Archive for fairy tales

Hedwig’s “Origin of Love” (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Fur Reals, Goof & Glamour, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Movies & Movie Stars, Music & Life & Sundays, Psyche & Sexuality, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Romance, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion, Style & Fashion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Technicolor Pop, The wisdom of the universe with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 22, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Last time I saw you, we had just split in two.
You were looking at me. I was looking at you
.

We are always finding something once lost or newly discovered: some elusive idea, fragment of self, new friend, old friend, tribe member, ally, totem, trickster, co-inventor, muse, fellow hero, soul mate.

This search may be the very point of being born to this planet, of being given this skin.

Life is a lost & found.

We have our third eyes pealed, on the sacred look-out for our fellow mutants. We piece our lives together like legos. We sew the tattered bits of our selves into a kaleidoscopic crazy quilt. We wait to meet the pieces we lost. Our owies are eased as things fall in place. Everyone is engaged in this secret vision quest, everyone one is on alert. We’re hoping to heal the mysterious hurt. 

On the look out, always.

Origin of Love

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
“I’m gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants.”
And Zeus said, “No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards.”
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, “I’ll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half.”
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don’t behave
They’ll cut us down again
And we’ll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That’s the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It’s the story of
The origin of love.
That’s the origin of love.

I first saw Hedwig & The Angry Inch on stage — at The Shim Sham Club in New Orleans — and it was absolutely, indisputably magical.

Even the Robot loved it and he mostly loathes musicals.

We were so impressed by that Hedwig-Live experience that we were skeptical of the film. At first. But fear not, the movie managed to keep the magic intact.

“Sometimes grace and hope come in surprising packages. The title character of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, a would-be glam-rock star from East Germany, undergoes a botched gender-change operation in order to escape from the Soviet bloc, only to watch the Berlin Wall come down on TV after being abandoned in a trailer park in middle America.  Writer-director-star John Cameron Mitchell packs an astonishing mix of sadness, yearning, humor, and kick-ass songs with a little Platonic philosophy tucked inside for good measure. A visually dazzling gem of a movie.” (Bret Fetzer)

If you get the chance to see a stage version, jump at it. Even if it’s put on by 6 year olds. Especially if it’s performed by 6 year olds!

If you haven’t seen the film, well, you really should schedule some inspirational “me” time.

Mix up some cocktails. Rat your best wig. It’s high time for Hedwig. 

Have fun!

The film Hedwig & The Angry Inch, with John Cameron Mitchell (writer, director & star) is  available on amazon. So is the soundtrack.

Authors note: This is not the real punk rock gospel for this week. It’s a repost meant to reward you for your support. It’s merely meant to tide you over until I can post today’s intended PRG, which mysteriously disappeared from the screen at 4:28 am. I was writing the PRG (more of a love letter really) when we went off line. While waiting to get back online, I tweaked the sucker for 2 hours and ended up with a fabu finished product. Which I was liable to lose if I couldn’t get back onto wordpress. (I know! I know! I need no lecture. I get it. I waz the stupidz. They don’t call me the Lusty Luddite for nothin’!) Craving wi-fi, I crept out into the dark sreets — a vamp-cyber gently carrying an open computer to the parking lot of a shuttered coffee shop. Hooray! Houston, we have contact. I uploaded an image — something I’ve done countless times — and every bit of text just escaped into the ether. WTF?? Is it due to wordpress’ brand spankin’ new image/gallery widgetty whatucallits? What the hell happened??? No sign of it in revisions either, only an early draft. It’s just gone. Oh, I’m bummed. And stunned. Anyway, I’m gonna go back to the key board! But it will now have to wait until Monday. In the meantime, let Hedwig heal your irk (and mine) with her spiritual, romantic fairytale. *Originally posted on October 12, 2008*

Last time I saw you, we had just split in two.
You were looking at me. I was looking at you.”

*Painting By Genevieve Crotz.*

via Cream Scene Carnival

Advertisements

Sonic Youth’s “Sacred Trickster” (Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Friendship, I Heart My Love-Tribe, I Heart Tricksters, Lipstick Shamaness, Mythos, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 13, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Last Sunday was supposed to be a special birthday-honoring trickster-themed double edition of  The Punk Rock Gospel, but you know what they say about the road to hell…        

Despite my good intentions, I wasn’t able to swing both Gogol Bordello’s “When the Trickster Starts a Pokin”  and Sonic Youth’s “Sacred Trickster.”        

I was too busy eating bon-bons and being spoiled by the Robot Boy. No biggie. The glossy bow-topped packages and the birthday cake carried over into the rest of the week so why not trickster anthems?       

        

The “Sacred Trickster” is the first track on Sonic Youth’s new record. “Eternal” was just released June 9. It’s Sonic Youth’s 16th album and their first album since 2006. “Eternal” — cover art by famous folk-artist John Fahey — is the band’s first album on Matador Records. “Eternal” finds SY creatively-charged and still rockin’ as they return to their old school indy roots and revisit past aural forays:        

Twelve tunes that are a fireworks display of Sonic Youth touchstones. From the primal no wave attack of its earliest days, to the radical chording and song structures of its 90s period, to the more focused and contemporary explorations of the last five years. (Amazon bio)        

   

    In the song, Kim Gordon refers to West Mass noise artist Noise Nomads and French artist/painter Yves Klein.       

        

Sacred Trickster, I want you to levitate me. Don’t you love me yet? Press up against the amp, turn up the treble. Don’t forget.        

   

Sacred Trickster makes me wanna light a cigarette and dance inside my own smoky tornado. I wanna build bombs! I wanna be a girl in a band! I wanna wear my fox-ears to church and bang chaotically on the church organ while reciting lines from Ani songs: I’m tired of being the interesting one, I’m tired of having fun for two. Just lay yourself on the line and I might lay myself down by you. I wanna draw chalk mandalas or fly kites fashioned from old love letters.        

Makes me wanna press up against the amp, turn up the treble.        

Makes me wanna make noise, trouble, love.        

Mostly it makes me wanna ask more of myself: to reach down into my own heaving, hurting place and to dig around in the sadness until I’ve recovered the sacred.        

"LadyFox" by painter, Carolina Hardigree

  

And when I’m done asking more of myself, I’m gonna turn around and ask more of you. And you and you and you.        

I’m going to want you to do for me and to come through for me. I’m gonna want you to make me dizzy when we’re just sittin’ around. I’m gonna want you to levitate me. Can’t you do that for me? Can’t you rid me of all the steely hardness that holds me down? Can’t you blow into me with your breath until I’m light as air? Can’t you lift me from the bed — from my bondage, my ache, my sorrow — and send me up up up with the soft shush of a pink balloon. Why won’t you levitate me? Don’t you love me?        

Or do you think I am asking too much?        

I want you to blow my fucking mind.         

Is that asking too much?        

As Ani sang, I want somebody who can hold my interest, hold it and never let it fall, someone who can flatten me with a kiss that hits like a fist or a sentence that stops me like a brick wall.        

When did we stop expecting to be IN AWE?        

Why are we arrogant if we seek greatness in ourselves or greedy if we expect greatness in others? Why is it too much to want it all? Since when is the status quo enough for any of us?        

So I wanna rub elbows with the sacred, so what? So I expect you to levitate me, why not? Don’t you love me yet?       

       

The Sacred Trickster is that part of yourself that wants to steal the raspberries and chase the gingerbread man.     

The Sacred Trickster is the lover who makes you better by pointing to the bigness in you and saying Gimmee gimmee gimmee.     

The Sacred Trickster is the friend who cracks the secret code and then the nut and then a smile.     

The Sacred Trickster is the melody inside the noise, the meaning inside the poem, the puppet show theater inside a hallowed-out 1956 TV.     

The Sacred Trickster is the rock star who has you pressed against the throbbing amp… the writer who wrote that line (the one that kills you every time)… the painter who has convinced you to cuddle the sly white fox. You open up your cozy covers and Fox closes in tight, nestling, nuzzling, stinking like star dust.      

Who is The Sacred Trickster? He’s you and she’s me. That’s the way it should be.      

        

 Sacred Trickster        

I want you to levitate me        

Don’t you love me yet?        

Press up against the amp turn up the treble        

Don’t forget        

Getting dizzy sittin around        

Sacred trickster and the no tech sound        

I wish I could be music on a tree        

Noise nomads and me        

Levitating on the ground        

Uh huh uh huh        

Uh huh uh huh        

Uh huh uh huh        

Uh huh uh huh        

Whats its like to be a girl in a band?        

I don’t quite understand        

That’s so quaint to hear        

I feel so faint my dear        

Getting dizzy sittin around        

Sacred trickster and the no tech sound        

I wish I could be music on a tree        

Noise nomads and me        

Levitating scootin around        

   

Summon the Sacred Trickster! 

Thanks for tuning in to today’s Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel. Enjoy this, the official Sonic Youth “Sacred Trickster” video as released by Matador Records. It’s ferocious fun in a Gossip Girl meets Guerilla Grrl kinda way.      

***The LadyFox painting (above) is by an extremely talented, emerging artist named Carolina Hardigree. We’ve featured Hardigree’s work on Cream Scene Carnival before and we will again; because she is brilliant, amazing and mythic-minded. My kind of girl! Carolina Hardigree’s work can be purchased via her own website @ Black Bird Fine Art.       

Sonic Youth’s Eternal is available on Amazon.

I Want Candy!

Posted in Alphabetfiend, Art & Culture, Books & Writing, I Heart Friends, I Heart My Love-Tribe, Mythos, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 5, 2010 by alphabetfiend

Oh yay hooray!  I opened my door today to find a package on my stoop. A gift from my beloved G*Word!!! I ripped it open like Little Chrissy trying to get at a chocolate bar.  (Remember Little Chrissy, from the John Waters film Pecker? Little Chrissy was cukoo for cocoa puffs!)

Unlike little Chrissy, I can’t stomach a sugar overload without a pancreatic surge of insulin that leaves me jangly and ready for a nappy-nap. Still, I’m nuts for nougat. I like to get to the gooey — not just in bon bons but always, in everything. I tore at those packages like I was gnawing my way to the nougat. Damn if I didn’t feel like a spoiled rotten sweetheart (xoxo, g*w!) Inside the ripped-up wrappings, I found not one but TWO books with the word “CANDY” in the title.

Which is fitting considering that I met G*Word after we took bites of one another’s gingerbread houses. Which is different than “brick house” as in “She’s got a brick house.” (Settle down, my kinksters.)

A gingerbread house is a dark-side construct built to tempt fate. It lures that which can’t resist. The telling architecture speaks to yearning, greed, giddy giving-in. It’s not about sex — or it wasn’t in our case — but it’s definitely about desire, voyeurism, exposure, and vulnerability. It’s about showing yourself to someone and they… grin like teens on tigermilk? Light up like lightbulbs? Lull like late-night radio? Ah. Ah-ha. A click and then a hum. They like what they see and they say so. They say, “I like what I see,” and then they commence to eating a hunk of your graham cracker door. They peer at you through a broken-off pane of butterscotch glass and then wink at you when you curtsy. 

MMMMmmm. Little Chrissy likes. Rumrumrumrumrum. (My baby wookie makes that rumrumrum sound when he’s eatin’ something really good.)

There’s nothing in the world like new books!!! And my new books are both candy-dubbed contemporary art books so they are absolutely drenched in the syrup of yum. I can’t wait to gorge myself.

Rock Candy is a treat in the hands, oh boy. Lovely to the touch. Rock Candy celebrates the evocative work of dutch artist Femke Hiemstra. A valentine of a volume, it’s described by reviewer Julia Rothman – Book By Its Cover – asGorgeous.”

The cloth hardbound book has a nice die-cut cover and the inside is jam-packed with Femke’s works including tons of paintings and drawings alongside loose sketches…. The way the sketches are juxtaposed with the finished work in the book makes me feel like I’m getting an insider’s view. If you’re a fan of ‘pop surrealism,’ this is a book for you.

 Just the cover alone with that window cut-out — love it! Very gingerbread house.

In the Garden of Eye Candy is a delicious look at dolls and the fantasy world they hail from… as seen by artists such as Koralee and Lisa Petrucci. A reviewer from Juxtapoz Magazine asked a duh(!) question

Like dolls? Cartoon characters? I do. As a little girl I loved playing with dolls. As an adult I like Adult Swim. And painted dolls. But not art toys. (One’s taste does refine with age, of course). I digress. If you like dolls and alter egos and Id-driven characters and cartoons, buy this book. Cause it’s all about that. And it comes in a pretty box. The End.

I do love dolls, alter-egos & id-driven characters. It’s true. But a preliminary peek has me a bit perplexed — how can you have a book about dolls in art and ignore Miss Van? Miss Van even refers to her own creations as dolls, characters, her little “poupettes.”

 “Between the boundaries of fine and popular art and high and low culture, reside id-driven impulses and alter egos as toys, cartoon characters, and iconic images. From the whimsical to adorable, erotic to innocent, to the dark and gothic, they lure us into their lush worlds of fairy tales, dreams and inspiration.” (The Garden of Eye Candy.)

 

Lush worlds? Fairy tales? Hell yea! I’m in. See you there or wish you were here or whatever.

Thank you, G*Word! You’re the best. Now quit blowing bubbles with what used to be my brickwork.

This is my Candy Condo; I’m a witch who might eat you.

Posted in Art & Culture, Friendship, Goof & Glamour, I Heart Friends, I Heart My Love-Tribe, Intuition & Gut Intelligence, Mythos, Psyche & Sexuality, Romance, Romance & Relationships, Spirituality & Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2008 by alphabetfiend
“I was born to love magic, all its wonder to know…” – Nick Drake
Got lost on someone else’s blog today, so lost that I fully expected to see a house with graham cracker shutters and chocolate bar shingles, a “stone” garden out front piled high with gum drops.
Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

Eat-it-up wonderful by artist Sun Wahyu.

 I’m thinking about blogs and all the different forms they take… how in a way, in the right circumstances, they can become gingerbread houses in the fairytale woods. If you examine the architecture you can see the secrets inside. So many blogs are the fort in the bushes or the crawl space in the basement. The place where you go to connect with who you really are. In a way, I was wishing that mine was like that — desperately emotional, startlingly intimate. But then I’m startlingly intimate all the time, no one’s really startled anymore. Least of all, me. Do I fit into this community? Or do I stick out? When I go out poking around, should I leave a bread crumb trail?

We are here, on this planet, with one another and wow that’s magical! But if you are like me and always pointing out the magic, well, that’s not always a welcome intrusion into the day-to-day importance of cell phones, ipods, computers and the making of money to buy these machines. I’m machine-friendly. Kinda. I love a boy who is part robot. It’s not a bad thing. I think we are co-evolving with machines in ways we don’t even realize. We are co-evolving with everything and everyone. Our loved ones, our allys, even our enemies. Everyone. I never knew that day, 8 years ago, the day I met my doggie, my Prince Nakula, the power his gaze would have over me. I’m not the same person that I was. His beasty royalty has changed me. So machines… machines aren’t the devil. Look at Diego Rivera’s paintings! The spiritual and the mechanical can coincide within the crossed wings of a dragonfly. With the right mindset. Which is, at the very least, not to lose sight of the magical aspect of the machine.

Rockefeller's an ass for depriving NYC of this pure genius.

Cellphones, ipods, laptops…. these are communication machines. Are we communicating with them or are we hiding inside of them?

Is the ibook replacing the “I”?

Are myspace friends replacing real friends?

What is happening with blogging? Are we connecting with strangers in lieu of our loved ones? Or are we just connecting and that’s enough? Does the net (blogs, myspace, facebook) just give us a better chance to find our tribe members? To narrow down the search? Or is it just making it easier for advertisers to find us? As we sit in wait in our quirky niches. I gave in to myspace last spring after the RobotBoy round about double-dared. He thought I’d enjoy the photos and the blogging and the little notes passed like valentines. He was right, which riles. I show off piks of my ink and am inundated with tattoo ads. I confess to a glamour fetish and espouse the psychic importance of pageantry; extolling the virtues of crowns, feather head-pieces, gold lame, glitter, wigs. So they hawk toupees. I love the circus with a suspicious fervor, as though I spent a former life as the bearded lady who fucked the mer-man in the wee hours in our carnie wagon. I could care less about a cheap hotel stay in Vegas.

A-ha! I caught you! What are you doing here, in the wee hours, in my sticky web?

Did I just see you take a bite of my licorice-woven welcome mat?

Did you just devour my butterscotch doorknob?

Alphabetfiend is a trickster fox in the fairy tale woods.
 
** After an exhausting search of gingerbread images, I finally found the above image that had the sort of dizzying eerie exciting mood I was after, artwork by another “blogger” (of course! it would be.) Sun Wahyu of “Secret Society for the Sleepless Sleepwalker” … wow… what a name! I’ve definitely got my third eye on that secret society and you should too. And of course it would be called a secret society. All the better to make my point with, my dearie, said the wolfish grandmother to Little Red.
%d bloggers like this: