These times they are tumultuous,
Spreading lots of bad vibes through us,
Turmoil found everywhere you look,
The news often repulses us,
So we choose something more sumptuous,
Curled up with chocolate, wine, and a good book.
Author Archives: blitzken
WOTD (2): Seething
I’m taking the liberty of posting a second WOTD, but unlike the first, it’s a verb. It came up in a conversation I was having yesterday, and I realised I hadn’t used it in a very long time, which is apropos for me, because it takes me a long time before I get to the point where I’m seething.
The word comes from the old English seothan, meaning to make or keep boiling. I find it to be very graphic. I immediately get a picture in my mind of a boiling pot with steam bursting out the sides, or Yosemite Sam, getting angry and having steam blow out his ears. It works pretty well with simmering as well, sort of the precursor to seething I guess.
His voice got darker, humour turned dimmer,
One look said he was starting to simmer,
He checked his pulse and also his breathing,
No doubt now that he finally was seething!
Bittersweet Thoughts on Bin Laden
One more bad guy bites the dust,
Yet the moment’s bittersweet,
When people whoop and cheer for blood,
The victory’s not complete,
When ideologies come to blows,
Push sometimes comes to shove,
We’re drawn onto the path of war,
Though we’d choose the path of love,
Lennon, Ghandi, Martin Luther King,
All had good points of course,
But the truth is sadly sometimes,
Force must be met with force,
That truth is somber, sobering,
And as such should be met,
Not with joy and pleasure,
But some measure of regret,
The hawks and doves will argue,
Neither one completely right,
There are times though that safety,
Must be shielded with might,
We wish for peace, and work for peace,
Still this must be reconciled,
With the fact that none would hesitate,
To give their life for their child.
THANK GOD (A Reclamation Project)
So much to be thankful for,
That’s why I say it, nothing more,
No bearded man up in the sky,
No entity, no reason why,
No dogma, no theology,
Just thankful’s a good way to be,
So no,
I do not find it odd,
If now and then I say thank God,
There’s so much to be thankful for,
That’s why I say it,
Nothing more.
If you don’t get just what I say,
Let me put it another way,
Just because I don’t believe in God,
Does not mean I’m not humbled and awed,
By the great whole wide world we share,
By wonders I see everywhere,
It’s natural that me and you,
Want something to be thankful to,
So we made it up, we made a name,
A symbol there to love or blame.
But I like the word, I think it’s nice,
A sound literary device,
No spirit, no nor entity,
The word God is just you and me,
Represents all that we can be,
Our collective thoughts and energy,
No church, no heaven; all that’s absurd,
And truly just pollutes the word,
The word God should mean so much more,
Should show what we’re all thankful for.
So,
God is not good, God is not great,
Got is not angry or irate,
And if you think, I’m sure you’ll find,
God only exists in your mind,
No need to confess or pray,
Just learn to think another way,
Accept who you are and how you’ve been,
There is no original sin,
God is a word, and nothing more,
To show what we’re all thankful for.
Thoughts from a café at T-Centralen in Stockholm (A reality check exercise)
Take yourself out some place. A café perhaps, on a busy downtown street, or ideally to the train station or the bus station.
Now, get yourself a magazine. Screw the articles. Get one with lots of pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. This is not an intellectual exercise.
It’s a reality check that crosses all lines; culture, colour, class, IQ, language, gender, orientation, age. We’re all in this particular boat together baby.
Now, get settled in with those pics in your GQ, Vogue, Elle, Cosmo, or one of thousands of others in the same genre. Soak them in. Admire the pretty people.
Fantasize about their fabulous lives. Wish and dream about being like them, or even just knowing them, and being close to their world. Feel just a little bit smaller.
Now put the magazine down. Leave it open to a picture if you like, it doesn’t matter. It might even help. Shift your attention away from it though, and instead watch the dizzying array of people parading before you. Yeah. You know where I’m going with this don’t you?
Of all the hundreds, perhaps thousands of people walking past you, how many look like the models in the magazine? I’ll tell you. None. Not one. Not a single goddamned one of them. Not even the ones who are desperately trying to look like them. Hell, if one of the actual models from the magazine happened to walk by, even they wouldn’t look like their media image portrays them.
Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t look away just yet! You’re only half way through the exercise. Keep watching the parade. Watch until you find yourself revelling in the variety, until you realise where true beauty lies, until you realise it’s all subjective and the whole playing field constantly shifts and is only made up of our individual judgements based on our own needs and insecurities. Until you realise that what you see passing before you is an intricate and dazzling display of human beauty in all its forms and that in actual fact it is the media image in its inaccurate simplicity that generally fails to capture that depth.
Repeat the exercise as often as possible, until you really actually get the truth of it. Afterwards, continue to buy those magazines if you want, but for goodness sakes, keep them in perspective.
Public School Music
I know this area is usually used to write about the history of a particular act, but I’d like to take a slightly different turn. There is often a lot of talk in education funding circles everywhere, be it Canada, the U.S., or even here in Sweden, about arts funding and specifically funding for music in schools. Everytime I hear that kind of mindless chatter it sets my blood to boiling. Why on earth anyone could consider music as some kind of extra program baffles me to no end.
I was blessed with the good fortune to attend an inner city public school in downtown Toronto early in the 1970’s. Now I don’t know if people were smarter and more broad thinking then, or if there was more money around, or if it was just the result of a driven few, but my public school consisted of a wonderful music education, from many different angles, and is what I remember more from my school experience than any other aspect.
Firstly there was some sort of visiting artists program. I graduated from grade 8, which is the upper end of public school in Toronto, in spring of 1976. So these happenings took place before then. When I was in either grade 5 or 6 I remember we had a group come in and play just for 2 classes together. The only song I can remember they played for sure was The Band’s The Weight. The next week however they appeared live on Rollin’ On the River, which was the variety show hosted by Kenny Rogers and The First Edition, which was recorded in Canada. Now that performance was very intimate, and took place down in the playroom which was in the basement of the school. Slightly smaller than a regular classroom. A bigger event was a concert that took place the same year, which was held up in the large auditorium, and the whole school attended. I remember that vividly. The whole school sitting on the floor, and one man with a guitar, who chose not to sit up on the stage, but rather on a chair, on the floor with us. Unfortunately I don’t recall the whole setlist (always admired people who could do that, but hey, I was probably about 10). The one song I do recall absolutely is Jim Croce’s Rapid Roy. Looking back on some notes about the Kenny Roger’s and The First Edition show I see that Jim Croce actually appeared on it, and I now realise I may actually have seen Jim Croce. I don’t know what that means to you, but I find it surprisingly moving.
One performance I know for sure moves me was a very special one. They took two of the classrooms to The Imperial Room, at The Royal York Hotel, which is across from Union Station down on Front Street. There may be bigger and grander places now, but there sure weren’t then. We were wide eyed as they marched us through the plush lobby and into the theatre. We crowded around the foot of the stage, just standing in a large group, and then as natural and friendly as could be out came Ella Fitzgerald. I recall that it was about an hour long performance, and she sang A-Tisket, A-Tasket. Absolutely magical.
Just a couple blocks away from The Royal York Hotel stands the Royal Alexandra Theatre, known by everyone in Toronto as the Royal Alex. As well as having the opportunity to see musical acts as I’ve described, we also got to see a lot of theatre. The obvious one that jumps to mind was the musical production Grease, which would have been around 1975. I’m forgetting tons of others, but I know we often saw The Nutcracker by The National Ballet at The O’Keefe Centre, as well as The Famous People Players. We also had theatre troupes come to the school, and in the same auditorium where I may have seen Jim Croce, I saw my first production of Midsummer Night’s Dream, when I was 13 in grade 8.
In addition to these presentations and outings was an arts program brought into the schools by the Inner City Angels. A group of artists that focused on inner city schools and provided mini-courses for selected students in film, music, painting, etc. Music was also provided for directly in the curriculum, with music class holding its own along side all of the other subjects. We had a huge choir, conducted by one of my favourite teachers over all of the years, Mr.Paul Brisley. Once a week we had Music Appreciation class. For that class we could bring in whatever music we wanted, our own records, and we would play them in class and discuss them. I think he had a soft spot for me because I used to get my music largely from my godmother’s daughters, Theresa and Mary-Louise, who were 4 and 6 years older than me respectively, so it was usually something a little different than what all the other students were bringing in. What really sticks with me from music class though, is not the chance to play our own records, or to perform in the choir, but the simple way in which Mr.Brisley absolutely burned with a passion for music. He would get equally excited talking about the complexities of American Pie, (which I remember we studied in detail) as he would be with getting us to pick out instruments by ear that we heard in classical pieces, or getting us to write parodies of popular songs. He would also bring in stuff for us that he found fun and interesting, like Allan Sherman’s Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah, or Eight Foot Two, Solid Blue (has anybody seen my Martian gal). It was truly a diverse class in terms of teaching.
Now that I’m all growed up and play myself, I make it a point to play for and around children as often as I can. I have no desire to be a children’s performer, but they don’t need that as much as they need to see and feel and experience live music as much as possible. They need to get infected with a love for it. I did, and it may not only have been from my public education, but that played a large role, and I am eternally grateful for anyone who played a part in bringing it to my life.
Bunny Inc.
An Easter day all bright and sunny, Preparing for the Easter bunny,
That comes up from his little hole, And gives out all the eggs he stole,
He hops around, does all the playing, While hens work to do all the laying,
Their product’s great, fine execution, But they know naught of distribution,
So bunny put two and two together, A perfect blend of fur and feather,
With some savvy market tricks, He threw some chocolate in the mix,
Through work and brains and dedication, He brought the world a new creation,
So Happy Easter, With a nod and wink,
All brought to you by Bunny Inc.
For A Moment….
Thought I found the perfect words to say,
For a moment,
Then they slipped away,
But in that moment everything was good.
You understood my innermost,
Saw the ghost of things that used to be,
I’d found a way to help you see,
Beyond the pain,
Blame,
Wrong or right,
To put things in a different light,
You had your own epiphany,
Knew the ties left binding you and me,
Are ties built deep and meant to last,
Irregardless of the past,
Saw your warm, accepting, glowing heart,
I sensed you ready to restart,
I’d found the perfect words to say,
For a moment,
Then they slipped away.
The Blink Of An Eye
The blink of an eye,
A lifetime comes swirling and twirling on by,
Leaving childhood memories,
Flitting stark through their haze,
As you lay there in bed near the end of your days,
While half worlds away I’m moved gently to tears,
With a soft reminisce through our parallel years,
To think that those times that we spent long ago,
Still live deep within us in ways we don’t know,
To come back in an instant when lately I hear,
You lay there in bed,
Your last days drawing near.
Info Ovo
Back story, crack story,
Hooked on facts,
Give me info, give me stats,
Need to be in the know,
Let me see, let me show,
Who did what and where and how,
Need to know and know it now,
What’s that in the middle east?
How’s the planet, and the trees?
What’s with “B list” celebrities?
What’s new in science? Politics?
Who had flings? The latest tricks?
What’s hot on Youtube, and TV?
What does this quiz say about me?
What’s new in fashion? Latest looks?
Google all the latest books,
Take it all in, every drop,
Don’t know how to make it stop,
Soon I’m sure I will explode,
From information overload,
Need to learn to turn and shrug,
To reach down here and pull the pl…….