Culture, Music

Mira Parfitt. I just love a woman on guitar rocking Rainbows.

Follow Mira via the San Diego Reader

(Taken with Instagram at Bird Rock Coffee Roasters)

One of the day dreams I’ve had is to help young artists find their audience. Mira Parfitt (@miraparfitt) was one of those people who inspired that in me.

Update January 21, 2013: Mira released New Plaid Shirt on Mira Parfitt, her own label.

The photo below was taken at my favorite San Diego Coffee shop, Bird Rock Coffee Roasters, and is nearly two years earlier.

https://rd.io/e/Qj5kWGM

Hey, I took that photo! 💕“I just love a woman on guitar rocking Rainbows.”
— @ang RE @miragoto Rockin’ Rainbows and her favorite plaid flannel shirt playing her guitar, singing for Bird Rock Coffee Roasters
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Sunday Morning

In the morning light he stands silhouetted against the kitchen window’s gaze. Trees are a near image of black and white the backdrop behind him. They have grown there of dinner’s waste disposed of in pots of soil to late reap trees of plum and lemon, dates, and tomato vines, melons sprouts that will never grow pregnant into their confined space, and a new sprout yet to be determined as orange or lemon, but he knows that it is citrus.

As he pours the water (word for just before boiling) into the pot the gas flame flames licking at the sky stretching great feats of distance, three and four inches high unbridled flame. Tea and toast and little cookies. He watered the plants and there is a slow cascade of water dripping that blends into the choirs music wafting through the kitchen that seems just all to fitting for a Sunday morning. He discusses living in the shadow of the Roman Catholic Church and wonders why the Pope doesn’t save lives instead of souls.

He plays the harmonic on the toes of one foot—no, it’s the pan flute—on all ten toes to Mozart’s K622.

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The Arms of a Lost Lover

White froth
Of water disturbed
Path gouged in depths
Of raging darkest blues
And once serenest greens
A momentary trail
Remembrance
Of where he has gone

A small dark room
Cool stone walls
On tiled floor her feet move
Fluidity of movement
Leg to thigh
Hip to breast
Arm to neck
Viewed only
By the cicada
In the corner
A haunted dance

The fan vacillates
Antiqued metal stirs the air
Strings flutter
Its grace never touching
The sweat upon her face

Lowered arms
Slackened form
The music fading
The melody that was
From within

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Piazza Prati Strozzi 33

Piazza Prati Strozzi 33

Walls of burnt caramel with bookcases holding treasured and worn volumes of poetry, Dorothy Parker, textbooks of youth and scholar, biology and war, movies in black and white, and dust covered CD jewel cases. A desk faces the window—a tall and double width window—out of which a pale sheer flutters through as the wind inhales causing it to move about as a woman’s dress tangled about the knees giving hint to life’s source.

The desk has space for one to sit and spans nearly as wide as the room, much longer than a bed might be. Papers and books, and documentations of authenticity are strewn, but neatly, across. All are centered about the chair which faces the window of flirting blue reminiscent of clouds.

Piazza Prati Strozzi 33

Against the only other wall with space not adorned by books—volumes and volumes of books in mixed language and genre—is a red couch. The couch is of modern style and pulls out into a bed in a way which seems unique, though this is really nothing altogether new.

Old jazz music plays—a pianist who played with Miles Davis.

Piazza Prati Strozzi 33

It smells of rosemary and fennel and of roasting aubergines.

Piazza Prati Strozzi 33

Against the back wall, opposite the window, is one framed photograph. Black and white, matted against creamy white, in a thin wooden frame. A table of elegant men and women are frozen in a moment. The woman in the right corner stares out with clearest eyes of glass, just as la Fornarina. She wears a hat. To the other end sits a mother, though not yet realized. She looks out of the photo from the slight turn of her face. In between, men are locked in various states of unaware being, one looking at the camera, the others simply arranged in a Caravaggio construction of the Last Supper. The photo is placed high on the wall—positioned for the tall, dark and handsome Italian man who lives here. Or is he Spanish?

Sometimes, even he’s not certain.

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Music

Nebraska

Well I had a great time on my trip to the midwest. Forgot how relaxing that lifestyle is, and how up tight we are around here.

I feel a disconnect from the world as I knew it. I don’t know what my direction in life is. It seems that sometimes love just isn’t enough.

Last night I had some pretty serious thoughts. Sobering thoughts. I was thinking of disappearing, in one way or another. Leaving this life behind.

So anyway, here I am, another day of living. And that’s okay.

Song for the day:

Fallen Angels
There’s a candle burning in the world tonight
For another child who vanished out of sight
And a heart is broken, another prayer in vain
There’s a million tears that fill a sea of pain
Sometimes I stare out my window
My thoughts all drift into space
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a better place

Where do fallen angels go
I just don’t know

Where do fallen angels go
They just keep falling

Now the times in frightening
Can’t ignore the facts
There’s so many people
Just slippin’ through the cracks
So many ashes are scattered
So many rivers run dry
Sometimes your Heaven is Hell
and you don’t know why

Can you hear me
Somewhere out there there’s a shining light
And I got to be with you tonight
And with all we’re nowhere
We still pay the price
Yeah the Devil seems to get his way
In downtown paradise

Aerosmith

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Music

Do What I Have To Do

What ravages of spirit
conjured this temptuous rage
created you a monster
broken by the rules of love
and fate has lead you through it
you do what you have to do
and fate has led you through it
you do what you have to do …

and I have the sense to recognize that
I don’t know how to let you go
every moment marked
with apparitions of your soul
I’m ever swiftly moving
trying to escape this desire
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
the yearning to be near you
I do what I have to do
but I have the sense to recognize

that I don’t know how
to let you go
I don’t know how
to let you go

a glowing ember
burning hot
burning slow
deep within I’m shaken by the violence
of existing for only you

I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
I know I can’t be with you
I do what I have to do
and I have sense to recognize but
I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go
I don’t know how to let you go

Sarah McLachlan

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Angie & Brad Benson

Just thoughts…

It’s eleven o’clock, and I’m just thinking. I just watched a movie which in the end showed what true friendship is about. (Brokedown Palace) I can’t help but think about my friends, or the one’s I had. Life is so different now. So far from what it used to be. According to the rules I grew up by, I don’t deserve my friends, and I’ll never talk to them again, according to the way I live.

My parents don’t believe I’ll ever “make it back”. I guess I’ve just proved them right. The life I used to know is just gone. I don’t remember it. I don’t remember how it feels. I’m crying now. I guess because I know what it feels like to admit to it.

Driving home the other night I thought about how alone in this world I am. I put the one person I feel a connection with on a plane, and realized that was the one person. Funny thing is I can’t say that I’m lonely necessarily. I’m just here. I’m just living. I do what I have to do, day by day. Live how life is there to be lived. I find enough to wake up to the next morning.

It’s weird – Not remembering. Not being able to touch the past. I can’t long for it. I can’t look back and reminisce. It’s just gone. If anyone out there is listening, don’t be hurt. It’s like my dad. I miss him so dearly, although I never knew him.

Looking back, I can’t help but wonder what choices I could have made that would have so drastically altered my life. what if my dad had never died? What if I had never made the mistakes I did with my “first love”? What if I had never met or married Brad? What if I had never given up?

Maybe I don’t stop to cry because I refuse to believe the story I have to tell. How could I have ever had this happen, all the things in my life? What did I do to ever deserve this?

I was captured in a moment today when I heard “Still the One” on the radio. That was supposed to be Brad’s and my song, in a silly backwards way. What do I even say to that? What do I say to the past four years of my life? What do I say to sitting around and taking it, until my spirit and heart was crushed? Why did I ever believe I should be so strong? Why didn’t I give up in the right place?

I don’t wish for anything – I don’t have a vision in my head of the way I wish things were. I’m here, and I’m fine. I’m alive and that’s enough. I just have a story to tell that I wouldn’t even believe myself.

So how freely to I vent my soul to the world? To those who don’t know me, or the ones who know the most? Do I tell you all the stories, and hope that no one is listening? Do I find strength in coming to terms with the sadness some turn their eyes from?

So many do not feel it is their place to know what goes on inside a marriage. What went on is my only solace for where I am. With that here’s my words, a story from a night – July 29, 1999. Continue reading

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10/15/2000

We stand so close
You and I.
You hold my hand
and we take off to fly.

The wind catches our wings
and as we start to soar
One of us looks down
and begins to doubt.

Our eyes are masked
our hearts not so far behind.
Such a struggle to let go
with each other…

Too much to lose?

So we enjoy where we stand
so close to each other.
Once again you’ll take my hand
and together we’ll soar.

10.15.2000

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Entirely, Louis Macneice

Entirely

If we could get the hang of it entirely
It would take too long;
All we know is the splash of words in passing
And falling twigs of song,
And when we eavesdrop on the great
Presences it is rarely
That by a stroke of luck we can appropriate
Even a phrase entirely
If we could find our happiness entirely
In somebody else’s arms
We should not fear the spears of spring nor the city’s
Yammering fire alarms
But, as it is, the spears each year go through
Our flesh and almost hourly
Bell or siren banishes the blue
Eyes of love entirely.
And if the world were black and white entirely
And all the charts were plain
Instead of a mad weir of tigerish waters,
A prism of delight and pain,
We might be surer where we wished to go
Or again we might be meremy
Bored but in brute reality there is no
Road that is right entirely.

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Simple thoughts & explainations

Still tumbling through thoughts.

Isn’t it like me,
To want to say,
Things I can’t explain in simple ways?

Why should I be sane?
Why can’t I be crazy?

Sometimes I’m up,
Sometimes I’m down,
I choke on words, and make no sound.
Sometimes.

Why is it so hard,
To know myself?
Underneath this skin you’ll find, someone else.

Don’t be so suprised,
When you look inside me,
(inside me)

Sometimes It’s black,
Sometimes It’s white,
You hide behind electric light,
Sometimes.

Sometimes I swear,
Sometimes I pray,
Suddenly the guilty dissobey,
Sometimes.

Sometimes I’m weak,
Sometimes I’m strong,
Living with the fear I don’t belong,
Sometimes.

Sometimes I stand,
Sometimes I fall,
I throw myself against the wall,
Sometimes.

Sometimes I sink,
Sometimes I swim,
Tell me why my world is caving in,
Sometimes.

Sometimes it’s sweet,
Sometimes it’s raw,
Trying to get so high, like I did before,
Sometimes.

Sometimes in love,
Sometimes in hate,
Sometimes it’s all a big mistake,
Sometimes.

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Music

Irreconcilable differences.

ir·rec·on·cil·a·ble – adj.

Impossible to reconcile: irreconcilable differences.

n.
1. A person, especially a member of a group, who will not compromise, adjust, or submit.
2. One of two or more conflicting ideas or beliefs that cannot be brought into harmony.

I am torn.

I thought I saw a man brought to life,
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified,
He showed me what it was to cry,
Well, you couldn’t be that man I adored.
You don’t seem to know, seem to care, what your heart is for,
But I don’t know him anymore,
There’s nothing where he used to lie,
My conversation has run dry,
That’s what’s goin’ on. Nothing’s fine I’m torn…

Continue reading

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