It wasn’t long, long ago I fooled the guards, but someone tipped them off But all my cards aside, the bells still rang No charms, no claims No good for goodness sake
White asparagus is not just some variant form of the green spikes most of us know so well; it’s just green asparagus that has been completely starved and deprived of light during its growing season. That doesn’t mean it is less; in fact, it contains much the same levels of fiber and nutrients and all the good things that asparagus supplies. But it looks different. It’s been through more.
Oh, I don’t wanna run and hide I don’t wanna live a lie I?need the spotlight Like a bird inside a cage Exotic, but covered up with lace If what they say is true There’s no place for me and you But when I walk my walk When I put my makeup on Look at me, look at me Don’t you see your queen?
When mother left, the halls did cry As for the world, it went on like before But time passed, and the band began to play First, there was light, then there was sound Then all the stars came out
Some have warned that this is not the time to speak out and attract notice. Some have said it’s better to be silent, to take no side, to make no noise. Some have never even more wrong. This moment in history calls upon us to be more ourselves than we’ve ever been before. To boldly proclaim our right to exist, to live, to love – and to defy anyone standing in our way. Live and let live, or perish trying to prevent us from doing the same.
Oh, I don’t wanna run and hide I don’t wanna live a lie I need a spotlight Like a bird inside a cage Bright-eyed and longing for the stage If what they say is true There’s no place for me and you But when I walk my walk (But you better give up before you die) When I put my makeup on (Doesn’t matter who you are) Look at me, look at me Don’t you see a queen?
Too often we diminish ourselves, making our existence smaller to please others, dimming our own light as not to over shine anyone else. Fuck that. Fuck all of that in the most fucking heinous way possible. Skull-fuck it through the goddamn eye sockets of anyone who sees it that way.
There’s an empty seat That’s where you’ll find me There’s a broken heel That’s where you’ll find me If the sun doesn’t shine on you Break your glass and cause a scene And tell the world, just wait, you’ll see There’s no more time to cry when the crowd’s right there
While the Lavender Scare gave no reasonable or sane reason to fear gay people, the Lilac Scare is here to turn that on its head – because people should be scared, very much scared, very much afraid and very much in terror about what we will do when attacked. But do not worry too much – it will be done beautifully, it will be done fabulously, it will be done gorgeously – and you won’t even feel the prick of metal slicing through skin until it’s too late.
When I walk my walk And when I put my makeup on Look at me, look at me Don’t you see your goddamn queen?
It has come to my attention that ‘Gaelic’ means something totally different than what I assumed all these crazy years. (Turns out not everything is about being gay – whoopsie daisy!) So on this day of shamrock shakes and pots of gold and little bearded green-suited men, here’s some music by Tulua, and a few pics of green heaven.
My one and only visit to the Emerald Isle was an enchanting one, and I still recall a very specific brush with the sublime there (and the eloquence I earned from making out with the Blarney Stone).
May your day be filled with magic and luck and all the charms.
When all the guests have departed and the fancy cocktail glasses have been carefully washed by hand and put away, a musical moment of calm descends as a song plays us into the end of the evening. The bouquet of flowers is still as fresh as when the night began; the candles have diminished slightly in height, and their smoke will soon be all that lingers in the air. It is a moment of afterglow, only ever-so-slightly tinged with remorse that it had arrived at an end.
We are not granted an infinite number of such nights, and I have learned not to take a single one of them for granted – each is a singular gift, never to be replicated or repeated, never to be had again, so I do my best to be present and mindful for all of them.
When the heart approaches fullness we come closest to brushing up against the sublime, and the sublime is often best experienced with good company. At the end of an evening, when all the guests have gone and the candles have been blown out, I sit in the dim living room, listening to Andy finish loading the dishwasher, watching the kitchen lights go out. He is still my favorite company, my treasured comfort, and the very best way to finish an evening.
I had a bad habit of missing lovers past My brother used to call it ‘eating out of the trash’ It’s never gonna last I thought my house was haunted – I used to live with ghosts And all the perfect couples said, “When you know you know.” And, “When you don’t you don’t.” And all of the foes and all of the friends Have seen it before, they’ll see it again Life is a song, it ends when it ends… I was wrong…
And then this song comes on like another bad habit with the best of intentions, not unlike this blog has been for much of the winter. A little obscure, a little forlorn, a little lacking in patience and compassion. A lot like the world right now. What else is there to do but get lost in a pop song? What else can anyone who is not in Congress actually do to change this country right now? We can dance, we can shout, we can let it all out, but in the end all we have to do is protect ourselves and our loved ones. Do what you can – maybe try to do a little more than you usually would given the unprecedented downfall of our country – and fight the good fight. You know what is right and wrong. You know what feels fishy and false. You see photos and videos and facts before you, even when some Orwellian despot is spewing lies about it right to your face, and the party goes along with it, adding to their riches while we all grow poorer. On some level, you know. If you don’t wish to acknowledge the truth of what is happening, that’s on you. If you’re ok with racism, hatred, violence, and pedophilia, that’s on you. If you can turn a blind eye and say you don’t follow politics and you wish people didn’t post about it, that’s on you.
…But my Mama told me It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite Oh my Lord never made no one like you before You had to make your own sunshine But now the sky is opalite
Wrapping such an upsetting world in a gauzy song of escapism may be its own form of rebellion, albeit it a rather minor and inconsequential one. A four-minute pop song was never going to save the world. Relying on someone else to do it won’t save the world either. And remaining quiet about it because you don’t want to upset anyone, well that actively works to ruin the world at a time when voices matter.
You couldn’t understand it – why you felt alone You were in it for real, she was in her phone, and you were just a pose And don’t we try to love love? We give it all we got You finally left the table, and what a simple thought You’re starving ’til you’re not. And all of the foes and all of the friends Have messed up before, they’ll mess up again Life is a song, it ends when it ends You move on…
How dare I take a harmless Taylor Swift song and turn it into some click-bait diatribe about speaking out about the current state of affairs in this country? Maybe because Taylor isn’t saying much after robbing the world blind with a bazillion different versions of her latest album. Maybe because no one is taking this disastrous administration as seriously as they should because they seem too stupid to be so dangerous. Maybe because I’ve predicted all that’s happened these past few months way back when everyone didn’t feel comfortable enough voting for a woman the first time around. And the second time. Maybe because it’s all too late now and none of this will even matter.
…And that’s when I told you It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite Oh my Lord never made no one like you before You had to make your own sunshine But now the sky is opalite
Dancing through the lightning strikes like those musicians playing their final song as the Titanic sank beneath them. To die as one lived. Nobility is one fine line away from stupidity, and stupidity is mere moments from lucidity. I’m too tired to even look up ‘cupidity’ so make it all make sense. (Ok, I looked it up – it means greed for money and possessions. Guilty as hell.)
Oh winter, release your stifling hold already. How much more are we expected to take? You have given us nothing this year – not even the briefest of thaws. While a thaw has always wreaked more havoc than peace, I’d gleefully take that over this ridiculous nonsense any time. And the song plays on as we cross the bridge…
This is just a storm inside a teacup But shelter here with me, my love Thunder like a drum – this life will beat you up, up, up, up This is just a temporary speed bump But failure brings you freedom And I can bring you love, love, love, love… Don’t you sweat it baby
There it is – sweet release in a saccharine chorus, if saccharine is even a thing anymore. This winter has me feeling all sorts of outdated and out of sorts – no more sorts to give, I guess. An experiment ending in dismal and total failure. Nothing to salvage, nothing to save, nothing to remotely begin the assembly of something to be learned. Only word games and plays on words – a rope of words if you will, Miss Desmond, and we all know she won’t because it strangled her business of being a star – silent, iconic, shrouded in mystery, the blank space of being whatever you wanted her to be.
It’s all right, you were dancing through the lightning strikes Sleepless in the onyx night, but now the sky is opalite Oh my Lord never made no one like you before You had to make your own sunshine But now the sky is opalite
Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’ movement gets a so-called ‘epic’ treatment, lending an already-dramatic musical selection even more tension and wonder. In this dizzying winter season, where the obscure has failed to resolve itself into any sort of focus, and the haze grows even more fuzzy, I’m reconciling myself to the imperfect way life has of stumbling along, especially at those times when we most want things to run smoothly.
Like days filled with the fullness of the moon, or periods when Mercury is in retrograde motion, this winter has proven challenging, and fighting such challenges is futile. When you learn to let go and lean into where the world is taking you, no matter how strange and unfamiliar, surprising things might result. There is an important distinction between giving up and giving in – good and bad points to each. While the rest of the world seems to have lost sight of nuance and subtlety, those graces are integral to making a happier way through life.
Winter waits for no one; it hurries for even less.
Nearing Valentine’s Day has some of us reminiscing about this antiquated day of love, and while I’ve now spent more Valentine’s Days with Andy than without him, I still recall the holidays of my youth, long before I had any inkling of what real romance was – when the notion of love was accessed through pop songs, hinted at in lyrics, and felt only in an approximation of want and yearning.
The way I started to understand love was through the radio, in the music of the woman who would be with me on all my romantic journeys ~ Madonna. She sang early on from a swaying room, when the music started and strangers moved in shadows that seemed mysterious and filled with secrets – the stuff of romance, of desire, of love. I was around ten years old, and I knew nothing of any of that, but something in her voice resonated with me, speaking to the undeniable romantic I was torturously destined to become.
The secret to love, true love, was elusive and ever out of reach. Whenever I felt like I was approaching it, it shifted and changed and disappeared. Such secrets were cloaked in delicious darkness – I could only sense them, not solve them, and the closer I got, the more slippery they became.
Throughout the 90’s, Madonna grew and evolved, her music changing as much as her images, and love, in all its many facets and problematic notions, was a constant theme. She kept me company as various people entered and exited my romantic stages, reminding me that if Madonna found romance a rocky road, maybe none of us would find it easy.
The lead single from the forthcoming Harry Styles album ‘Kiss All The Time. Disco, Occasionally’ has been released, and it’s a gently shuffling sort of beckoning to the disco dance floor that primes the beat for what might be to come. It’s called ‘Aperture’ and it’s a vibe. I don’t know if it’s a proper right primal banger that’s gonna make you sweat, but it’s a beginning. Perhaps that’s what this moment needs – escapism and fantasy from the floors of dance and good times. It feels far away, it feels necessary.
https://youtu.be/7sxVHYZ_PnA?si=cz7oc3xoQa8tgZIt
And still it doesn’t feel like enough. There is so much darkness, I’m not sure I can find solace on the dance floor right now, or ever again. A sense of defeatism pervades our world, shading the future, bleeding into all the days to come. Maybe this is just what getting older means. Maybe this is what getting older does.
“During the darkest days of the AIDS crisis, we buried our friends in the morning, we protested in the afternoon, and we danced all night. The dance kept us in the fight because it was the dance we were fighting for. It didn’t look like we were going to win then and we did. It doesn’t feel like we’re going to win now but we could. Keep fighting, keep dancing.” – Dan Savage
This is what you’ll get This is what you’ll get This is what you’ll get When you mess with us
Karma police, I’ve given all I can It’s not enough, I’ve given all I can But we’re still on the payroll
Winter recedes from focus – I cannot get my arms around it, can’t get my head around it – winter obscura, sentences collapse, words fragment…
Walls of noise rise, but not here, not in this post. Not when we so need melody… and solace. Ease to the ears, healing for the head – and I wouldn’t dare ask for any help for the heart.
This is what you’ll get This is what you’ll get This is what you’ll get When you mess with us
Winter obscura… like silent snow, secret snow, sickening snow. Snow on the television, snow on the phone, snow on the brain. Snowy blowy bloviating bullshit.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
Back in 2003, some saw the teaming up of these two pop icons as the passing of the Pop Goddess baton from Madonna to Britney Spears, but I knew only one of them would/could last, and with a new album on the more immediate horizon, that looks to be Madonna. Nothing against Britney, or the music, just a reflection on longevity, and Brit’s got a long way to go before she surpasses Madonna on that front.
Here was their first and thus far only collaboration, the lead single from Britney’s fourth album ‘In the Zone’ – and a strange little blip on Madonna’s musical timeline.
Hey Britney, you say you wanna lose control Come over here I got something to show ya Sexy lady, I’d rather see you bare your soul If you think you’re so hot Better show me what you got
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clwLKJ294u4
Like almost all of Madonna’s collaborations with other superstar artists, this one suffers slightly from overwhelming expectations and an oddly-muted production. For all their effort, and all the hype of being released in the white-hot aftermath of their infamous and incendiary MTV Video Awards performance smooch, it falls just a little flat. While Britney gets top billing, this is just as much a duet as Madonna’s ‘4 Minutes’ splash with Justin Timberlake (which make be her strongest collaboration with another renowned celebrity/singer).
The video keeps them tantalizingly apart until the very end – a lengthy tease that is emblematic of the song as a whole. All tease, little action, and not much lasting resonance. Madonna’s greatest strength will always and forever be as a solo artist.
While Laufey will forever embody that glorious Coquette Summer we celebrated a couple of years ago, she’s been a staple on the cafe playlist where I’ve been spending my afternoons. It’s good winter music as well, and so I seek out a proper seasonal song from her impressive oeuvre.
Madonna’s love affair with Dolce & Gabbana goes back decades, and finds further expression in her lending them a song for their promotional push for ‘The One’ fragrances. It’s her first musical release since 2019’s ‘Madame X’, and acts as an amuse-bouche for her upcoming return to dance-floor form in a long-hinted-at sequel to ‘Confessions On A Dancefloor‘.
A respectable cover of Patty Pravo’s ‘La Bombola’, sung in its original Italian, this Madonna is moody, mature, and understandably a little worn and worse for wear. At moments, it doesn’t even really sound like her, which is a bold move, as she’s not the chirpy girl of ‘Like A Virgin‘ or ‘Material Girl‘ anymore, and this is an accomplished effort. It’s not going to climb the charts, as if that even mattered at this point in her career, and it really speaks more to her commitment to creatively expansive artistry, and a wonderful evocative companion to her perfume ad visuals.
I wish she’d done something like this for her own fragrance releases for ‘Truth or Dare’ and ‘Truth or Dare: Naked’ – both of which are exquisite scents, and worth more than Madonna’s relatively lackluster promotional push at the time. A song by the lady herself would have possibly made these flagons immortal in the style of Elizabeth Taylor rather than a one-two-off adored by a selective niche.
That said, perhaps I should be glad not more have embraced these, as they can still be found if you know where to look. Like the music here, the mood is sensual, spicy, slightly carnal. If anyone knows how to whet the appetite for what is about to come, it’s Madonna. This is a gorgeous start to a year that may find her deservedly back in the pop spotlight.
The vast expanse of emptiness that acts like vacuum and diamond-rendering pressure at once…
A force of force, turned in and on itself…
Pushing from without, pushing from within… and the end result, far from balance, is just more unbearable pressure…
Body and brain, both basically hollow, the way we carve out our live without regard to what we’re tearing out of ourselves in service of what we think we want to add…
How much of ourselves do we throw away like that?
The moment of destruction is finitely beautiful – it almost makes the aftermath worth it. This world favors those who dare to prolong, or even find, such moments.
I dwell in waves of silent despair Reborn in matter and time, a starless universe Onward, into eternity A nocturnal light will set my spirit free…
Blasting eardrum-shattering technical death metal might seem like an antithetical means of clearing the mind and finding peace but I’m in the mood for trying new things, and sometimes an enormous wave of a song, crashing down upon the soul and rushing the mind’s processing of stimuli, is the precise antidote for a proverbial cloudiness in the head.
Is this the reason then that some love death metal? The absolute abandon of the brain while it’s being so beautifully bombarded into oblivion through the sheer pounding of a sonic fit of wrath and rage?
This selection is from the band Obscura, whom I stumbled upon when researching this Winter Obscura theme – and it arrived at moment when I needed to assault my senses with something different, something jarring, something jolting, something more…
A slap out of it, a shock wakening, a reckoning to ravage… a desperate act to feel again, to reset the mind and reboot my entire system when Control-Alt-Delete no longer does anything.
I didn’t want melody, I didn’t want lyrics, I wanted only sounds – tons and tons of deafening sound – pure sonic abuse and attack – aimed directly at my chest – so loudly that I could feel it there, pounding away from the outside while my heart pounded back from within. Sound so striking, sound so strident it feels like skin being ripped off the body. Sound so potent, sound so petulant it spits in your eyes and probes uninvited into every orifice of your body. Sound that turns you inside out.
Is this the sound of Winter Obscura? Too soon to tell… but it’s the sound for today.
Before I realized what form this year’s Holiday Stroll would take, I was haunted by the faceless mannequin displays at Macy’s in Downtown Crossing, Boston – at which point this rendition of a BTS song came over the sound system, and everything fell into place for the duration of the music.
The power of a potent pop song – the sillier the better.
For anyone struggling this Christmas day, or during any point of this purportedly most wonderful time of the year, I offer some solace and empathy and understanding. Know that you are not alone, and there are plenty of us who no longer find the magic of Christmas for whatever reason – and that’s ok.
So take a moment for yourself, clear some space around you, and just let loose to this ridiculous song.
The idea of a solo Holiday Stroll was formulating in my head as I stood in the cold wind outside Fanueil Hall. What, after all, was the point of traditions? Why did it feel important to maintain them? In some way, it was one of the only things of reassurance in a year that found nothing assured or safe. There was comfort in tradition, but maybe coming out of one’s comfort zone was the only way to grow and evolve. I still wasn’t sold on the idea of carrying this one on solely for the sake of tradition; I also wasn’t against ending this still bit of holiday folklore I’d created so many years ago and starting over, or not starting again at all. Some endings should stand on their own. I resumed my solitary walking, nearing a lone bull market stand where sausage sandwiches were being assembled, and the aroma of peppers and onions smoldering beside them made for a deliciously cozy smell at the late lunch hour. Music played from the proprietor’s phone, and though the song that was playing, ‘Fire and Rain’ by James Taylor, had never been a favorite of mine, today I listened, and it spoke in a new way, opening up like classic songs tend to do when you are ready to receive them.
I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend But I always thought that I’d see you again
In that moment, the grayish sky began dropping large but mercifully-spaced-out snowflakes, more pretty than menacing, more beautiful than annoying, at least at this initial stage. Our very first Holiday Stroll happened on a snowy morning of similar loveliness, and suddenly it struck me how close the word ‘loveliness’ is to ‘loneliness’.
My mind travels back to that snowy stroll through the Boston Public Garden with Kira, and as snowflakes instantly melt into tears on my eyelashes, I understand that I carry her with me. More snowflakes fall into my hair – silver piling upon silver, simultaneously stinging and tickling when they reach skin. Hastening my steps, I pass the building I used to work in, and those hilarious days of retail flood forth from the memory bank, along with the years of finding solace in my retail family – Barrie, Suzie, John, Ginette, Spencer, Jose, Ola, Simon, and Kim – all of them come rushing back. At a time when I felt out of place at school, they gave me one of my first glimpses of what it was like to be accepted, and adored, for being nothing but myself. My own family hadn’t always made me feel like that, and to find it with people who started as strangers was somehow more poignant. It brought back the upstate New York retail family – Dawn and Matt and John and Justin – and I realized I carried them with me too. Memories of my John Hancock office job – with JoAnn, Kira, Tamekia, and Bettina – and the whole microfiche community crossed my mind, and my last long-term love in Boston – Paul – and our time together, reminded me that even absent, they were a part of this.
Nearing the front entry of Faneuil Hall, I recalled the side-splittingly funny episode Skip and I shared listening to a man sing a rather catchy song about diarrhea – and all the riotously comical BroSox Adventures rushed into my mind – as did a stormy but sweet night with Sherri and their kids at the Boston condo. I thought then of my current co-workers, and the friend who brought me into my longest office home – Marline – as she and Gretchen had seen ‘Plaza Suite’ in Boston (a show we were scheduled to see just as COVID hit)- and more co-workers past and present who have become friends in their own right – Lorie and Sue and Doris and Betsy – they were all there with me as I climbed the stairs up past City Hall.
Andy reached out a hand from memory then, and the many moments we have shared in Boston – from the day we secured our wedding license at City Hall (strangely moving) to our wedding day at the Public Garden, and all the anniversaries and visits before and since. Every step of every stroll I’ve ever taken or will ever take in Boston comes with an accompanying loved one, often several, and even when I’m alone they are still with me.
Been walking my mind to an easy time My back turned towards the sun Lord knows, when the cold wind blows It’ll turn your head around Well, there’s hours of time on the telephone line To talk about things to come Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground
Back on the T, I remember the first time my brother and I rode the green line from Copley to Government Center when Mom thought we were just walking around Copley Place Mall. Our fledgling motions toward independence – it was a thrill as much for its illicit nature as for its empowering glimpse at what it would be like to be on your own in Boston. And then I thought of Mom’s first visits to the city with us in tow – she introduced me to the magic of the city, and its access to all that was beautiful in museums and stores and history – and then I thought of Dad, who literally gave us our home on Braddock Park many years later, and so many years ago. They were with me now too, the way they would always be.
As I rose from the T stop near Copley, the snow was falling more heavily. The afternoon was beginning its turn. Passing the area where I met the first man I kissed, I thought of our brief time together – not the damaging, darker part of it, but that sunny September day when two young men walked along the Charles River together, unsure of anything and everything other than a shared spark of attraction, an empty and beautiful afternoon, and the possibility of a promise of an entire world and lifetime in the air. Walking deeper into the South End, I remembered my friend Alissa’s first apartment, and a photo shoot we did there, and all the ensuing years of friendship that found us reconnecting in Boston at every major interval in our lives. She was with me too, and so was Chris, who introduced her to us just as they started dating. Chris and Suzie and Anu and Kristen and Tommy and Janet – and all the love we shared through these past decades – the holiday children hours, the weddings and births and deaths – I felt them and our shared history there, strolling beside me, linking spiritual arms and charging through life, always together.
I was hurrying a bit now as the sun was coming down, and I thought back to one of my earliest Boston memories of my Uncle Roberto, tying a scarf around his head as we ran back to the condo after watching a James Bond movie on a frigid January night – parts of his original painting job remain – the gold accents and green stripes – and I knew he was with me as well, even though he’s been gone for over twenty years. All of my loved ones – whether near, far, or sadly departed – walked with me as my snowy stroll neared home.
Maybe there is no such thing as a solitary stroll. Maybe all of our ghosts walk with us once we’ve experienced and amassed a certain amount of living. Maybe this wasn’t My Holiday Stroll for the year – maybe this was Our Holiday Stroll.
Oh, I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend But I always thought that I’d see you, baby One more time again, now Thought I’d see you one more time again There’s just a few things coming my way this time around, now Thought I’d see you, thought I’d see you, fire and rain, now
Trudging up the final steps and unlocking the door, I stepped into the room and remembered that I was no longer alone. A backpack and sweatshirt were thrown on the couch – my brother and nephew had arrived in town for a concert that night – and they were about to turn the solitary stroll I’d just reconciled in my mind on its head…
