My friend Randy sent me this and I fainted!! Here is my love with my favourite girl groups of all time!!!
1)SWV be those sistahs with voices for real. However this time they left there ghetto hoops and 17 inch nails at home (0: So good that I felt weak.
2) En Vogue, the original funky divas lay it down in their portion and we see Dawn Robinson's return to sing with the group without anybody getting beat down, or weave lashed! This is a miracle people-- it has been a long time since they have sang together as the original unit.
3)TLC. You can clearly feel the absence of Left Eye from TLC-- always missed and never forgotten. But T-Boz and Chilli do their thing. TLC 4ever!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sandra Bernhard Kicks-Off Toronto Pride 2008
I have always remembered Sandra Bernhard because of her vulgar lips--she looks the part that she speaks. Her performance to kick off Pride week in Toronto yesterday was exactly what was needed to get this party started! Bernhard did not show any hesitation when she entered Massey Hall walking in 6 inch stilettos and a little black dress. Bam! She is there and she is queer! To set the tone to the show she marched up to an on-looker and serenaded him as her black woman alter-ego, singing “I am Telling You,” while confronting the woman he came with. She broke into “The Boy is Mine,” which got a roar of laughter from her audience of mainly mature gay men and lesbian women. You could easily recognize the respect she had from those who have grown up watching her provoke, offend, engage and criticize the American life and the illusions of equality that many seem to accept without little actual analysis of reality.
This lady is crazy! A veteran of the stage with 25 years of stand-up under her garter, she was full of excitement and energy to be in a room full of her fellow queers as folks. Sandra came with a small entourage: an electric guitarist, a drummer and a pianist/keyboarder who accompanied her in various pieces throughout the show, both originals and covers. A highlight of the show included an audience member asking her “Are you still friends with Madonna?” This question led her into a 5 minute freestyle Madonna performance in which she tore the Queen of Pop to shreds mocking “4 Minutes” by repeatedly chanting “we only have four minutes to save the world,” screaming “my chicken is raw” and imitating various Madonna iconic moves and stances. It was too funny for words and the gays howled though they felt like it was some sort of cultural betrayal! She also flipped through an interview piece in a European fashion magazine that had posed the question of “what is the riskiest thing you have ever done” to a group of important fashion influencers and in her inherent humour dished out some wildly funny impersonations of Mario Testino, Karl Lagerfield and others.
Many are unaware that Bernhard has a fantastic singing voice and there is more behind the vulgarity of her fat lips. The stage is where you see this woman take control of everything: her sexuality, her sex, her image, her jokes and her witty and ironic sense of humour. But what impressed me and surprised me was SB’s integrity to have an opinion of the state of the world and communicate her frustrations with the falsifications that modernism purges us into buying/following. This woman is clearly fed-up and angry. Bernhard is much an advocate for change as she is a great comedian. She seemed to be there to enlighten her people and tell them to fight for their rights (though unlike in typical gay manner it was not to party, but to make a change in the world). I was not expecting that I would be as emotionally moved as I was by her performance. She sang beautifully and let out the frustrations of her pain, her struggles of letting go, the difficultly and past lovers in well-written and composed original songs. She powerfully urged “all I know is that love is all that matters.”
This seems like a perfect way to think of Pride—peace, love & pride.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Attica
Sometimes I want to run away and just sit under the sun and forget about all that I believed in that failed me.
I do not feel sad about things that have passed but I remember them. I know that it is harder to be pure than it is corrupt; one occasion calls for focused thoughts in a process and the other makes things easy. Throw a dice and look at the face on the coin to see the value of the debt you are about to seal.
Suffering is a part of life. Though it is unpleasant we can do nothing but live for the living. March around in endless circles, but keep your feet going at a pace. Come on baby its not time to be a ghost.
If you see me and see the value of my worth, I will smile at you with arms stretched openly at your coming. I will fall at the grace of your beautiful smile and become your lover fool.
I have seen long tables full of stretched faces falling asleep and pretending that they care. I have heard the sound of a strangers voice penetrate into the lobes of my ears with utter demand. I have scmoozed, I have entertained, I have charmed and I have made you ever so curious about my mild condition of emotional diaspora- my vein fascination with myself.
If I open the chest of magnificent mirrors that I keep tucked away deep inside my secret place you can find that I am... Many have called me an old soul, but I say it is from my soul that I reside in my head.
.don't give up.
I do not feel sad about things that have passed but I remember them. I know that it is harder to be pure than it is corrupt; one occasion calls for focused thoughts in a process and the other makes things easy. Throw a dice and look at the face on the coin to see the value of the debt you are about to seal.
Suffering is a part of life. Though it is unpleasant we can do nothing but live for the living. March around in endless circles, but keep your feet going at a pace. Come on baby its not time to be a ghost.
If you see me and see the value of my worth, I will smile at you with arms stretched openly at your coming. I will fall at the grace of your beautiful smile and become your lover fool.
I have seen long tables full of stretched faces falling asleep and pretending that they care. I have heard the sound of a strangers voice penetrate into the lobes of my ears with utter demand. I have scmoozed, I have entertained, I have charmed and I have made you ever so curious about my mild condition of emotional diaspora- my vein fascination with myself.
If I open the chest of magnificent mirrors that I keep tucked away deep inside my secret place you can find that I am... Many have called me an old soul, but I say it is from my soul that I reside in my head.
.don't give up.
END GAME
I caught you at your game. You will not bring me to shame. Actions speak louder than words-- you have no ability to expand beyond your own understandings of limited love and respect. Whoever gives you attention is what holds you best, you conceited little girl.
You can run silly one, you can cry those crocodile tears. But you and I both know the real truth.
I do not need you anymore, in any which, way and form. If you see me, walk on by. Empty those blue lakes of water from the facet of your stone eyes to manipulate your generic, most unimpressive friends into believing that you are the victim, when really you’re the one who inflicted all the damage and pain. I should have known that you could not handle me like a woman, dear child.
These new found friends of yours step to me and confront me by calling me names, saying that I am the one to blame. If this about retribution for your volatile peace of mind, it is such a tragedy that you did not learn anything from me. Or maybe you did and you learned to forget because it was better for yourself. Because of you things came undone and I was forced to run and run. How does it feel to know that you have lost the best thing that ever happened to you?
The joke’s on you. Maybe you can’t see threw the steam of your foggy perspective, but I do. I do.
I regulate my once palpitating breath and realize the control you use to have over my stress, my chest. If you think of me know that you do not deserve to have me in your tainted and unstable brainwaves. Forget me.
If you feel fondly of me, stop it. Think of me as the love you once had, that you have now lost. Like the seasons change, you were my winter. Spring has come and restored my faith in love again.
Though I loved you once, you leave no room for me to have compassion for you through your childish games and relentless display of disrespect and instability.
My sorrow has washed away to reveal the red alert sign that illuminated the ugly person are/have become? You protect yourself by forgetting the truth of my inspiration and you return to the safety of your juvenile ways.
You must be a damn fool to think that I do not know who I am.
Move aside, I have no time for you and your friends to put me on trial for a crime I did not commit.
I subpoena you to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help you, your god.
Oh what a most undesirable shame.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Adaptation
Somewhere along the way I forgot that you no longer make me feel good. But now I remember when I see you and I can be me/strong again. The one for me would not lie to me, look into my eyes and fall for her own cold disguise. You disrespect me by allowing a stranger to stare at me when I speak with you. Who do you think you are? I can see you shuffle and squirm—you are lame. Be a woman and stand for yourself, isn’t that what you are trying to learn to do?
I gave you my time, you say that I am still angry—this is not true. I see things for what they are and I will not let you hurt me anymore. I frustrate you.
You can not handle that I have the power to move on, so you pushed me like a child that can't handle the truth. Do I provoke you, am I stronger than you appear to be? Don’t get me wrong, it was not easy. I cried so many nights with my soul at my side, dead on the inside. Now I see you and I know that love is blind. I would never receive you the way that you treat me. I gave you my love, my attention, my care, my heart, my family and my mind.
You have the audacity to say that I did not give you what you needed.
What you needed was to go be a whore. I am not your whore.
What you needed was to go seek worth in things that are superficial and easy. I am not superficial, nor easy for you to handle.
You do not deserve to have me in your life because you can’t admit that you were wrong to let me go the way that you did. You always took care of you, you never looked out for me. You are all that you came to see.
What you needed was to be free; now in all your freedom you are one lonely star. Alone. You.
You continue to fall for your own disguise, I remember that I possess the strength to honestly survive.
I gave you my time, you say that I am still angry—this is not true. I see things for what they are and I will not let you hurt me anymore. I frustrate you.
You can not handle that I have the power to move on, so you pushed me like a child that can't handle the truth. Do I provoke you, am I stronger than you appear to be? Don’t get me wrong, it was not easy. I cried so many nights with my soul at my side, dead on the inside. Now I see you and I know that love is blind. I would never receive you the way that you treat me. I gave you my love, my attention, my care, my heart, my family and my mind.
You have the audacity to say that I did not give you what you needed.
What you needed was to go be a whore. I am not your whore.
What you needed was to go seek worth in things that are superficial and easy. I am not superficial, nor easy for you to handle.
You do not deserve to have me in your life because you can’t admit that you were wrong to let me go the way that you did. You always took care of you, you never looked out for me. You are all that you came to see.
What you needed was to be free; now in all your freedom you are one lonely star. Alone. You.
You continue to fall for your own disguise, I remember that I possess the strength to honestly survive.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Bollywood Gets Nailed? Indian Sexuality in Philem
But not so much. Almost but you must remember Indian modesty. I would like to share this "Bolywood Borno" with you. View and I will continue...don't read until you have seen it. Watch all of it! Trust...
I think that is the raciest thing I have ever seen come out of a Bollywood sex scene. Though there was no engagement of sex at all...hmm... there was still contact that involved a tattooed up Indian stud-man in the real! Idiot guy didn't pounce on Aishwarya Rai the bonafide Indian goddess. I would follow her to the end of the world.
Evil Auntie:
But a good Indian vomen phorm, she does not just go on and kiss boys so easily! No...instead she ignores eye contact and instead touches him Kama Sutra styles...with affection, to please him. But in return, she vas feeling pleased as vell. I felt like that once. But not vith your idiot uncle!
(okay I AM distracted. Aishwarya is hot)
Evil Auntie continued:
However as an outstanding Brahmin citizen, I vill tell you with much pride and some sort of hidden shame that I am vanting more racy touching scenes. Sexy, sexy good times. Boy meets gul, gul looks at boy with that kind of...you know the way a boy looks at a girl vhen he is fond of her. Vhere is my wine...eh Kanu, phone is ringing! My hair iz is not looking as puffy as it should. I told you vun hundred times...don't just run around making a fool out of yourself. I have learned, that is vhy I have a stripe in my hair. See! Don't just go around chasing boys and forget about your studies! Mama paid alot for those studies!
Eya Owe Julde! Bes ja! [Come here quickly! Sit down!]
I get carried away sometimes, sorry I am back. I give Miss Hotty-Rai the award: "Best Indian Girl That Almost Looked an Indian Man in the Eyes and Got Jiggy-With it, Almost." Congrats!!
For many years I watched Indian women and men kiss like I did when I was 6. I was a little advanced for my age some say (I know who you are--I have ways to silence you). I suppose that I do appreciate my culture in the sense of having a innate cling to colourful expressionism, for me it is hard for me to see sex any different than colour. Or I am just horny by nature of my vessel and now as an adult I have choosen sex as personal power rather than a religiously controlled conformity to compromising facts. Women turn me on, so I did appreciate the feminine nature of this innocent interactions, and while I romanticized while watching classical Bollywood moments I saw (classic to me, not my parents maybe--does Kuch Kuch count?), I was continuosly exposed to suppressed and repressed notions on sex in Bollywood film and such vibrant visions of sex in Indian languages and arts. I wondered if any brown people could put their hand in a pose where they needed to be expressive.
I became the traditionally unbalanced person I am today! Luckily I found out what going down was on my own and I also have had some moments that have made time stand still in the elegance of perfection in what a feeling. Bollywood is an escapism from poverty and an industry as rampant as Hollywood, with sprinkled beautiful moments. We all try and run away from ourselves and dream of being better looking, having more family pride, having a big-ass house, having rich parents and falling in love, being happier. Bollywood is not different than Hollywood in that respect. There are still notable films coming out of both nations, but can Bollywood put its mouth around the rim of sex on film cannister? It maybe a tough one to swallow. Aside from Evil Auntie, there is also Pious Mami.
Figure it out yourself.
Done.
I think that is the raciest thing I have ever seen come out of a Bollywood sex scene. Though there was no engagement of sex at all...hmm... there was still contact that involved a tattooed up Indian stud-man in the real! Idiot guy didn't pounce on Aishwarya Rai the bonafide Indian goddess. I would follow her to the end of the world.
Evil Auntie:
But a good Indian vomen phorm, she does not just go on and kiss boys so easily! No...instead she ignores eye contact and instead touches him Kama Sutra styles...with affection, to please him. But in return, she vas feeling pleased as vell. I felt like that once. But not vith your idiot uncle!
(okay I AM distracted. Aishwarya is hot)
Evil Auntie continued:
However as an outstanding Brahmin citizen, I vill tell you with much pride and some sort of hidden shame that I am vanting more racy touching scenes. Sexy, sexy good times. Boy meets gul, gul looks at boy with that kind of...you know the way a boy looks at a girl vhen he is fond of her. Vhere is my wine...eh Kanu, phone is ringing! My hair iz is not looking as puffy as it should. I told you vun hundred times...don't just run around making a fool out of yourself. I have learned, that is vhy I have a stripe in my hair. See! Don't just go around chasing boys and forget about your studies! Mama paid alot for those studies!
Eya Owe Julde! Bes ja! [Come here quickly! Sit down!]
I get carried away sometimes, sorry I am back. I give Miss Hotty-Rai the award: "Best Indian Girl That Almost Looked an Indian Man in the Eyes and Got Jiggy-With it, Almost." Congrats!!
For many years I watched Indian women and men kiss like I did when I was 6. I was a little advanced for my age some say (I know who you are--I have ways to silence you). I suppose that I do appreciate my culture in the sense of having a innate cling to colourful expressionism, for me it is hard for me to see sex any different than colour. Or I am just horny by nature of my vessel and now as an adult I have choosen sex as personal power rather than a religiously controlled conformity to compromising facts. Women turn me on, so I did appreciate the feminine nature of this innocent interactions, and while I romanticized while watching classical Bollywood moments I saw (classic to me, not my parents maybe--does Kuch Kuch count?), I was continuosly exposed to suppressed and repressed notions on sex in Bollywood film and such vibrant visions of sex in Indian languages and arts. I wondered if any brown people could put their hand in a pose where they needed to be expressive.
I became the traditionally unbalanced person I am today! Luckily I found out what going down was on my own and I also have had some moments that have made time stand still in the elegance of perfection in what a feeling. Bollywood is an escapism from poverty and an industry as rampant as Hollywood, with sprinkled beautiful moments. We all try and run away from ourselves and dream of being better looking, having more family pride, having a big-ass house, having rich parents and falling in love, being happier. Bollywood is not different than Hollywood in that respect. There are still notable films coming out of both nations, but can Bollywood put its mouth around the rim of sex on film cannister? It maybe a tough one to swallow. Aside from Evil Auntie, there is also Pious Mami.
Figure it out yourself.
Done.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Breaking News
I am much too strong to be weak. I am sure of it. When I follow the lines of my eyes to see people routinely open up to me, I wonder what it is that makes them think that they can understand what it is that I have been through and what it is that I will think of them. They know that I plan on getting to the heart of the piece. A stranger can never know unless you show yourself.
I show myself in faith of knowing that I am doing it in honesty-- I have survived and I have tales to tell to make you react. Ones about me. Never look at me and think that I don't have anything to say. I do. I may listen to you, but I think of me knowing me through you. It is a story about the walks I have taken and the falls that I have danced under, arms spread, legs open, mind easy like the waters flow on a summers day. I have been tested and you will not break me into fumbling my live on air.
I know that I will fall, but I also know that I have no choice but to survive to be a cosmic traveller. Seeing you in feed and hearing about what it is that you have lost and done with yourself, I watch your lips move and take every breath in watching you like a hawk hunting for prey. I see so many around me fade into forgetting what it is that matters. Simplicity, understanding, confusion in pulses of radioactive aura pollution. If life was easy we could not understand the struggle that is its mystery. Investigative reports you can call my work.
I am not the average reporter. I tell you the things that matter to me. They may not matter to you. I will not sell my soul to institutionalized robotics. I tell my truth but I can lie to myself. If you can let yourself be free to getting to know me, you will not forget me. I have that kind of a position that lays me on top of you from below. I may be short, but you don't want to fuck with me.
I will get to you. One way or another. I will get to you. If you never took the time to know my potential after its immediate abundance in hard hitting questions, you have lost my attention. It is your inability to expand your thoughts that leads you to be a falsified subject of investigation. Now I realize that my potential belongs to me in understanding that you are a statistic in my books of studying circumstance, reality and little actual comprehension. I know this.
I am as sharp as a archers feather when I move in to get your reaction. Caught in the moment, I see you for who you are. Though it may not be what it is that I expected to be the story.
I show myself in faith of knowing that I am doing it in honesty-- I have survived and I have tales to tell to make you react. Ones about me. Never look at me and think that I don't have anything to say. I do. I may listen to you, but I think of me knowing me through you. It is a story about the walks I have taken and the falls that I have danced under, arms spread, legs open, mind easy like the waters flow on a summers day. I have been tested and you will not break me into fumbling my live on air.
I know that I will fall, but I also know that I have no choice but to survive to be a cosmic traveller. Seeing you in feed and hearing about what it is that you have lost and done with yourself, I watch your lips move and take every breath in watching you like a hawk hunting for prey. I see so many around me fade into forgetting what it is that matters. Simplicity, understanding, confusion in pulses of radioactive aura pollution. If life was easy we could not understand the struggle that is its mystery. Investigative reports you can call my work.
I am not the average reporter. I tell you the things that matter to me. They may not matter to you. I will not sell my soul to institutionalized robotics. I tell my truth but I can lie to myself. If you can let yourself be free to getting to know me, you will not forget me. I have that kind of a position that lays me on top of you from below. I may be short, but you don't want to fuck with me.
I will get to you. One way or another. I will get to you. If you never took the time to know my potential after its immediate abundance in hard hitting questions, you have lost my attention. It is your inability to expand your thoughts that leads you to be a falsified subject of investigation. Now I realize that my potential belongs to me in understanding that you are a statistic in my books of studying circumstance, reality and little actual comprehension. I know this.
I am as sharp as a archers feather when I move in to get your reaction. Caught in the moment, I see you for who you are. Though it may not be what it is that I expected to be the story.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
"Prince of Pot: The USA vs. Marc Emery"
The USA Government's "war on drugs" and its radical persecution of marijuana is discussed in this great documentary. The USA and the effect of its "war on drugs" on the marijuana culture of Canada. From freedom to prisoners of bully law--this is worth the watch. Puff.
PART ONE:
PART TWO:
PART THREE:
PART ONE:
PART TWO:
PART THREE:
Monday, June 9, 2008
Him & Her : Past Now & Then Future
He looked at the wooden chair in front of him. His eyes were tense, but his heart felt even more gripped.
She had gallivanted over to the right of him in front of the slightly crooked and to tall antique dresser they had found one morning at the market before the thought of them became history.
The chair was the most simple of elementary in its composure, yet somehow with her hand resting upon the edge, her elbows nodding from side to side, her hair seemingly getting old and beginning to fall out--it became worth at least a small scar of inscription on the surface.
He did not know what suit he was going to wear to work the next day. He felt like a freshly squeezed glass of juice. This glass needed a shot of vodka. He was meeting her with his eyes with much hesitation. Two worlds together, so damn far apart. There was an uncomfortable and uneasy feeling in his head and his stomach.
Something was wrong.
Frida Kahlo. The Little Deer Oil on masonite 1946. 22.5 x 30 cm.
In the still of the moment and with her inability to remain still acting up, the metal stopper on the bottom of the chair took glide across the tiles of the floor. The lines of the floor, the symmetry and illusion appeared to enamor the design of purple circle-faded shapes and what appeared as symbols that communicated stories of another time and place. That what goes around, comes around is life's joke on you.
If they would have known then. She gazes up at the wonderful landscape painting that they had seen together at the antique market another Saturday. He had gone back to get it for her (he was pretty wonderful), because she stood there stilled by its captivity to her eyes beholder.
He had pictured that her hand would be the one that would hold his always when he needed a friend. He felt as through he had been struck by a poisonous arrow. And love. How could she do this to him?
She rested her elbows on the dresser. "Just leave," she hid her fears and pretended she was not broken inside. How could he do this to her?
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Silence became the loudest noise they had ever heard.
The heart is a unit that is productive when it does not suffer asphyxiation. Like a bird, it must be free to find its course. There will be dangers in the skies ahead. They know this, did they forget?
She had gallivanted over to the right of him in front of the slightly crooked and to tall antique dresser they had found one morning at the market before the thought of them became history.
The chair was the most simple of elementary in its composure, yet somehow with her hand resting upon the edge, her elbows nodding from side to side, her hair seemingly getting old and beginning to fall out--it became worth at least a small scar of inscription on the surface.
He did not know what suit he was going to wear to work the next day. He felt like a freshly squeezed glass of juice. This glass needed a shot of vodka. He was meeting her with his eyes with much hesitation. Two worlds together, so damn far apart. There was an uncomfortable and uneasy feeling in his head and his stomach.
Something was wrong.
Frida Kahlo. The Little Deer Oil on masonite 1946. 22.5 x 30 cm.
In the still of the moment and with her inability to remain still acting up, the metal stopper on the bottom of the chair took glide across the tiles of the floor. The lines of the floor, the symmetry and illusion appeared to enamor the design of purple circle-faded shapes and what appeared as symbols that communicated stories of another time and place. That what goes around, comes around is life's joke on you.
If they would have known then. She gazes up at the wonderful landscape painting that they had seen together at the antique market another Saturday. He had gone back to get it for her (he was pretty wonderful), because she stood there stilled by its captivity to her eyes beholder.
He had pictured that her hand would be the one that would hold his always when he needed a friend. He felt as through he had been struck by a poisonous arrow. And love. How could she do this to him?
She rested her elbows on the dresser. "Just leave," she hid her fears and pretended she was not broken inside. How could he do this to her?
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Silence became the loudest noise they had ever heard.
The heart is a unit that is productive when it does not suffer asphyxiation. Like a bird, it must be free to find its course. There will be dangers in the skies ahead. They know this, did they forget?
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Alicia Holds the Keys
Alicia Keys is a musician first. When you see her live you can fully grasp the power she has as a remarkable pianist and an honest singer that comes from the body of her soul. It is impossible to deny her remarkable beauty and graceful presence on stage. Her baby grand appears as a natural extension of her long arms and her eyes are sharp and subtly demand your unwavering attention.
Yesterday I saw Alicia belt out an array of moving songs that have gained her worldwide recognition and graduated her to be a multi-Grammy award winner and one of the musical prodigies of our generation. Alongside my best friend Dee, I came to once fall madly in love with her all over again, a feeling I experiences when I first saw her perform 3 years ago at The Urban Aids Benefit Charity Concert. Alicia is worth spending the money to see live for this is the avenue you she is disciplined to shine--live. Classically trained as a pianist since the age of 6, Alicia is a complete natural on stage. She sings with little distraction from anyone or anything around her, she remains focused on her music alone.
What has changed it not her caliber as a performer, but her maturity on stage. Her confidence has grown from when she emerged as a shy, 21-one year old girl from NY who was ushered on to the scene under the wing on Clive Davis (who also discovered the likes of Whitney Houston). What I learned was that this woman sweats her soul and watching her rain this precipitation down her face makes you feel like you are being witness to her fighting and exercising her demons. Her music has always expressed her relationship with love, whether these are enlightening experiences or painful ones, Alicia manages to connect to the truth of the matter through gauging her emotional experiences through raw song writing and beautifully composed music. She blends the sound of r & b with classical music elements to create songs that are timeless and successful at making a sound that reignites in the present, with the sensibility of past influences, experiences, values and reflections.
Alicia appeared in all black-- an elegant sleeveless top with a skinny fit pair of trousers and high heels and she looked fitter than ever (which got many parts of me racing!!). She wooed her fans with such of her classics “A Woman’s Worth,” “If I Ain’t Got You,” “Secrets,” “Karma,” “Fallin” and “Unbreakable.” She covered off quite a few singles off the new album, including a ladies chanting session to “Superwoman,” and a roar in the crowd when she sang “No One.” I was extremely moved through this experience and Alicia’s words reminded me that though the trials and tribulations of relationships and trying to find love, I must remember that “It Sure Looks Good to Me.”
This concert was an experience that I will carry with me to remind me to hold on, stay strong, believe and never stop seeking the love that I wish to find. Alicia is inspirational and I am sure that her songs will continue to guide me and comfort me at times that I seek to understand this complicated life.
Yesterday I saw Alicia belt out an array of moving songs that have gained her worldwide recognition and graduated her to be a multi-Grammy award winner and one of the musical prodigies of our generation. Alongside my best friend Dee, I came to once fall madly in love with her all over again, a feeling I experiences when I first saw her perform 3 years ago at The Urban Aids Benefit Charity Concert. Alicia is worth spending the money to see live for this is the avenue you she is disciplined to shine--live. Classically trained as a pianist since the age of 6, Alicia is a complete natural on stage. She sings with little distraction from anyone or anything around her, she remains focused on her music alone.
What has changed it not her caliber as a performer, but her maturity on stage. Her confidence has grown from when she emerged as a shy, 21-one year old girl from NY who was ushered on to the scene under the wing on Clive Davis (who also discovered the likes of Whitney Houston). What I learned was that this woman sweats her soul and watching her rain this precipitation down her face makes you feel like you are being witness to her fighting and exercising her demons. Her music has always expressed her relationship with love, whether these are enlightening experiences or painful ones, Alicia manages to connect to the truth of the matter through gauging her emotional experiences through raw song writing and beautifully composed music. She blends the sound of r & b with classical music elements to create songs that are timeless and successful at making a sound that reignites in the present, with the sensibility of past influences, experiences, values and reflections.
Alicia appeared in all black-- an elegant sleeveless top with a skinny fit pair of trousers and high heels and she looked fitter than ever (which got many parts of me racing!!). She wooed her fans with such of her classics “A Woman’s Worth,” “If I Ain’t Got You,” “Secrets,” “Karma,” “Fallin” and “Unbreakable.” She covered off quite a few singles off the new album, including a ladies chanting session to “Superwoman,” and a roar in the crowd when she sang “No One.” I was extremely moved through this experience and Alicia’s words reminded me that though the trials and tribulations of relationships and trying to find love, I must remember that “It Sure Looks Good to Me.”
This concert was an experience that I will carry with me to remind me to hold on, stay strong, believe and never stop seeking the love that I wish to find. Alicia is inspirational and I am sure that her songs will continue to guide me and comfort me at times that I seek to understand this complicated life.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
"Give it to Me" : Madonna feat. Pharrell Williams
I dig this beat! Soooo much better than "4 Minutes!" This song makes me wanna dance battle! Look at Madge looking like an ICON...still!
In my opinion, PW did a super job with merging the classical Madonna sound with some new, exciting electric elements. He is one hip brotha. This track is a great collaboration.
In my opinion, PW did a super job with merging the classical Madonna sound with some new, exciting electric elements. He is one hip brotha. This track is a great collaboration.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Medusa
Menacing the way I am.
I never knew that I would suffocate you and that you would remove the hands of our time from the arms on your throat. It seems you fell for me, admiring who it is that I am. When you moved closer to me you came to see, that it was not me at all that you wanted to hold with quality of hopes for more.
I slaughtered my soul, felt so abandoned by the love I felt for you, the warmth of your body that never went below zero. I came up to breath and you would only push me down. I wanted to see me as a reflection of your future, but all and all I came to see the ordinary static that became a shady exchange between you and me. Me on bended knees, so careless at loving with all that is me. So inpatient, so faithful that I was blind that you were ravaging the few strands of peace in my mind. You with a face that looked disgraced, such confusion on your brows and such a loss of colour in your face.
Look at me here on the ground at your feet. What a shameful site I have become. Neither brave, nor smart. Neither resilient, nor fearless. Ripped apart, full of such hopes for a brighter tomorrow, with little spark left in my heart.
Now you see him, but you do not see me. I have been casted as a ghost, only present in the superimposed presence. He is gone, but it is your absence that shocks me more. I sit and wonder why you do not even make the effort to call my phone. Why I called so many times asking for you to change your mind, for you to give me the encouragement that we could get through this together. What is it that I have done, where is it that I failed to show you that I cared. I know I can be selfish, I know I can be crudely bold. Understand that I am working night and day to gain back my control.
The sound of your voice echoes at the stroke of a guitar. Clumsily I fall victim to the spell of your calming tone and I remember sitting next to you and gazing at you with such a crush on your control. Bob Marley hung above your head, a puff on smoke around your beautiful head.
Now I wonder how much deeper the distance will get between our kindred minds, if I was just a figment of imagination that became blended with undefinable unfortunate and a flash in your mind.
I catch myself falling back, but it is only with honestly I continue to fall. How is it that I am suppose to process this all? I ponder about the mistakes I made, my inability to walk away. My inability to listen to you tell me that I was more than you could take on. That I deserved someone who could fulfill my feelings and express their voice in words. At that point my head felt like it had been spinning for days, my heart was on empty but still managed to run to you. I wanted so bad to be close to you.
The confusion comes full circle when I listen to you sing. You are aware of the love that I feel, I hear it in your words. I feel a tear shake in my eye and I begin to see, that you and me where so far apart. I am scared that I no longer live inside your heart.
I never knew that I would suffocate you and that you would remove the hands of our time from the arms on your throat. It seems you fell for me, admiring who it is that I am. When you moved closer to me you came to see, that it was not me at all that you wanted to hold with quality of hopes for more.
I slaughtered my soul, felt so abandoned by the love I felt for you, the warmth of your body that never went below zero. I came up to breath and you would only push me down. I wanted to see me as a reflection of your future, but all and all I came to see the ordinary static that became a shady exchange between you and me. Me on bended knees, so careless at loving with all that is me. So inpatient, so faithful that I was blind that you were ravaging the few strands of peace in my mind. You with a face that looked disgraced, such confusion on your brows and such a loss of colour in your face.
Look at me here on the ground at your feet. What a shameful site I have become. Neither brave, nor smart. Neither resilient, nor fearless. Ripped apart, full of such hopes for a brighter tomorrow, with little spark left in my heart.
Now you see him, but you do not see me. I have been casted as a ghost, only present in the superimposed presence. He is gone, but it is your absence that shocks me more. I sit and wonder why you do not even make the effort to call my phone. Why I called so many times asking for you to change your mind, for you to give me the encouragement that we could get through this together. What is it that I have done, where is it that I failed to show you that I cared. I know I can be selfish, I know I can be crudely bold. Understand that I am working night and day to gain back my control.
The sound of your voice echoes at the stroke of a guitar. Clumsily I fall victim to the spell of your calming tone and I remember sitting next to you and gazing at you with such a crush on your control. Bob Marley hung above your head, a puff on smoke around your beautiful head.
Now I wonder how much deeper the distance will get between our kindred minds, if I was just a figment of imagination that became blended with undefinable unfortunate and a flash in your mind.
I catch myself falling back, but it is only with honestly I continue to fall. How is it that I am suppose to process this all? I ponder about the mistakes I made, my inability to walk away. My inability to listen to you tell me that I was more than you could take on. That I deserved someone who could fulfill my feelings and express their voice in words. At that point my head felt like it had been spinning for days, my heart was on empty but still managed to run to you. I wanted so bad to be close to you.
The confusion comes full circle when I listen to you sing. You are aware of the love that I feel, I hear it in your words. I feel a tear shake in my eye and I begin to see, that you and me where so far apart. I am scared that I no longer live inside your heart.
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