fairytale in the supermarket

I am thankful for this song:



Aren't they amazing? I had the good fortune to see the reunion tour earlier this year and it was just so fun. Ellen and I were talking about how we wish there were more old ladies in rock. It was startling(ly awesome) to see several older women, clearly having a blast in each other's company, creating and recreating the fascinating noise that is only possible through their unique combination of talents. There is nothing generic about this band; everyone in it is in the Raincoats and not just in a band.

"But older women in rock aren't that rare," you say. Yes, you're right. But groups of them are. This is the difference between the Raincoats, as a group of women, and someone like Kim Gordon, who is also super fucking awesome but usually the lone woman on stage. This makes her rather formidable, I think. Most of the time, I want women to be equipped with intimidation factor, and Ms. Gordon has it in abundance. But the Raincoats make me think of wanting to hang with my girls forever.

Somewhere in there, I think, is the purpose of mindtroll is (we're not all girls but y'know). I definitely do not want to compare us sound-wise to this beautiful group, but I want to draw the parallel that we are four people who are really into being friends and creating noise. And if I am going to live and make music, that is the music I want to make. If it's crafted with genuineness and love, what it sounds like is almost irrelevant.

melancholia

Since my house has been a decidedly liminal space, I've been watching films a lot. Yesterday N and I saw Melancholia. The four humors: Dunst as Justine (of course) the melancholic; Gainsbourg as Claire the uneasy choleric. Lilies of the Valley everywhere - with their death, poison, Christian undertones - and funerary paper whites and dark greens. Lanterns escaping into night sky. Feelings of love that leads nowhere. Feelings of futility. The slow, slow motion. The exhaustion. The panic, then finally the biggest thing of all.

raid at occupy

I am saddened and angered at the situation in Zuccotti Park. Saddened and angered at Bloomberg, the bully, who sent NYPD thugs to sneak into the tent villages under cover of darkness like raccoons raiding a trash can. Saddened and angered about the fact that peaceful protestors were beaten, gassed, cuffed. Saddened and angered about the fact that the 5,000-volume donation-based library, so lovingly managed by a team of volunteer librarians, was thrown into a dumpster. Saddened and angered that we are living in a police state.

***

Jarrod Shanahan read this piece last week at the Death Panel Press OWS reading. He added a comment on this morning's events. Read the excellent text here. And most importantly, continue to think of ways to (re)occupy your life.

wild transport

In the fall, my brain fills with frenetic energy and I get pulled into moments of a kind of terror anywhere I am. The laundromat. The bus. The basement, at night, listening to the water leak down the wall. This song is possibly perfect. It reminds me of the kind of blue-sky moment in the middle of a huge, organized storm system. You go outside to stare up at it and you know from the oppressive peace that the other side of the disturbance is coming with sheets of bone-soaking rain and wind that doubles you over.

Then this song, a painfully beautiful cover of a song that already stabs my heart with a small sharp barbed pick. This is the body in stasis, but the inside unfurls. Let's all go to the beach together at night, and hop the fence onto the Juno Beach Pier, and stand there until sunrise. If we watch the sky get slowly bright, it won't hurt our eyes.

after the fire, and also do you have tiny feet?

An update: we had a fire at my house and it's been quite interesting and horrible. It destroyed my computer ("Scorch marks all on the inside," the repair man said), ate some of my poetry collection, and together the fire and water "embellished" a lot of books (my Supermachines have a fancy new burned border and ALL TEN of my copies of Book Four are now ... unique). The sprinkler turn-on soaked a lot of stuff, and everything smells a little like the bonfires at sleepaway camp, plus burned plastic. And Ashley, the mindtroll megaphone, melted (her gruesome remains are pictured here; Ellen took the photo). So if I'm a little bit bad in communicating for the next few days, it is because I am trying to figure out my electronics situation - buy a refurbished machine? Order a new one? What. Etc.

Also this fun thing! I have some kind of weird dysmorphia where I think my body parts are smaller than they actually are. That is one disorder, and the other is a crippling eBay addiction. Now I have this pair of nigh-new Arche boots, in really good condition, in a size Eur 36. I'd say this is a women's 6 max; I thought I could fit them but I can't. So I'll try this! Do you have very small retro feet, you fancypants? If so, do you want to do some kind of mystery swap through the mail or in-person if you're in NYC? Leave a comment or email me at niina . pollari at gmail. They are even nicer than the picture depicts, and I can mail them to you along with other goodies that I choose. Let me know! Yeah.