I am slowly learning to ride it, but it does, on occasion, throw me off balance,putting me into positions where my sanity and safety are at greater risk than my poor time management skills. A few examples, in no particular order:

A few days ago, I attended the employee party hosted by the parent company for whom I work. After many drinks, a tango, and a face full of plastic, crushed velvet-clad stripper penis, I whisked myself from the bar, and into the subway, where I settled into a seat, popped in my earbuds and rocked out to the hyper-real sounds of Daft Punk and the Tron: Legacy soundtrack. In and out of attention, I overheard a passenger asking for a light. My thoughts didn't focus on his need for fire in a well-lit and properly heated subway car, until the smell of cigarette smoke drifted into my nose, sharp and grey-brown. Mind you, gentle reader, that I had been given liquid courage in the form of Mexican cactus juice, and felt the warm rush of uncaring flood my veins. Boldly, I said to the smoker "Would you please put out that cigarette?"

Of course, this was not taken too kindly by him or his cohorts. He stood before me, a menace of five foot eight in aviator glasses, calling me his "nigga" and questioning my authority as to what should be done with his cigarette. I calmly explained to him that I was not, nor had I ever been his "nigga" and that it wasn't just bothering me, but the thirty or so other denizens who shared the cramped space. I further enlightened him to the fact that I was an ex-smoker who understood his need, but that the street or his home would be a much better locale in which to partake of his smoke.

By this point, several other riders had taken up my cause, and while stopped at an off point, the young man was escorted from the train, amidst much applause, by a subway security officer. Now, the lesson is this: Everyone on the subway gets pissed off. However, I wish I could say people were equally thankful for my somewhat aggressive and upfront nature, but after the young man and his cigarette were removed, one passenger thought it necessary to point out that we had been stopped for ten minutes due to the altercation and we would have kept moving had I just kept my mouth shut. This sent another ripple of descent through the car, as the other passengers, annoyed at the mere hint of sitting through more noxious fumes, informed him that he should "Shut the fuck up because that kid is the only one on the entire train who had the balls to say anything about it!" Needless to say, I made a few new friends that night.

Other ordeals, less harrowing:

A mother was dragging her screaming daughter down the stairs at the 42nd St. Uptown platform. The child wailed "Daddy! Daddy!" while the mother assured her the man she was screaming for was not her father. "That's not your daddy," she said. "That's Julio. Your daddy is Jamal. Your daddy is Jamal." The child continued her sobs and screams, her mother's words punctuating every drowning cry, the passersby not knowing whether to laugh or turn away. I was struck with this strange sort of amusement, much less about the little girl's antics and more about her generation as a whole: It seemed all at once to me sad and disturbing that this child was so unfamiliar with her own father that she mistook another male figure in her life for the man who gave her life. Perhaps Maury is in her future...

I, as so many others, am anxious and terrified about the concept of "just missing the train." So, upon arriving in the subway, again at the 42nd St. station, I heard the train arrive, and ran, tripping down the stairs, and flying through the subway doors just as they were about to close and smashing into a wall on the other side. As I righted myself, and plopped into a seat next to me, I was met with amused titters and giggles, rippling throughout the car. I thought it was pretty damned funny too...

A woman sat on a set next to me. I had intentionally missed sitting there, as more than just the seat, she sat in a huge loogie the prior passenger had left behind. She was wearing very expensive pants...

I am sure many more adventures await me. The city is a beast and I am in its belly, and while it may try to pass me from one end to the other, I just need to keep hanging on and giving it indigestion. It can let me go or turn me to shit, but one way or the other, I'm never going to get out unscathed.... I can't wait.