Archive for the ‘Onward and Sideways’ Category

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Rockin’ and Reelin’

August 26, 2008

My new favorite song, Northern Line by Opal:

I’m dreaming on a night train
It’s only been a light rain, and a darkened sky and a starry night
I’m humming on a cold train
I’m singing about the wreck of the Old 97

And I’m walking through this city
I’ll tell my story to the rain
And I won’t come back no matter what you say

I’m feeling no pain
I don’t care if I ever see your face again
I’m riding on a Northern Line
I got no money – but I got a lot of time to spend

And I’m walking through this city
Yeah I’ll tell my story to the rain
And I won’t come back no matter what you say
No I won’t come back no matter what you say

After a recent crash-n-burn with a friend I never dreamed I could have a falling out with, Mr. Twittles suddenly reappeared. An email after months of nothing. Rather than starting another firestorm, I decided to answer with a graceful if non-commital reply. Non-commital seems to be what people want, or at the very least, what they can handle. So that’s what they’ll get until I get a clear signal otherwise. Which I don’t think I’m going to get.

This leaves me with my music and singing, which means more to me than anything. A and I are back on regular rehearsal schedule again, in spite of his job and apartment hopping. I forgive him because he is adrift in the fast-moving stream of life and I’ve been there. I’m pretty sure he’ll settle soon, and as long as he makes rehearsals, I don’t care what he does with his own life, as long as he’s clean and not hitting me up for money.

We will record in mid September. And then up goes the web site. I plan to shoot a lot of video footage, and have music vids on our site.

I have an audition next week for a backup/lead singer position with a cover band. I am making huge strides with the new coach I’ve been working with. He gets pop music, and I am learning how to transform all the training I’ve had into something that works for these genres.

I persist, although my heart is broken.

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I Go to the Quarry for Milk

August 9, 2008

From time to time, I seem to insist on banging my head against walls, and looking for things that I can never have and am not going to get. I’m always surprised at my capacity to do this, over and over again, when I know better.

I’m like a puppy, running towards that outstretched hand that I’m sure is the one I seek… only to have it slap down, hard.

I’ve hit a new low this week, not sure how I’m going to get myself out of this one. I’ve always had a way out before, I’ve had my drugs of choice that always did the trick… but I’m not sure this time. I’ve thought about suicide twice in the last few weeks. I’ve only been down there once before, and this feels lower than that. I don’t think I’m going to do it, but the feeling is real.

I seem to seek a friendship that doesn’t exist. So, examine what you seek, is what they say. I’ve examined it. I don’t think that I’m asking for all that much, I really don’t. And I am disappointed, time and time again. I thought this time I’d try someone I thought I could really count on. Someone who could be there for me.

Perhaps the truth of things is this: no one is going to be there for you. No one. So get used to it. Get used to being alone, ’cause that’s what you got.

Guess I just need to get used to it. No, actually, I am used to it. I just didn’t know that I’d have to accept it.

Good morning heartache
You old gloomy sight
Good morning heartache
Thought we said goodbye last night
I turned and tossed until it seems you heve gone
But here you are with the dawn
Wish I’d forget you, but you’re here to stay
It seems I met you
When my love went away
Now everyday I stop and I’m saying to you
Good morning heartache, what’s new

Stop haunting me now
Cant shake you nohow
Just leave me alone
I’ve got those Monday blues
Straight to Sunday blues
Good morning heartache
Here we go again
Good morning heartache
You’re the one
Who knows me well
Might as well get use to you hanging around
Good morning heartache
Sit down

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Mecca Awaits…

October 15, 2007

iloveny1.jpeg

therefore, I must go. I’m a little freaked out about this trip. Le husband is sure I will be happy as a clam once there. I will see my brother who has peace [for now] with Prednisone. I am very, very, very worried about him. Please God, do not take him from me too soon. It will break something in me that I don’t know can be repaired. I’m trying to think of the fact that bumming around NYC with him is actually kind of a dream come true.

Singing is much better. An excellent lesson on Saturday. La Dolce’s husband sat in, and somehow, it was the kick in the pants I needed. I had breakthroughs. I will be studying with him while LD is off blowing ’em away. I like his vibe, and I’m pretty damn sure he won’t be hitting on me, so all is good.

Strangely enough, the woman whose flat I’m renting is a singer, and there is a piano in the flat. Perhaps this was all meant to be. Except I’m seriously beginning to not believe in that shit any more.

This week’s tumult has crystallized a truth in my scrambled little head: Everyone is crazy. With each relationship, you simply have to decide, is this the kind of crazy I can handle? If not, you’ll know exactly what to do, babies.

Till next time…

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On Second Thought, Who Needs Her?

October 8, 2007

I’ve learned when sad or feeling bitter as I am today, to turn to beauty. I just sang for the first time in almost 10 weeks. There were some nice sounds, and also much work to be done. Blacklightblue shall perservere, as always. My time in NYC, I realized, will be well spent spoiling myself with all kinds of sensory wonders, and lo and behold, the flat, I just learned has a piano. So there will be singing too. Seems meant to be, ya’ know? And what better than a flat in Manhattan to get a few more pages of that story you’ve been working on since last year written? Maybe I’ll make some serious progress.

And finally, here are words that I love. Ted Kooser, former American Poet Laureate. What a noble title. And he deserves it. When I read this, I just want to be on that road, waving to somebody… Enjoy, babies.

And P.S. Donna: you are a friend, and I look forward to getting to know you better, too. Thanks for commenting today, it helped.

So This Is Nebraska
The gravel road rides with a slow gallop
over the fields, the telephone lines
streaming behind, its billow of dust
full of the sparks of redwing blackbirds.

On either side, those dear old ladies,
the loosening barns, their little windows
dulled by cataracts of hay and cobwebs
hide broken tractors under their skirts.

So this is Nebraska. A Sunday
afternoon; July. Driving along
with your hand out squeezing the air,
a meadowlark waiting on every post.

Behind a shelterbelt of cedars,
top-deep in hollyhocks, pollen and bees,
a pickup kicks its fenders off
and settles back to read the clouds.

You feel like that; you feel like letting
your tires go flat, like letting the mice
build a nest in your muffler, like being
no more than a truck in the weeds,

clucking with chickens or sticky with honey
or holding a skinny old man in your lap
while he watches the road, waiting
for someone to wave to. You feel like

waving. You feel like stopping the car
and dancing around on the road. You wave
instead and leave your hand out gliding
larklike over the wheat, over the houses.

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The Professional

July 13, 2007

New day, new teacher. I definitely made the right move in chucking the old and getting in the new. My lesson today was very good. Hard, but good.

I have no intentions of becoming an opera singer, although I would love to do it… but it’s not going to happen at my age. And while I know I do have a nice voice, I’m just not sure it’s opera worthy. It may be too early in the game to decide that… local opera might be an option. But time will tell. For now, I just want to settle with a good teacher.

I may end up studying with this man’s wife, most likely will. She is also a professional, sings with a local opera [which I think is just darling, I picture them making spaghetti and cooing luscious love songs to each other all night long] and he said he thought it might be better to work with a soprano. So… I meet with her on Sunday and we’ll see how that goes. If nothing else, today confirmed that I got myself out of a bad situation and will hopefully soon be in a much better one.

Have to mention this, although I’m not entirely sure I believe him: he said he was impressed with my voice. That was very nice to hear from A Professional. Wish I knew if he really mean it, or if he was just easing the blow of passing me off to his wife so that he could take on better students. Dontcha’ hate thoughts like that… sheesh!

So… that all sounds neat and tidy and emotionally healthy, doesn’t it?

Wanna’ hear the rest?

{Warning for the faint of heart, none of what follows will be neat and pretty, but it will be the truth:}

I miss my old teacher. I miss his looks and gazes and the longing I saw in his eyes and his dark hair, so black and thick and the moments we had where it felt like there was some sort of connection, something very deep between us. I miss the sunshine coming into the practice room through the grungy window of funky old studio building. I miss his five o’clock shadow as it gently scratched my cheek when he would kiss me goodbye. I miss the way he would say ‘hey beautiful!’ when he saw me, and I don’t think I will ever forget the way he looked at me at our second to last lesson, the one before he became so cold and distant, when I walked in the room. My heart jumped when our eyes met, his gaze was so intent and seemed so full of… what I think was longing… for me? It surely seemed so.

Was it all just an illusion? In terms of real love, it most definitely was, romantic love is nothing more than an illusion. It’s when you’re really with someone [as I actually am now, I am married, happily so — and darling, do try not to be scandalized by my feelings for another man, I would have never let it get out of hand. I think. Gulp.] that you learn what real love is. And like the song goes, I know what love is…

I fantasize that he will send me an email or call or better yet, show up at an upcoming concert that I know he knows I am singing in. In my fantasy, he will be hurt and tortured and desperate to speak to me and will wait for me after the performance, with his lovesick eyes and he will want to know why I disappeared and would I please come back…?

It’s a little sick, I’m fully aware. But he sucked me in good to his game. And his game is good.

He will not call. He will not write. He will not have lovesick eyes. This is how these men roll and frankly, I’m rollin’ in a much different direction these days. Happily so.

So, my darling Blackbeard… you will never know my sweet kisses and how lovely my skin smells up close and the way I make love like a goddess and that I’m somebody you can really trust who will never leave you, although I’ll probably piss you off for one reason or another. But you’ll forgive me, because I’m worth it. And because I forgive you. And most of all, you will never hear me learn to really sing, because you and I both know I can. And I will. But it won’t be for your ears. Not any more.

No, you’ll never know those things because I gave them to someone else. Someone who waited patiently for me to deal with this and move on. Thank. God.

I leave you all — including you, N — with a lovely song by Koop. Cool tune, check it out:

Koop Island Blues
Hello my love
It’s getting cold on this island
I’m sad alone
I’m so sad on my own
The truth is
We were much too young
Now I’m looking for you
Or anyone like you

We said goodbye
With the smile on our faces
Now you’re alone
You’re so sad on your own
The truth is
We run out of time
Now you’re looking for me
Or anyone like me

Hello my love
It’s getting cold on this island
I’m sad alone
I’m so sad on my own
The truth is
We were much too young
Now I’m looking for you
Or anyone like you

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Next

July 12, 2007

I have a lesson with a new teacher today. This is a big deal in many ways as I fired my previous teacher on Tuesday. I stumbled on the new teacher’s ad on a local message board and he seems to be everything I am looking for, and all that I am not. I am hopeful.

I am coming off of 4 months with the other teacher which was an experience I will not soon forget. Before I realized what was really happening, I was completely sucked into this man’s game. I should mention first and foremost that he is very, very handsome and has what appears to be an exceptionally sweet personality, at least when you first meet him, on top of his skills as a singer and teacher. He knows he has these qualities and uses them to the utmost.

It started with him blatantly checking me out and making comments on my appearance at our very first lesson. It continued with a lot more remarks, him giving me ‘hugs and kisses’ after lessons, lots of emotional stroking during some lessons, even bordering on outright flirtation, only to turn around at the following lesson and treat me with distance, coldness and boredom. He ate during our lessons, which is considered to be highly, highly unprofessional [along with the kissing and physical contact] and while he is a very good singer and clearly knows what he’s doing… come Monday night, enough was enough for me.

I’m not sure exactly what did it… but I suddenly awoke from the dream I was in with him. His seductive ways had completely sucked me in, but on Monday, something snapped in me. I called the school where I was taking lessons, paid for the last one and canceled all the others. I have not heard from either him or the school, and I don’t think I’m going to. I realized just how sucked into his game I had been when I found myself daydreaming of how shocked, hurt and surprised when he learned that I, his star pupil, the one who was really getting his bel canto technique, suddenly disappeared.

I can picture what his reaction most likely will be: ah, her… yeah, well… she’s never going to make it anyway. Nice rack but… the bel canto was probably too much for her, no one really wants to make the effort to really learn how to sing any more… next!

No baby, it is I who have nexted you! If you only knew…