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In January I collided with two splendid creatures in Balboa Park, Lila’Angelique and Thoth, which together form Tribal Baroque.

I wanted to share some portraits I took of them, in order to share some of the magic of their presence and music.

Nothing prepares you for the beauty that is Tribal Baroque, but here is a taste of what’s in store if you can make it to one of their prayformances in the park.

This is the Facebook page of Tribal Baroque, so you can catch these fairies who are here in San Diego for a limited time.

{more to come…see below}
…….

Four days ago, I spent two hours crafting the perfect posts on my muses, full of links and perfectly ( to me) worded prose.

When I went to publish the post, I LOST everything. It is the first time that this has happened on WordPress, which is usually excellent at saving drafts in progress.

I have been too heartbroken to come back and re-craft my post, but I have new art from Saturday and tonight – yes i started sketching and painting again (!) – and new photographs that I want to share, and life must go on.

Enjoy this images for now.. I will come back in the morning, refreshed, and tell you its stories…
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Thank you for bringing the *triple* rainbow and pink sky ūüėČ :
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Making Bracelets [Nights at Bassam's]. Digitally manipulated photographs. December 2013.

Making Bracelets [Nights at Bassam’s]. Digitally manipulated photographs. December 2013.


“We all need someone to look at us.  We can be divided into four categories according to the kind of look we wish to live under.
The first category longs for the look of an infinite number of anonymous eyes, in other words, for the look of the public.¬† The second category is made up of people who have a vital need to be looked at by many known eyes.¬† They are the tireless hosts of cocktail parties and dinners.¬† They are happier than the people in the first category, who, when they lose their public, have the feeling that the lights have gone out in the room of their lives.¬† This happens to nearly all of them sooner or later.¬† People in the second category, on the other hand, can always come up with the eyes they need.¬† Then there is the third category, the category of people who need to be constantly before the eyes of the person they love.¬† Their situation is as dangerous as the situation of people in the first category.¬† One day the eyes of their beloved will close, and the room will go dark.¬† And finally there is the fourth category, the rarest, the category of people who live in the imaginary eyes of those who are not present.¬† They are the dreamers.‚ÄĚ

Milan Kundera


-the definition of unconditional-


daydreamer
stargazer
we make an unlikely couple
– we sure do –

 

i’ve been in my head
dangerously close to the sun
i don’t have icarus’ wax wings –
mine are made of foil
they will not melt, but burn.

 

turn your journals into songs,
irresponsible happinesses,
stringing beads and giddy smiles…
i always, still, get lost in the immense, dark pools of your eyes
drawn to, swim in, drown.
undeniable whirlpools, deep waters: as far as¬†i am concerned, the whole building tilts towards them.¬†¬†i can’t escape the pull.
their whites, though, is like the white of clouds
i could stare at them, and calm myself,
like one does with cumuli and strata, cirri.

 

i’ve been making a mixtape –

 

each song was bought and paid for in heart pieces.

 

i have traveled
through winters in fargo,
my freshman years,
nights in Florence,
i have opened lost love letters in california.
for you, it’s always for you.
and if i’m wasting my love
if you are stealing it
I’m a more than willing victim
fake-fainting in the arms of the gentleman thief.
your handling always extracts poetry from me,
you are an expert player – and I am pliant.

 

we don’t live in paris or rome,¬†i know, but¬†i swear on our stolen nights i was walking by the river and looking at the stars —
we are not on park boulevard: we are in heaven.

 

perhaps it was just need that brought us together
we wanted fire
and it was provided.
I am convinced we are each others’ figments of the imagination.
because nothing is ever real when we are together: it’s vivid, surreal pura vida, and exists in air chambers.
or, perhaps what i have with you is reality, only feeling, only present, only now –
the rest is a filler.
time is relative under the bell, we are forever kissing – every action continues in perpetuity.
months go by, but i just held you.
the silence is absolute, and you can’t hear my screams.¬† I know better now.

 

i wake up with sentences fully formed,
i have not left your eyes or your chest where I slept.
where you let me sleep for the first time.
i am still there.
i am letting the days go by
as one gazes, mesmerized, at colorful and bland socks
tumbling in the dryer.

 

this is what i really want to do,
tell you that i replay your words in my mind,
that i am happy you feel my eyes on your
[caressing] eyes.

 

that you kissed me with lips of pillows and petals
and that i slept in them.
that your skin is made of the most exquisite silk
and that each kiss i gave you was my blessing.

 

i wanted to use our bodies as instruments
make love, no, a symphony.
the words that part us will never come from my lips
or my fingers.
we both know that i am unable.

 

there is an overlap between
freedom and loneliness.
i’m perhaps utterly lost,
but finally at peace.

 

i want you to know,
i would never take a single touch or word
for granted. or your soulheartbody.
the night dissolved in your arms
faded
devotion made touch, flesh, verb, breath-
you are the definition of unconditional.

 

more paper trails for me to burn on,
Love is not warm milk.
i want to
adorn you in precious metals and words
last night’s embers are still glowing.

 

when i die, i will be made into fireworks.





San Diego, December 16, 2013

………


We want what we want.
We love what we love.

From ‘ Beautiful Ruins.’


songlist:

playlist3web


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Narciso, parole di burro
Si sciolgono sotto l’alito della passione
Narciso trasparenza e mistero
Cospargimi di olio alle mandorle e vanità
Modellami…
Raccontami le storie che ami inventare
Spaventami
Raccontami le nuove esaltanti vittorie
Conquistami,inventami, dammi un’altra identit√†
Stordiscimi,disarmami e infine colpisci
Abbracciami ed ubriacami di ironia e sensualità
Narciso, parole di burro
Nascondono proverbiale egoismo nelle intenzioni
Narciso, sublime apparenza
Ricoprimi di eleganti premure e sontuosità
Ispirami
Raccontami le storie che ami inventare
Spaventami
Raccontami le nuove esaltanti vittorie
Conquistami inventami, dammi un’altra identit√†
Stordiscimi, disarmami e infine colpisci
Abbracciami ed ubriacami di ironia e sensualità
Abbracciami ed ubriacami di ironia e sensualità
Conquistami
Conquistami
Conquistami


Narcissus, buttered words
Melt under the breath of passion
Narcissus, transparency and mystery
Cover me with almond oil and vanity
Mold me
Tell me the stories you love to make up
Scare me
Tell me about your new exciting victories
Conquer me, invent me, give me another identity
Numb me, disarm me, and finally hit
Embrace me and intoxicate me with irony and sensuality

Narcissus, buttered words
Hide the proverbial egoism in your intentions
Narcissus, sublime pretense
Cover me with elegant cares and sumptuousness
Inspire me
Tell me the stories you love to make up
Scare me
Tell me about your new exciting victories
Conquer me, invent me, give me another identity
Numb me, disarm me, and finally, hit
Embrace me and intoxicate me with irony and sensuality
Conquer me
Conquer me
Conquer me



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Between Two Waters

This song is a whole lifetime,
and this is how I want to live.

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The set above was designed by Jenna Ann Mac Gillis for the performance
‘The Desperate Characters of Mercer County’
which took place at San Diego Space for Art on November 10, 2012. Read all the lurid details of this Americana story here.

Like a Gillian Welch Song

I can feel poetry
rise out of silence
like an undeniable tide,
a Polaroid floats to the surface.

The words appear
Oh honey, just take out your lighter,
they are written in lemon juice

Loving you was like
carrying a cardboard suitcase
in the rain

In the absence of

I collect mugs by my bedside
Ride in empty buses
-straw bale leggings-
and always get to the theather
after the movie ended

I walk among the Saturday night revelers huddled around a screen
-the miniskirts march in lockstep

It’s date night in San Diego
a cold one too
knights in shirt sleeves have donated their coats
and presents are opened inside cars.

I steal glances and compose poems
that don’t help anyone tonight.
The lines start to sound
like a Gillian Welch song.
If you have a mind like a diamond,
expect it to cut.

I was in love with the dream of you
And now I am shackled to a ghost.

Some kinds of pain never die;
they can only ease a little,
and not every day
.



San Diego, November 2012

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One of my most cherished books.

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Lord Byron’s handwriting.



Stanzas Written On the Road Between Florence and Pisa



Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;

The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

‘Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled.

Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

O Fame!‚ÄĒif I e’er took delight in thy praises,

‘Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;

Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;

When it sparkled o’er aught that was bright in my story,

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.


George Gordon, Lord Byron

November, 1821




Romantics, for more on the lives of the Poets, you might hide here for a few days, and spend the evenings at your local cafe reading poems accompanied by a well-tempered clavier.¬† For my part, I have ordered Ugo Foscolo’s Le Ultime Lettere di Jacopo Ortis (The Last Letters of Jacopo Ortis)–and ¬†look forward to sinking in¬†its lyrical, poignant song that so well describes the passion and contradiction of the Italian spirit (and¬†carries me back to¬†the Halcyon days of Literature and Poetry studies in high school).¬† A presto, more watercolor portraits await…

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I woke up with the sound of your voice telling me

“I know where this could potentially lead to

And I am not afraid.”




In a Manner of speaking

I just want to say

That I could never forget the way

You told me everything

By saying nothing


In a manner of speaking

I don’t understand

How love in silence becomes reprimand

But the way that i feel about you

Is beyond words


Oh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me nothing

Ohohohoh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me everything


In a manner of speaking

Semantics won’t do

In this life that we live we only make do

And the way that we feel

Might have to be sacrificed


So in a manner of speaking

I just want to say

That just like you

I should find a way

To tell you everything

By saying nothing.


Oh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me nothing

Ohohohoh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me everything


Oh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me nothing

Ohohohoh give me the words

Give me the words

That tell me everything

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