Monday, November 26, 2007

Below is section of a creative project I did for my 19th century American Poetry class. I chose selected portions of Leaves of Grass and brought them to a 21st century perspective.

"Walt Whitman, an American, one of the roughs, a kosmos,
Disorderly fleshy and sensual . . . eating drinking and breeding,
No senimentalist . . . no stander above men and women or
apart from them . . . no more modest that immodest."

~Walt Whitman,
from Leaves of Grass

Kelly Reid, a ­­­­­­­­­­­_____________ , one of the escapees, an indie,

Deliberately exhausted and insoluble . . . working enduring and maintaining,

No refugee . . . no more weathered than any other product

of an unbalanced formula . . . no more impeded than abled.

And as an added bonus- two records I picked up this weekend

Saturday, November 24, 2007

30degrees on a friday night

Jump at the chance, jump high, and fall hard. This time investigate, assess, analyze.


Titanium has a high resistance to corrosion. I should be fine.

Busted car.
Wonder woman.
Why can't you just be nice to me?
Two nights of vacation.
Four days of no smoking.
Eye make up remover.
Exceptional drought.


Sunday, November 18, 2007

Thanksgiving is on Thursday. It will be holiday season again. Wonderful holiday season. I will be having dinner at my sister's apartment, both my mom and dad will be there. They have been divorced five years and somehow, for some odd reason, we still eat together as a family on holidays.

Why? I don't get it. They are divorced. I am supposed to spend time with each separately, not together. Two years ago for Thanksgiving they rode together for the trip to Raleigh. My divorced parents in the same car for over two hours. Big mistake. I had to mediate for two hours so that they would at least agree on riding back together. They got divorced for a reason.

I will make it through another day of thanksgiving. Thankful for the semester almost complete. Thankful for holiday party season at work. Thankful for music.

I don't want another lonely Christmas. Another December of working late, drinking wine by myself at the bar, and coming home to cold hardwood floors. Even the best of music can't warm a solitary gray winter night. I will probably just work more. Put in more hours at the radio station.

Someone, the other day, told me I was beautiful. It sounded so simple and sweet. Maybe it was the beers. Maybe it was the hairstyle I had paid a lot for earlier that morning. Maybe he meant it. Maybe he will act on it. Regardless, I took the moment and added it to my memories not to be forgotten.

Thursday, November 15, 2007

I love music.

I love how it finds me- Gambling the Muse

I love how I find it- Wax Fang

I don't care if the industry is in a crisis. Numbers lie. It is not possible to predict the future of a business based on numbers. You may be able to in car or home sales, but not in music. Music is an art, and the business that has been created by music is unpredictable because art is unpredictable. And most importantly--- radio is not dead. Music lovers still desire an organic, unfiltered way to discover new music, and that medium is college radio. The bloggers will continue to strive to be tastemakers, but radio will prevail. Building a set of songs, a playlist, live on the air, no preprogrammed bull, is one of the best feelings. It is different than a blog or pitchfork. It is art through art.

Rock out with your heart out.

Monday, November 12, 2007

I am at the office, feeling restless, and so I decided to write. Actually, I was listening to another new record, trying to catch up on some albums- I always feel like I am playing catch up- and I was almost done when I listened to "Smoke Rings" from the artist, Dri.

Who's in your heart is not always who's in your bed.

The first line of lyrics made me want to write. So I did.

I won't write about who is in my bed, or who is in my heart. I am not that kind of writer. I can't put my feelings of love into words, on paper or in person. It's probably why I am habitually, by choice, single. The songs on "Smoke Rings" held me past the first piercing line of truth. Although the sequencing of tracks is disjointed going into the second track, I got past it- but artists make a note that sequencing is important, especially if you claim to make albums and not just songs.

Indria is a radio and Itunes commercial ready track: catchy beat, dreamy vocals, texture through out. Inspiration has the soulful sound of 60's Motown. Skip Free Tonight; its a bad feel of Paula Abdul meets indie. Well I might take back everything, the album has declined, and the title track Smoke Rings, written by Ned Washington, barely saves the ending.

Just as everything else I examine lately- promising, disappointing, barely making it by, and left with a mediocre Ehhhhh.

What to do. Expand on the dissatisfaction and disjunction of my current status.

---> Turning points are supposed to hold something better and different around the corner. But I can't get myself around the corner. I am stuck. I can feel a change. I know I need something different. Nothing. Just anxiety.

Maybe it's the weather. Or maybe it's just me.


Not wanting to write. Feeling blase. Spiraling. Hangnails. Heavy shoulders. Fog. Frustration. Why. Cause. Effect. Cure. Persistent. Frigid. Unhealthy. Determination. Hindrance.

Independence is a nice way of lying about being alone.

I have got to get out of here.