tick tock

May I just say...Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" is a depressing kick-you-in-the-ribs-while-you're-down-in-the-dumps-anthem...when you're sitting there mind occupied on a far off land of cold and loneliness.

Coffee would prolly help

busy time heals all wounds

*except, I can't seem to keep busy enough to fully heal

Never Be Like Yesterday

When I paint, I typically listen to melancholy moody borderline slit your wrist, music. Not because I want to fillet my dainty woman wrist but because I paint women of strong emotion. Vive Voce's "Never Be Like Yesterday", has beautiful building piano work that invokes an almost serene image...until you get to the lyrics, you don't realize how sad this song is and how you can feel the writer's frustrations over fighting with a love one. We've all been there...

This song came on this morning and tugged at me a bit. It, as well as the whole album, is highly suggested:

"So here comes the morning sun,

and I can't believe that we're not done.

My eyes are swollen - face is numb...

...am I still talking?

But it's never gonna be like yesterday

Cause we can't fight that way

Guess I'll be the bigger man

and drive my point till it's dead

Make you see where it went wrong

So we can stay up all night long

But it's never gonna be like yesterday

Cause we can't fight that way

So when it comes to push and shove

the knives come out before the gloves

and all the hits below the belt

still hurt long after they're dealt

But it's never gonna be like yesterday

Cause we can't fight that way"

Into the great big open...

Nomad-an individual who roams about

in my 31 plus years on this earth, I can say, I'm not quite sure where my wanderlust completely comes from...my balls and utter asshole persona comes from my mother and father. I've lived, at least in my head, a fulfilling life before the point I even reached 30. Two houses owned, a husband by 20, divorced by 26, a zealous love for pills at 18, first drunk at 14 and bringing food home to help feed the family before 18. People have lived far worst and people have lived far less; none of which is unimportant, its all on how you learn the lessons...

I wander. At some point around 26-27, I had this fantastically lame brained idea that buying an RV and exploring my home country working odd jobs for fuel and food cash, would be a fabulous idea. Being a nomad sounded so romantic and exciting. Bring it on back to the now; me, bored shit less working a desk job at head cellular company, writing over 600 reviews on Yelp.com and starting up to 3 blogs, all to sustain the mind numbing self consuming brain deteriorating rot that had become my life, all from my desk at $20 per hour rate. the point of all this babble? I realized my life is dull and unsatisfying. I enroll in an art school i drooled over in high school, shit hits the fan with the family and i pack up and leave Seattle for the familiar confines of California. More shit hits the fan in useless boring details that don't really matter, suffice to say...I am now...a nomad. 

Long story short, I must live the simple life of poverty and do school online until I can get full funding. I am sleeping on couches and floors. Don't cry for me Argentina...er Riverside. It was rough at first but after a few months, you get in a groove. I am embracing this life of nomad, no home, go where I please(literally randomly getting off an exit to drive through a random cute town), see what I want but all for a price...and there is no longer a hurry for me to be in one place anymore.

Life from your trusty modern day steed, the car, is one of long in depth conversations with your soul. You notice more...fresh cut fields through Oregon; the way life coats the green in Washington, a wet organic smell you just want to soak through your very pores; having the ocean's scent carried through a breeze and hitting your senses; randomness on every corner of your ocular view. I've had friends say I'm lucky to have the freedom to up and go, as well as the balls to leave everything behind. This life in a car becomes a rolling motion picture on all four corners of your metal steed. 80+mph becomes the norm, 55-60+mph becomes a crawl. You for tell the best spots for cops. You learn that baby wipes and an iPod are your best friends and you wish that you had a better camera with an amazing lens to capture it all on paper and not just your mind's eye. 

Heartless Bastards "Into the Open" has become my nomad theme song:

I just want to go

But I didn't wanna let go

I just want to go

But I didn't wanna let go

And I find myself

In a fleeting moment

Traveling far and wide

To the great big open

Things are coming into focus

Things are coming into focus

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

On

All of this time I was searching

Searching for my home

And I discovered

Home is where I am

And I find myself

Here in the meadow

Of a great divide

And in the moment

Things are coming into focus

Things are coming into focus

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

I've got wind in my face

And it's getting me on

On

All of this time I was searching

Searching for my home

And I discovered

Home is where I am

 

Coulrophobia

So I've gone and done it...joined the circus, became a carnie and gave up my corporate threads to live life as a vagabond, hustling unsuspecting spectators as the incredible tattooed lady, living a peaceful life with my incredible tattooed boyfriend and tattooed dog. Never mind that I secretly draw on more tattoos than I actually have with my Prismacolor markers; just don't get me wet, kthx! 

In this circus, they have offered me an opportunity to improve my lifestyle by studying art and fashion. I think they're secretly hoping I will design and produce all new costumes for the troupe. Perhaps a classier look will bring more ticket sales, but in all honestly, I'm not sure I can make the fat lady attractive; not to mention the amount of fabric they'd have to buy for her costume...lordie.

(my sister Carla, makes the best fried chicketn)

So I have started classes online, yes, the carnie's have wifi, it is 2009 after all. Classes seem to be going well, I'm not favoring one teacher in particular and I've had to turn down offers from our resident snake charmer to leave her a slithering present...

(Thurston's Ironic mustache gets all the ladies)

(Bob is popular in the gay community)

You thought I was joking...

In my previous post, I thought I was joking too...

low and behold, my little discovery under my bed...

UNICORN BITCHES!!!

North American Scum

If you’re in need of some upbeat music you can shake your booty to, while doing the tediously horrendous task of packing your living quarters…

May I suggest?
LCD Soundsystem
Sound of Silver

I have written about this group before, the brain child of James Murphy…I believe it was one of my first posts, in fact. Any who…highly recommended you see them live, all instruments played and a wee bonnie lass on the turn tables. WORD

I would also like to give a big “WHAT UP” shout out to the FREE Seattle periodical “The Stranger”. They are being highly supportive in my move by supplying me with their loving arms of FREE paper to wrap my stuff in.

So here’s to you, tranny section: for wrapping your loving crossed gendered legs around my breakables

Here’s to you, tranny section: for laying your testical-breast-living-cohesively-on-one-body, around my sentimental crap because I’m too much of a pack rat to truly just throw my shit out to the less fortunate...who, lets face it, could CLEARLY use, a porcelain unicorn on their nightstand

Here’s to you Stranger: for providing me with the too perfect asses of those trannies with the horrific boob jobs, bad make up and sometimes surprisingly big packages, for my entertainment while I handle the shitty task of once again, packing my brick a brack on the road to nomad land.

You’re supper duper

You already know, how this will end...

Music is to me, what it is to probably everyone…a place card or a folded page for a bookmark in time. We get pleasant or not so pleasant remembrances of moments past and cherished, when a marker reaches our ears again. Unfolding something we may have forgotten….or pushed down. It materializes like a mist…”oh yeah, I remember when”.

Sometimes a song can play perfectly to a moment, like your own personal soundtrack. Case in point: leaving on a rushed flight from San Francisco back to Seattle. My mind was a writhing tape worm feeding on my congested thoughts, gorging and producing yet more thoughts in its waste. The whole flight was spent staring out my window above the clouds, thinking, thinking….thinking. What’s next? I must admit, I’ve forced myself into the notion of ‘nomad’ by packing a van and leaving California. Even moving to Seattle, a city I’ve loved for as long as I can remember, I still found it difficult to get a stronghold; or roots, making it truly feel like home. I don’t believe I ever thought Washington as my final resting place. And as such, I’ve trashed about in my mind as to how long I would stay and the realization that this move, this destination, is nothing but a stepping stone to the next thing in my quest for happiness. Ultimately, it’s been a reboot for me; an adventure, a much needed break from the norm.

What does this have to do with music? As the plane descended through the clouds, Devotchka’s “How it Ends” began to play with its familiar organ notes, joined by accordion, joined by piano…building and building. I use to get excited flying into Seattle, this time I felt sadness. Having just spent a comfortable weekend in the bay area soaking up some much needed sun; I was reminded what it felt like to be on the California coastline, in a city I have always harbored a joy for…once this song came on, I just felt sadness. Yes, I do know how this ends…it ends with me moving, yet again.

Just when this song reaches a strong point with Nick Urata belting out (plane descending) “aaaand you already know…how…this…will end”, (plane descending) “YOU ALREADY KNOW...how this will end”(tires thudding) the plane touched down perfectly on that last note: “end”; violins picking up and carrying you to the finish. Perfect ending to my silent anguished thoughts; what next Mel? I’m still figuring out the fine details, but nomad is once again in my future.

No fears, just titillation for yet another adventure. I do however feel restlessness for something new to begin, things to unfold, desires to be met, dreams of happiness to come to fruition. Whereas Arcade Fire was my exit music from California…I am thinking Devotchka will be my usher out of Washington. To be precise, “the Last Beat of my Heart” seems fitting for such an emotional movement…Washington has a special spot in my heart, until that last beat