Thus hath the candle singed the moth.
O these deliberate fools! When they do choose,
They have the wisdom by their wit to lose.
This passage is from Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Portia is basically saying when given a choice, they end up losing, referencing the males by calling them fools for doing so. Fools for being moths drawn to a flame, when everyone knows moths circle a flame until eventually it is consumed by it. We are to learn from the age-old moth. It is necessary to point out all things we're drawn to consume us. Is it then not by choice, but by fate? By nature's law, are we to be destroyed by things that blind us with allure? You are a fool if you let yourself sink that low, and I do admit I have been. It is shameful when you resist the urge to trust all instinct telling you to keep away from that flame. Somehow, we end up there again. Somehow I know the outcome, but yet I linger flapping franticly around it. Until you burn do you learn to stay away for good. It's like being a kid and touching a hot frying pan. Never again. Because once you've turned to ash, the flame is no longer as intoxicating.
maybe that is what fate has in store. To LIVE AGAIN ONLY TO PERISH BY that FIRE.
FOOLISH, WITH WISDOM LOST EVERY DAmn time.
I caught the HBO special on everyone’s favorite crooner, ‘ol blue eyes. It was so moving, I absolutely loved how it showed so many more sides of him than I ever knew. I have a special love for Sinatra that runs so deep, I had a photograph of his mug shot taped to my wall for years. The crime he was arrested for? Seduction, of all things. I used to listen to his songs during my lowest lows, my teen angst and depression being soothed by his sound like lullabies hushing my sadness to sleep. I still do, and although the mug shot is gone I have three of his vinyls on my wall now, each depicting a sullen Sinatra sitting at a bar, drinking scotch and smoking a cigarette. I think my fascination lies within his Jersey roots, him being from Hoboken always felt like his spirit loomed right in my backyard. I can always hear his voice carry over all of the modern day white noise I’m stuck with. More than any recording artist or movie star, Frank brings my nostalgia to another level. It makes me want to crawl into a time machine back to 1945 so bad, I could cry. Even when he struggled with his own demons; The press judging his every move, alcoholism, and the decline of his success in music…he rose above every hurdle with grace and dignity. He came back only to give us his greatness, which only further proves we can’t be at our best without having been at our lowest. He will forever be one of the musicians I most admire…for his sophistication, for his conviction…
but mostly for that iconic voice.
Little Red has been laid to rest. She is an immortal entity not gone for good, but her and the entire world she existed in has folded up shop. I've got to let go. I have to cut the ties of this odd mother-child relationship. I clung to this for quite a long time, nurturing it as it sprouted it's own ideas and veins that pumped more brilliance into it's meaning. I'm just not in a place to give it the life it deserves, and the world is simply not ready to hear it. however it is not my end-all, be all. I have not exhausted all my creative juices into one project. Maybe I feared I had, and my desperation to finish it came from wanting to move on, so it could no longer haunt me. The journey I took to write this album taught me so much of my own character, and helped me grow beyond any limitations I ever put on myself. Working on the material for so long put me in this sort of fog, but it's where I feel my creativity was really fine-tuned . The truth is I have so much more to give, so much more to share. Just because Little Red is hanging up her cape, doesn't mean I'm hanging up mine. There's still fight left in me, and it's going to get bloody. until next time, red.
I am guilty of being a 'fifty shades' fan. I read the three part series some time ago and as far as erotica goes I can admit it wasn't a literary masterpiece, but it has undoubtedly had an affect on me and our pop culture. It came as no surprise that a film was in the works, and I actually embraced it (even the casting choice for Mr. Grey). For those who have read this book, I'm sure you can guess where my true frustration lies. The graphic nature of the work, along with the high expectations by fans to keep it as true as possible is what surprised me most about the rating. I assumed from the beginning this film was a clear NC-17. Yes, it could be argued that a film with that rating will not reach a wide audience due to limited theatre showings. I did read there would be an NC-17 version, however released later on after the initial R version. But honestly, with the hype surrounding this entire series, I'm surprised they did not take into account what drew the massive following in to begin with, and did not use it to their advantage. Instead, we only got the R rated version of this story, where all the sexually explicit fat is trimmed, until we're left with the romantic love story backdrop. I myself just watched it tonight, and it was exactly what I expected: the sex scenes played out with Anastasia Steele (Dakota Johnson) in all her naked glory, and no peek at what Mr. Grey (Jamie Dornan) was packing (to be fair, we got about a second of bush). My question is what is it going to take for hollywood to level out the playing field? This film would have been a wonderful opportunity to open the public up to the idea that male genitalia shown in film doesn't have to be raunchy or pornographic. Too bad the attitude of our leading man doesn't help:
"You want to appeal to as wide an audience as possible without grossing them out. You don’t want to make something gratuitous, and ugly, and graphic…"
Whichever woman feels "grossed out" by the sight of a penis on the big screen shouldn't and won't be watching this movie. not to mention This film didn't need a wider audience, in fact the intention of it...well, it's just shady. This series sold roughly ninety-two million copies and was translated into fifty two languages. Releasing this film under an NC-17 rating would have still raked in millions. I could understand if we were talking about a lesser known pioneer (Here's where I mention the brilliant Lars Von Trier's Nymphomaniac) however this film had generated more than enough buzz so what's the real reason? Is it wild to imagine that women who read these books actually expected and rather wanted to see these fantasies play out realistically? Instead of celebrating this open curiosity women have encountered by reading, we're making the idea of seeing it come to life tasteless and perverse. The fact is, full-frontal nudity provided by a male actor is one of pure shock and horror, even if nobody bats an eyelash at female breasts, or even bush making an appearance now and then. Granted, I might be coming off a little harsh as I'm sure certain audience members who aren't used to seeing such material might have fainted at the sight of an erect Christian Grey. Because of this, it would have made sense to have filmed and released both versions at the same time for those with a more experienced palate, such as myself. I am pleading with hollywood to wake up to the inequality of nudity in film. It's a very pathetically outdated notion considering the impact Fifty shades and it's descriptive nature has had on women of all walks of life. It's just not fair. I say, when you're a filmmaker lucky enough to know your audience and what they want, just give it to them. I do hope they'll consider this for the next two films or else they can expect an angry mob made up of horny housewives and twenty-somethings like myself.
I cannot reside here without affirmation. I cannot be part of the regime without falling to the feet of the leader. I cannot march with the soldiers without pledging my loyalty to the movement. But what if the movement is my own too? What if it was started in my bedroom, behind closed doors before anyone could understand? i assumed eventually i would have to bend my own rules and put a cap on my expectations. I always knew I had to prove myself until the very end. I always knew this life would hold many obstacles. i'll admit though, I expected to find compassion, and to be nurtured eventually. all movements need sustenance, the force that drives it growing stronger each day. sometimes we need motivation outside of ourselves to remind us the POSSIBILITIES are real. your destiny is also my own, because we share the same dream. We want the world to pay attention. I am not a traitor to the cause, or a false follower. I am devoted to the movement because we are the movement.
I'd like to make a toast. Dedicated to the new year, but also to the one we leave behind. A toast for all those who suffer from boredom and loneliness, and are therefore determined to making a change happen within the next three hundred and sixty-three days. I find the most hopeful people are those that have come out of their darkest hour unscathed. I'd like to make a toast to fresh starts and clean slates. Laying the past to rest, and recognizing what will be will be. I do believe life has a very distinct pattern of highs and lows. Like gravity, when what goes up ultimately comes down. So if you had yourself a rather lackluster 2014, keep your chin up and look on to the future. It is warm and bright if you'll only shed the light on it. Nothing drags us down more than a negative perspective...not even gravity.
Happy New Year
Passionate young lady seeking a well-mannered, good humored gentleman. Must be open-minded, free to be influenced by experience, and intriguing enough to keep me on my toes. A sparkling conversationalist lacking pretentious thought or overbearing opinion. Accepting and trusting, but not to be walked all over. A man with grit and brawn, but gentle vulnerability. A man who picks the restaurant, and buys you flowers for no reason. A man who offers to pick you up from work so you won't be cold waiting for the train. A man who pays for your coffee, or at least offers. A man who notices when you've cut your hair, and compliments all the little things about yourself nobody notices. A man who makes me pleased to please him. A man I can be myself with, who passes no judgement but gives the best subjective advice when needed. A genuine man who won't make you play games. A man who gives me chills, but won't use it against me. A man who doesn't listen to EDM on his car rides to work, drinks jager bombs, or plays beer pong. A man who doesn't show his friends that nude pic you e-mailed him. A man that doesn't pretend to show interest only to stop all communication, providing no honest reason. A man who sticks to his laurels please, and no more wishy-washy arrogance. If this dream man exists somewhere in the universe, please feel free to drop a line.
Passive-aggressive, psychotic, obsessive, lying, immature, boy-men need not reply.
I used to love the holidays. There was a time when the wreaths that hung on doors, all the christmas trees that glowed in the windows, and all the lights excited me. I enjoyed that christmas felt like it lasted all month long, encouraging people to be a little nicer and less naughty even if there wasn't a Santa (whom I actually believed in until I was about twelve). Then I grew older, worked a couple years in retail and all the magic of Christmas was gone. These days, the closest we get to a miracle on 34th street is grabbing the last fifty inch flatscreen half off. I have seen the ugly side of the holidays. When the greedy in us rears it's ugly head and has us standing in crazy lines and showing up for black friday on Thanksgiving night before we've barely digested our turkey dinner. It's not entirely our faults, though. The driving force behind the consumerism in this country is to draw us further away from the heart of the holidays, or rather cloak it all in materialism. At the very least, we should be kind to one another, to love those closer to you a little more and appreciate their existence, as well as your own. To show gratitude for the little things, and remind ourselves some have it far worse. Remember, while you're scoring all those deals on black friday (but really thursday) most of the employees helping you left their families at home on Thanksgiving, and spent the evening making sure all you shoppers got what you 'needed'. So next time you're catching that warm and fuzzy commercial that's advertising a one day department store sale remember what it's really about. And always be nice to your sales associates.
One of my most treasured methods of self healing was writing letters i'd never send. never meant to be read, or seen by the eyes my words were directed to. it is my favorite coping mechanism that allows me to say everything i need to, in all my gloriously clever ways without being interrupted or losing my train of thought. almost like free association writing about my pain, or anger, etc. i even wrote a song about it once long ago, ORCHESTRATED by a more general, "to whom it may concern" agenda. i haven't done this in quite some time though, and I even managED to somehow step outside my comfort zone and actually mail one of these elusive letters. not that i regret it or anything, but it certainly didn't reach the party in the way it was supposed to and didn't help my cause much. come to think of it, i had this peculiar dream around the time i sent the letter that sort of speaks volumes now, but i didn't completely understand at the time. I remember seeing a room filled with nothing but letters hung up on the walls, and in piles on the floor. Actual physical letters of the alphabet, all 26 randomly hanging around not really spelling anything but just garishly THERE. something caused this very room to BECOME suddenly infested with all kinds of insects. I WAS forced to hire an exterminator, because the insects were spilling out into the rest of the house. a house that of course looks nothing like my own, as it often does in dreams. anyway, i think now i understand tHE LETTERS HOUSED IN THIS ROOM REPRESENTED EVERYTHING I EVER SAID OR WANTED TO SAY, ALL THE WORDS I NEEDED TO BUILD, WHILE THE INFESTATION WAS SYMBOLIC OF ALL THE INTENTION BEHIND THEM ROTTING AWAY. I HAD TO FUMIGATE ALL THE NEGATIVITY. i think this dream came to me to remind me to REBUILD THOSE words, WITH NEW INTENTION.
TO WRITE LETTERS AGAIN FOR NO ONE BUT MYSELF.
Today is this blog's one year anniversary! a commitment i've made to something should always be celebrated, so I wanted to reflect on why I felt inclined to begin a blog of this nature in the first place. Looking back on some of my posts there is a definite ongoing theme, most of it intentional and the rest just plain old ranting and venting. it makes me want to thank those who have been curious enough to take a peek. Although this isn't my sole outlet of expression, it is much different than anything else i do. I hope the tone and the pace urges you to read in between the lines, to read beyond the personal things i admit to my anonymous readers. This little site i call home has almost become a confessional box. every post being a little paper i scrawl on, fold in half and stuff inside. Embellishing on your secrets publicly while still keeping them a secret is a true art. so for those who have tuned in for a while, i thank you again. and for those who have stumbled upon my words ACCIDENTALLY, i hope it tickles your voyeuristic pleasures enough to keep coming back for more.
To end every sentence there is a period. Flames burn out, every book has a closing chapter, and for every film the credits roll. Everything ends all in good time. But what happens when forces cause it all to drag, like some endless carousel that continues to turn whether there are passengers or not? What do I have to do to get off the ride? we must be aware when life reaches out and allows us to let go of something. there is a click, a moment when the light bulb goes on and you see the truth. The hard part is figuring out how and sticking to your guns, as it is a grueling process. to be instigated, and yet rise above it is no easy task. SURE, MY WILL POWER IS TESTED DAILY. OF COURSE THERE ARE THINGS I COULD DO BETTER TO ABRUPTLY PUT THIS CYCLE TO AN END. But then those moments come when you question if it is truly time to let go. Am i ready? You are if you're asking yourself. Just face it, you can almost see it fade to black. It's time to submit to the hard truth, succumb to the final point...
all endings come with new beginnings.
My fairy-tale is fated towards disappointment. It takes place in no kingdom, no grand palace. There is no satin pillow to rest my head. There is no charmed courtship, no scent of roses. No title, no crown to suit my rank. It lacks all the things one love's about a good fairy-tale. Although, It surely suffers from it's cliches. The subtext being as fragile as a slipper made of glass, it's a grim representation of the fantasy in the tale. Evil spells and wrong turns. Getting lost as time runs out and the clock strikes it all downhill. Sweeping up ashes, and living in shadows. I guess if the shoe fits one should wear it. When the last final page is flipped and the book closes, I only hope it will stand as a reminder. A lesson to learn from the way all tall tales are meant to.
Happily every after.
My spark is back. I am re-ignited by all the potential. Being surrounded by those which have inspired me and supported me is undoubtedly the best thing that has happened to me. It's really happening. All the hard work I've put into this project, all the soul I have poured into the music. All the treachery that has plagued my wounded heart will soon be paying off. The prophecy is almost fulfilled, these characters I have built will soon be revealed. The story will unfold in the most lovely packaging, with only the most poetic prose. My Grand Opus will soon find you all. Nothing will be the same. I won't be the same.
Flashback to three years ago, when I had just begun to find myself artistically, and allowed my imagination to take me for a ride. When I used everything I had, every naive notion to exploit my personal life. I don't know why I always felt driven to prove a point. To simply say, "this is what I meant, this is what was going through my head." To romanticize my sadness and ridiculous mistakes. To transform my mundane existence into a hollywood movie. By this point, the role of mad villain seemed to look good on me, and I ran with it. It changed me creatively, it made me feel like I could do anything. The woman that lost her shit was really a young girl who lacked experience and wisdom to pull herself out of her guilt. I remember this song didn't come to me right away, it took a great deal of pondering and marinating. Why was it that I did what I had done? Why had I felt caged, and cornered into holding on to what I had already let go of? I wrote it to set myself free of the guilt of wanting more. Wanting something new. I remember dying to know what it felt like to be in love. My little teenage heart beat like that of a hopeless romantic, waiting to be whisked away by it all. But by the time I had written this song, I felt crazy for wanting to throw it away on a whim. I felt crazy for being so in love one moment, and completely over it the next. I felt so cold, and worried if it would be like that forever. The fact of the matter is, love is a subject hammered into little girls early and thoroughly. There is neglect in the gesture of leaving out the little details growing up, that sometimes wanting other things is more important. That love will find itself to you, and your job in life is seeking out your own happiness. Make yourself the strong female you're going to need to be when love knocks on your door. Know who you are and what you want before someone comes along and causes you to question it. My first love was wonderful, and epic. But I was so dependent on it for a while, that I longed for independence. I wanted to need nobody. There is no guilt, or shame in that. The truth is, this theme perfectly correlates to my current existence. Love is fine and dandy, but not if you're going to lose your shit.
Unless of course losing your shit helps you write songs.
This is coincidentally a follow-up of my last post. It should be titled "This explains it all" because it only makes sense this watery moon cycle would drown me. Duh. This article was so eye-opening it helped me understand. I'm even more thrilled my newly purchased crystals are being cleansed this very moment under the symbolic supermoon. I've been feeling drained lately because I am. I released all these emotional toxins and I'm still not through. Self-healing is a journey worth taking. Which I hope finds you all tonight, being cleansed under moonlight, starting fresh with a clean slate.
Last night a strange feeling washed over me. It was so strong it carried into today, creeping like a fog over my thoughts. They are a powerful thing, our thoughts. I spend too much time dwelling on things that make me unhappy. Mistakes, outcomes I feel I can't control...my current reality. A positive outlook keeps us afloat, and always wins out in the end. But sometimes I get so tired, I wish I could sleep forever. I realize a lot of my positive affirmation is a ploy to gloss over my pain, lacking genuine intent and manipulating myself to believe I'm making progress instead. I do certain things like going out and drinking, dancing; Because in my head a good night is the best distraction. Attention is the best distraction. That mental block disintegrated last night. Nothing can distract me long enough from the core problem. The unsettling feeling that my unhappiness is self-inflicted. That I could at any time, change my outlook, or focus and put my stubborn heart to rest. That I have so much to look forward to, so many opportunities and gifts from the universe. Yet, I torture myself by thinking of everything I don't have. Sometimes, I'm so sad I feel almost sick. But I realize I am my own cure. My dreams and ambitions acting as medicinal hope, because I wasn't put here with these visions from the better part of my brain not to breathe them into existence. I wasn't put here to be consumed by sadness, and not overcome it.
I used to watch this movie endlessly as a kid. I'd hoped someday I'd know the feeling of being part of a sisterhood. A lasting friendship, to span decades and share everything with. Luckily, I did...I grew to have an intense, everlasting bond with my group of girls. Such different personalities, like those from Now & Then, but so much in common. Sure we tease each other, poke fun at the deepest personal things outsiders don't know; We argue and bicker. You do what it takes to keep it alive throughout the years, fighting tough times and lows. There is, however unconditional love and support at the end of the day. Through thick and thin, we stick it out because without them life would just not be the same. Even if one of us tells the other to fuck off, we're always here. No matter what.